Popular Posts

Thursday, April 30, 2015

Hospital Prayer

First of all, let me say that this piece that I wrote was based on a real event and person. I credit it as one of a couple of things that happened in my early life that turned me away from a party life of drugs and alcohol to a life of faith in God.

Dear God,
     I took a girl to the hospital last night. She was real sick.
    It reminded me of the time once before when I saw a girl pass out in school. The teacher said that she was just sick, but most of us knew what it really was. And only minutes before that, she had been laughing and saying how beautiful everything was. Two weeks later, the announcement came over the loudspeaker, and after several long seconds of silence, life moved on to algebra and English lessons.
     But my paper never got turned in. They called me outside and told me that I could take the day off if I wanted to. "Under the circumstances," it would be all right, they said.....
     ....Too many people had seen us together, I guess.

     She was like that last night. We had laughed and joked about music and people and things people believed in. We even laughed about the seriousness of love....
    ....But then she stopped laughing....
    I though she was tired at first, and even when she dozed off, I figured it was just too long of a day for her.
     It was only when I tried to wake her to take her back home that I realized that she was more than tired.
     The doctor said it could have been any number of things. He guessed about sleeping pills in excessive quantities, or pain-killers taken too close together. He was being nice.
     Someone else knew better.
     "Yellow-jackets," they had said. "Downers of the worst kind, ...and booze... plenty of it. She's a crazy chick," they had said in a cold condemning voice. It's a funny thing, too. I had just been reading about people attacking the symptom instead of the disease.
     "Sure, I'll help," they added. "but don't put my name on anything."

     They're in there now. They've got her in a little white room with their instruments and tubes and nurses saying it'll be all right....
     They made me say that, too. They told me that it would be better if I reassured her. They knew she'd believe me.
     She was so afraid, though. A simple thing like a pat on the arm brought about screams of agonized terror.
     She knew my voice, though. I told her they'd make it better for her. I told her they wouldn't hurt her. I said I wouldn't let them.
     They are making it better for her, they say. She did stop crying about the pain.
     She's so young, though. Eighteen is too early to be growing up so fast.
     There's not a whole lot more to tell you, God. Really, I guess you know most of it anyway. I don't feel that there's really so much that I've asked of you before, but....

     ....Dear God, please don't let her die.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Your comments are appreciated.