Life vs Limb

A yellow rose in an etched glass vase sits on his bedside table and a brightly colored balloon floats above it. A pastel get well card is propped up against a few unread magazines. These are the only touches of color in this cheerlesss, antiseptic hospital room. James lays, hands at his sides and eyes shut, with tell tale wetness on his cheeks. In a few hours, the surgeons will come and to save his life, will take his leg, just below the knee. The gangrene has raged unchecked through his ankle and calf, headed for his thigh and beyond. There is no choice save amputation and while he understands that it must be, it's an offense that he has not had time to come to terms with. Infection and pain have taken a heavy toll in a remarkably short time.

The girls sit quietly by his bedside, their presence brings a small measure of comfort. There is no effort at humor or to artificially raise his spirits, no denial of what lies ahead. No one tells him stories about overcoming adversity or what a one legged man might accomplish. There is no attempt to cheer him up or take his mind off it. No one suggests that it's the will of God at work. They simply sit with him, being there so that he is less alone with his demons and his fears. Sometimes they hold his hand, sometimes they cry, but they stay - they sense when there is a time to just be.

The hard part is ahead - the adjustments and compromises he will need to make, the work of therapy and more pain, the habits he will have to change and the acceptance he will need to find. He is tempted to let go and give up, you can see it in his face, so the girls visit each day after work and the nurses are kinder than they need to be.
This soft spoken and gentle man has unexpectedly touched us all.

Professional detachment aside, all our frail sides are showing.