In the Last Hour

It’s a cold, snowy day in western New York where I work as a visiting nurse. I am also a mother of five, with a house full of teenagers and no child support to speak of at all. I am a Christian holding tightly to Jesus through troubled times.
One of my patients is on my heart. She is so dear, so pretty, with a beautiful home and a caring, providing husband. It is through my nursing that our worlds meet and from the beginning I thought what a friend she would be. She has already endured an amputation of her leg and the cancer still was not arrested.
I pray alone in my car, “Lord, show me how to help. She doesn’t want any more treatment. She’s had enough. Should I mention You? Is she angry? Does she want to die?”
During this visit, we talk. She has more pain than she did before, especially when her bowels move. The pain is terrifying to her. I see such a straightforward person, but I begin softly.
“Are you a Christian?”
“Oh yes! I love the Lord with all my heart!”
“Do you want to live?”
“No, I can’t go on like this.”
“Do you want to talk further about it?”
“Well, I feel awful at physical therapy. I feel like a Cyclops or something, a freak. I just can’t go there anymore.”
I listen as God gives me a quiet, understanding heart, filling it with love for her. I don’t force the issue. It’s been hard for her these past couple of years so I listen with love.
“Peggy,” I say, “can I pray with you?”
“Oh yes! Please, I want to pray.”
“What are your concerns?”
“My son,” (I smile; we are both mothers). “He needs to marry a good girl, a Christian. My husband is all right, but he will need someone. My daughter is at college. Just look at her marks! She is doing so well; we talk on the phone a lot.”
“Peggy, do you want her to come home?”
“No; we’ve already decided that. She wants to keep going and I’m so proud of her.”
My heart is troubled; I believe that it is important for this daughter to be with her mother. I quickly have to decide to respect the decision.
“I don’t want to stink,” she said earnestly. “My father died of cancer. I would visit him, but I really do ask the Lord to not let my flesh stink.”
We pray. She shows me her Bible. I carefully guide her to the Psalms 27, 46, and 91. I look at her Bible. It’s so highlighted and worn out. She knows her God. My heart is filled with joy. I’ve hidden God’s Word in my heart all these years and I praise Him that I’ve communicated my faith effectively. I CAN help!
“Peggy, you need to get your back to the wind, don’t you?”
She nods and cries. I have no more words to say. I see her struggle with her emotions as she tries to control herself. She is relieved that I understand. My visit is finished; it’s my sixth assessment visit. I have called her physician on my last two visits. Her pulse is 90 and so soft. I believe that she is bleeding. He discounts my thoughts.
“We’ve already transfused twice.” He is not going to do anymore. I decide it’s in my best discretion not to push him.
I have never met her husband, but we talk on the phone.
“Bob,” I tell him, “her pulse is 90 and I think she might be bleeding. Do you want your daughter home?”
“No,” he replies. “We’ve already talked through that and it’s final.”
“She wants to die.”
“I know there is nothing more they can do for her,” he says.
I listen to him. He is so strong on her behalf. Peggy has told me she has laughed when her husband gets off the elevator at the hospital.
“The doctors are afraid of him,” she says.
I smiled. I’m glad they’re afraid of someone.
I don’t have a strong medicine ordered. I think of hospice. I’ll call them tomorrow. We may need something more when her time comes. Funny, I think about child birth instead of death.
I drive home, exhausted. I pass the local cemetery and shiver; it’s so cold. What a nasty day. I shake off this cold feeling. She’s okay. We have some time yet. I set aside thoughts of my visit and focus on making supper for the kids instead.
I should get some gas in my car. I have only three dollars until payday. The gas station is closed. It’s getting darker and colder. I’ll put gas in the car in the morning. The tank registers at less than a quarter full.
It’s 9:30 pm. I go to bed. At 10:20, the phone rings. It’s Bob.
“There’s something wrong,” he says. “She is in a lot more pain and I can’t quiet her. Please help me!”
“Of course!”
There is only one main road between my house and his. Driving is almost impossible. I couldn’t even see in front of me. The snow wants to be a blizzard. It is as though a giant angel is guiding my car. I was wearing only a sweat suit and no makeup. How could I possibly appear professional?
God’s love fills my heart and mind. When I arrive, I get to the back door quickly, holding my nursing bag tightly. Bob greets me and there is a look of shock on his face. I run up the stairs with wings on my feet. Peggy is waiting for me, sitting up in her bed. I put my arms around her and settle her back into her pillows. I see she is losing consciousness. Quickly I check her blood pressure; there is none – as if I didn’t already know.
“Bob, where is Jeff?”
“He’s in the other room.”
Somehow my arms around her seem to quiet her. I realize her son will need to hold her while she is still alive.
“Jeff, come quickly and see your mother!”
All three of us tell Peggy we love her; and within five minutes, she was gone like a snuffed out candle. I stay numbly by her side, desperately trying to stay in control while Bob and Jeff shout out to God.
My visual aid is the Bible by Peggy’s bed. I turn through the worn out pages to Isaiah 43:2-4: “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.”
Bob’s face shows deep shock as he makes phone calls: to family, the coroner, and the funeral director. The funeral director arrives. We talk a little. Then I notice the snow has stopped outside. I drive home as I have an early start the next day.
I am friends with the gas station owner near my house and I know he will have the station open early for me. When I get home, I knew this seemingly empty tank of gas is absolutely no problem. God had heard and answered Peggy’s prayer.
All of my energy is gone now, but my youngest son, Sam, calls from his bed.
“Mom, are you all right?” He is always so caring.
“I’m fine, Sam.”
“Something’s the matter,” he said. “Where were you?”
“It’s okay. I’ll tell you about it later… Sam?”
“Yeah, Mom?”
“Jesus loves us.”
“Right, Mom. I know. I love you too.”