At Loma de Luz, we have a "walking blood bank". By that, I mean we have a list of everyone's blood type on a piece of paper in the lab. When a patient comes in and needs a blood transfusion, we call the person who matches the blood type and they give their blood. All is well and happy, right?
It just so happens that I share the same blood type as our dear gentleman with the gastrointestinal bleeding. Around 12:30am last Sunday, I received a radio call from the nurse on shift saying my blood was needed. This is an unusual way for me to start my conversations at midnight, after being asleep for a couple of hours. However, between my sleepiness-induced slurrings and my brain trying to decipher another language after shutting that switch off hours ago, we somehow communicated. It was not a vampire calling me. It was a medical necessity. Got it. I left on my roommate's 4-wheeler and zipped down the hill (Yes, Grandma, cautiously, of course), ready with a liter of water, granola bars, and a book.
After tracking down the nurse (who was helping deliver a rosie-pink newborn, as I walked in), I made my way to the ER. The ER is our designated "blood donation collection area". Nolvia, one of our excellent lab techs, joins me, as well as Elsa, a magnificent nurse's aide.
I have this pre-existing thing where I feel like I'm going to pass out at random times: like when my coworkers talk about blood, or I watch an IV be put in someone's vein, or someone's hernia is being repaired surgically, or I'm being tested for allergies. Random.
I have a new one for my unintentionally elongating list: donating blood.
After almost making it to a whole unit of blood donated, the next thing I know my arm hurts and Nolvia is telling me to wake up. And that I'm green. And my lips are blue. And that I did a weird contracting of my arms thing as I passed out. I guess I should be thankful since there are worse colors to be--like mauve or highlighter yellow.
Apparently, I passed out. I felt great after--well, not like GREAT. But surprisingly well-rested. Nolvia, however, did not look so great or thrilled with my 60-second rest of heavenly bliss. She looked whiter than the bed sheet I was on, which I then realized was wet. Upon further questioning of my witnesses, it was explained to me Nolvia very kindly tried to help me drink from my bottle of water, when realizing Lizzie wasn't looking so great. Then The Incident occurred. With my apparent sudden contracting limbs and color change, the bottle went flying as Nolvia tried to remove the needle still present in my antecubital vein. I was just glad it was water.
Just as I was getting ready to go home--driving the 4-wheeler, no less--it starts torrentially down-pouring. I hang out at the nurse's station and try to read my book. Ha.
The time is now after 3am and Dr. Ryan, my temporary downstairs and extremely kind neighbor, who had been checking on his patient, offered to follow me home.
As comical as that night might seem to me now, its purpose was short-lived. I made it. Our patient, Mr. D, on the other hand, didn't fair as well. When I got that midnight radio call, I didn't expect to spend my week looking at a bruise on my arm, knowing it's lasted longer than our patient's life.
My blood couldn't save him, nor could the blood of his family members or the other staff & missionaries. Our patient went into surgery to have an exploratory procedure to see if they could figure out why he was bleeding. There the surgeons discovered the condition of his liver and the cancer consuming his body. His body was weak. He never recovered.
After surgery, Oscar, our hospital chaplain, was able to speak to Mr. D in his brief moments in and out of consciousness. Oscar asked if he knew his Savior. He did--confirmed by his wife, who stood faithfully and silently by his side, along with his grieving sons and daughters.
We've left this week with heavy hearts, knowing the loss and grief Mr. D's family is experiencing. However, we rejoice knowing he no longer suffers or has a tube down his throat or aching fevers or exhausting, sleepless nights. He can rest in God's presence eternally.
I've also left this week with a renewed appreciation of the blood Jesus shed for us--a price that I can never repay, but pray to reflect everyday.
Although my blood couldn't save our patient, I'm thankful Jesus Christ's blood can. I'm thankful Mr. D knew that too.
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