Not Rollercoasters, But Hurricanes

But what if it's not a rollercoaster? The dangers are not just perceived: there is no harness; there is no car; in fact, there is no track at all. What if it is a hurricane?

 Whenever my line of work is brought up in conversation, there is an inevitable intrigue that follows. "Emergency? What's that like?" or "What's the worst thing you've ever seen?" I understand this sentiment far too well. It was exactly this concept of heroism in the face of danger or unique and inconceivable stories that drew my interest to the field in the first place. It turns out sometimes, there are very real dangers.

I remember one of the first times the danger of the ED became real to me. It was room 23. I liked this room because it was larger than the others and laid out nicely so the bed was pressed against the wall on the right, supply cart and computer to the left. I could quickly slide into the room, administer meds, draw blood, print labels, and be back out in the hallway two minutes later. The pathway was clear, the room was organized and private. I also liked that it was off in the corner a bit from the others, but still in line of sight from the nurses' station where I could keep a close eye on my patients.

"New patient, room 23." The triage tech called out as she passed by the desk and I watched the lanky man ambling behind her to the room. His pants were denim, but the blue had almost turned grey between the sun faded bleaching and the dirt that was smeared across the legs. The jeans hung from his waist in gapping bunches where a belt pulled them tight around his much too small waist. The baggy hems dangled over his bony ankles stopping high over the tops of his black boots. His trench coat whirled around him like a cape as he walked. And if his hair had not been so stick straight, projecting from the back of his head as if he had just rolled through a bale of hay, one might have mistaken his lilting gait for swagger.

I saw him flop down on the stretcher, back first then letting his legs come up over his head before they plopped back to the bed like a puppet whose strings had just been let loose. That was my cue to go introduce myself and see what problem we were fixing today.

I entered the room and started my little spiel. "Hi, I'm Hillary, I'm you're nurse." I ask a few questions, figure out what the problem is, get some fresh vital signs, and tell them the doctor will be in soon. It's a nice little song and dance that I was pretty efficient at it now. I don't remember his exact words, but I remember his sentiments. He was concerned. The aliens were going to get him and if not the aliens, the government. I stopped pulling at the cords of the blood pressure cuff and turned to look him in the face. Just inches from me, the blue eyes that stared back were both cold and fierce. The ernest gaze he held proved he had not made these statements in jest and he was now watching my eyes to see how I would respond to him. I wasn't sure how to respond. So I just nodded and said, "I'm sorry to hear that." Contented that I wasn't going to disuade him from his reality or berate him for his off the wall story, he leaned back in the bed, crossed his ankles, and folded his hands on his chest. He began to tell me of all his journeys: the fields he had trekked from Nashville that led to Mars, the cars that had chased him when he got too close to the truth, and the way he knew they were government cars because there were no markings. All the while he chatted, I removed one coat sleeve, tugged out one arm, took a blood pressure and a pulse and slowly worked through my assessment.

Once I had determined there was no dire emergency with him (his heart rate was stable; his blood pressure normal), I returned to the nurses' station to see what orders the doctor had placed. There were some labs, an EKG to check his heart, and a few medications he was prescribed. The tech working my station offerred to go get the EKG and I went to get the meds. When I returned, the tech was still standing there, and now security had joined him. Surprised, I asked what their concerns were and found that when the tech had entered the room, the strange EKG contraption with its 12 cords and clamps had startled my patient. He was now sitting in the room with a knife.

I crept to the edge of the nurses' station and peered through the open door. My man was still laying there, reclined in the stretcher, ankles crossed, but now his hands unfolded, the left tucked behind his head, and the right laying at his side, knife brandished. "What do you want to do?" Security pressed me. I thought about my patient's concerns about cops, the government, and the paranoia he had expressed about people taking advantage of him. I looked our security over; two athletic men with dark jackets, security insignas proudly shining on their broad shoulders, layered over white collared shirts that tucked into belts with walkie-talkies, flashlights, and who knows what else. Clearly their presence would not be helpful. If this patient became more concerned, he would certainly escalate. What if that knife punctured one of the officers? What if it punctured my patient? What if this whole avoidable scenario ended up costing someone their health, their life, or their freedom?  I wasn't sure why he had responded to the tech with a knife. But I was certain the "police officer" looking security men would definitely be a problem. Maybe because I was a woman, or maybe because we had already stared eachother in the eyes just inches apart, I felt confident this patient would not hurt me. So I decided to do the only thing I thought reasonable. I would get the knife myself.

I don't even really remember being afraid. I walked to the door, paused for just a second thinking about what I was going to say, and then realized I had nothing clever. So I walked in and stood at the edge of his bed. I watched him eye me up and down and then eye the officers behind me. I did the mental math of how much time it would take him to sit up and lean forward versus how much time it would take me to back up 5 feet out the open door. It seemed safe. Well as safe as wildly unsafe could be considering that I was standing at the bottom of a pair of wornout rubber soles, just a few feet from an open blade, staring a rather unpredictable man in the face. Our eyes locked once again and I calmly said, "Sir. I'm going to need your knife."

And then in the strangest turn of events, he sat up, leaned forward, flipped the handle towards me and handed me the only thing he had clung to for safety in a world he had deemed entirely unsafe. I will never understand this man's actions. But I'm so grateful that in that moment, he chose to trust me. And there is no horrendous story for me to tell.

The crazy thing is, for all my ER "rollercoasters", all my worries, all my fears of failures, all my previous false alarms of perceived danger, this time, all of those things were actually real. This patient was experiencing a different reality. His knife blade was actually sharp. I had no guarantee that he would be reasonable. And yet, I felt no fear and I chose to walk back into that room. So why? Why did I do it?

It was not because I was so incredibly courageous; nor was it because I was so competent in my communication skills. Maybe it was because I was naive. But mostly, it truly was, because I cared. In that first moment when he had turned towards me in his most genuine honesty and told me his very real fears, I felt empathy for him. I saw his humanity. Though dirty, dishelved, and quite bizzare, that moment our faces were just inches from eachother, I saw a soul in need of help and he deserved an opportunity to be whole again.

It turns out, the opposite of fear is not courage, but rather love. I didn't go because I was so brave. I went because in that moment, I thought more of him and his needs than of my own. For if I had stopped to think of me, I surely would not have done something so reckless.

1 John 4:18 "There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear."

Love would be my secret weapon. Love would be the strength in which I would walk through the real chaos of my work and feel no fear. But it wasn't just my own love of others, some conjured up selflessness, that would enable me to put other's needs first. It was my deeply anchored belief that my personal needs had already been completely and perfectly met by the GOD who loved me so fearlessly that He had sent His son to endure the most painful of tortures for me. And it was not some mustered strength or His stoicism that made Him walk that painful path. It was His perfect love for me. For the joy set before him, for my broken heart to be made whole, for me to know my Creator most fully, Christ endured the cross.

And so, with this confidence, I threw myself into real dangers, believing that no matter what I encountered, I was perfectly loved by a God who meets all of my needs. I do not need to look down at my own hands and feet and wonder about my safety. Pain will come. Storms will hit. Being held by God did not mean I would not be in danger, or experience real pain. Did not Christ experience that all on the journey up that lonely hill? Instead, it meant that I would walk as though life were a hurricane, and I existed in the eye of the storm. His hands would hold back the raging seas to give me dry ground when He wanted me to walk forward. And if He allowed the waves to splash and no dry ground to appear, then His hands would lift me so I would not drown. Perfectly loved, I was now free to love others.

So dear friend, if your dangers are not rollercoasters, but rather hurricanes, real, fierce, and larger than you: look up, not down. For when you look to yourself, your own limitations will surely engulf you into anxiety and fear. There is no courage to sustain you when you see the power of the real threats about to thrash themselves down upon just your tiny self. But there is a God who is larger than the threats, who loves you with perfect love, who has cupped His hands in the middle of the hurricane and given you dry ground. There is peace in the eye of the storm. So if you are tired of being tossed by the waves or whipped by the circling seas, tired of fearing that no one has your back, that you are alone to save yourself, that no one is watching, no is hearing, that the world is out to get you and it is going to win, stop staring at the hurricane. Instead, stare at the Creator who has complete control and loves you more than than life itself. He has not forgotten you. Because of His great love, He will move through dangerous worlds for you. Come rest in the eye of the storm, inside His perfect love. It is safe here.