Mom needs morphine, and she needs it now. I try to balance the need to get to the hospital quickly with the need to go slowly over the bumps. Each jolt causes yet another surge of dizzying pain above the pain already wracking her body.
I know what she needs because it's--well, it's not routine, but neither is it unusual for her to have such bouts of pain. My mom suffers constant pain from a severe back injury, but it becomes extreme when she tackles something on the "don't" list. This time she walked a full flight of stairs for my brother's graduation banquet, then another flight to another brother's graduation service. She did it for their sake--and now she must pay the price.
She grips the rail of the emergency bed, her knuckles white. We wait for the doctor to come. I hold her hand in hopes that it will be a comfort to her. The doctor is not here yet and the pain is not lessening. I chat to try to keep her mind off the torturing wait for relief. She should have had the shot 30 minutes ago. Where is the doctor?
Finally, I leave her to ask the nurse how long the doctor will be. "Oh, the doctor is just finishing up at the clinic. She would have come sooner if it were a cardiac or something."
"But this is urgent!"
"Yes. We're doing the best we can. . . . "
A dam of tears threatens to burst as I wheel around and flee to the nearest empty corridor. "If it were a cardiac!" Well, you may inform the doctor that I'm having a cardiac. In fact, my heart is ripping apart, and I'm hemorrhaging with hurt. My eyes are oozing tears.
Why God? Why must she suffer? Why, when we have been blessed with technology to ease pain, must technicalities barricade their use? Why? You don't understand. . . . Yes, You do.
You watched as your beloved Son was mocked . . . beaten . . . spat upon . . . whipped. I had to sit helplessly in the waiting room and watch my mother endure the pain, but You had the power to stop Your Son's suffering . . . and You didn't.
You waited and waited. They stripped Your Son. They drove nails through His hands and feet. They hung Him on a splintery wooden cross to die. Yet death was not immediate. You still had to watch and wait. Your Son could hardly breathe. The nails shot bolts of pain through His body. The Romans continued their brash indifference, the Jews their jeering. You waited . . . until the time came for it to be finished.
Yes God, You understand. You know my pain because You watched Your blameless Son pay the death penalty for the wicked, undeserving human race. You were not forced to suffer this agony, yet You chose to. You chose to because You loved us, because You wanted to give Mom the opportunity to be with You, where there is no pain, because You wanted me to receive Your friendship and healing when I must watch loved ones hurt.
Thank You for suffering on my behalf. Thank You that You understand.
Raewyn Schnee wrote this in 1993 when she was a Bible school student living in Gwynne, Alta.