I don’t like hospitals. And I don’t like sick people. I know, I know, that’s not very compassionate or nice and caring. And last night I was the one in the hospital. I was the one who was sick. And I so badly wanted someone to care about me. To be nice and compassionate to me. And then it struck me, if I want that, shouldn’t I also give it? Yes of course, that whole “do until others…” thing that Jesus talked about.
I must say though, I am a terrible patient. I don’t ask for what I need. I try to put on a brave face and not let people know how awful I feel. I don’t want to complain or make others uncomfortable. But I do want to know that someone cares. A strange place to be. As I lay there last night with some of the worst stomach pain I’ve ever had, I was blessed to be visited by three friends, one of whom I’d never met before. Poor guy had his first introduction to me while I’m on morphine. Hahaha…he must have had an interesting first impression.
Anyhow, I’m doing better today. Just tired and hungry and thirsty. But overwhelmed with gratitude that people cared about me last night even when I didn’t ask for help. And even when I tried to put on the brave, “I’m fine” front.
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