Is Spiritual Direction for you?

 

 I once went to a retreat called “Making a Difference”.  What I remember about that retreat was the process the leaders led us through to answer the question: “What is your ministry?”  Maybe a strange question to some of the participants, as there were nuns, pastors and other professionals present, and you would assume they all knew very well what their “ministry” was. 

In the workshop we did a lot of individual work and writing, centering prayer, discussion in the whole group and conversations with and listening to others.  

The facilitator kept peeling away the layers of immediate responses, getting to the core of who are you and how is your ministry playing out in real life, in essence looking at what am I doing in and with my life.   The questions weren’t “what is your job?”; what is your professional training?  what service projects are you involved in?”, “what are your skills?”, although these are all aspects that make up who we are.

 I had already in worked in a number of situations in war zones and natural disasters and with people living in poverty in many countries. I would say things like, I am a social worker; I am pretty good at training people and organizing, I do international development work with poor communities, I am a Christian; all which can be considered ministries or jobs of service to others.

The idea was to come up with an “I am” statement related to ministry, and after a couple of days, the answer I came to was “I am a spiritual director (or a spiritual companion).  It was both what I wanted to be and that which I believed God was calling me to at that time.  It seemed to be the “right fit”.

After that retreat I enrolled in a training program in group Spiritual Direction at the Shalem Institute for Spiritual Formation in Maryland.   I had a mentor for a couple of years, I facilitated a Spiritual Direction process with a small group of local pastors, and as a requirement of the program met with a Spiritual Director, a Franciscan sister, for about three years.  During that time, I worked as and enjoyed the role of Spiritual Director in several situations, both with individuals and groups, but never as a job - it was a ministry alongside of my regular work that I think contributed to making my "day job" more focused.  Over the last number of years, I have not done anything formal as a spiritual director, but I still feel what I learned through spiritual direction is at the center of my identity and my sense of ministry. 

If you are curious about spiritual direction, especially in the contemplative Christian Tradition, you can find many good resources on the internet.  You could start by looking at the website of the Shelem Institute, Shalem Institute / Shalem Institute

Or if you want, I can also respond to your questions and comments.  You can email me at jaaker2@yahoo.com, or comment below.

A Meditation on Worship

 

 

I have been a regular church goer my whole life.  As I wrote in the chapter on worship in my book, A Spirituality of Service, the churches Judy and I attended have been primarily Lutheran, though I have worshipped with many other congregations including Pentecostal, Evangelical, Episcopal, Methodist, Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox.  The format and liturgies vary widely.  Doing a rough calculation, I figure I have attended worship more than 3,000 times during my lifetime.  That means, among other things, listening to that many sermons and homilies, and experiencing everything from High Church Episcopal liturgy to very loud hand clapping Pentecostal singing and praying.

At times we found ourselves in places where there were few options in English or Spanish, the two languages we are comfortable with and in which we able to enter into the worship experience. 

In the little village in the highlands of Vietnam where we lived, there were Evangelical and Catholic worship services in both Vietnamese and Koho, the local tribal language.  We understood enough Vietnamese to get by in daily interactions but following long sermons and prayers in these languages was not satisfying.  We missed so much of the message, though we could follow the written hymns and songs and join in singing. I must admit that being in an assembly of a hundred or so Christians all praying in Koho at the same time is a fascinating experience.  But most of the time we would make do with devotions with our very small Vietnam Christian Service team.   

Living in the jungle in Peru we were rather isolated and there were few options, so we sometimes joined the nearby Evangelical missionaries who stressed “witnessing” and a literal interpretation of scripture. We never did stand up and tell “what the Lord did for me this week”, during those meetings.

In Nicaragua, we formed a kind of house church with a group of friends and co-workers.  The intimacy of a house church provides a lot of support, something much needed when living and working in a different culture and country.  From this experience we developed deep and lasting relationships through worshiping together for several years.  Small groups and churches offer something large ones don’t, and vice versa. 

I remember very few of those many sermons I heard over the years.  Honestly, do I even remember last Sunday’s sermon?  But there is something that brings us back to worship time and time again and it is not just going through the motions, as a skeptical person once said to me.  Thus, even if a church we attend may have some people who are less then friendly, or there is a tension between factions, stress over finances, or the sermon is not always great, (all issues we have seen in churches we have attended – not at St Luke), when we worship together, we are doing the work of the believers. The word liturgy comes from the Greek meaning the service or work of the people.

Remember the familiar story of Abraham and his son Isaak when Abraham was told by God to sacrifice his son. This is where the word worship is used for the first time in scripture.  Genesis 22: 4-5 says “On the third day Abraham looked up and saw the place in the distance. ⁵ He said to his servants, “Stay here with the donkey while I and the boy go over there. We will worship and then we will come back to you.”

The point of using this example is that worship involves three acts:  It is an act of Obedience – obvious in this story.  Though I resist using that term as I prefer to think of worship as a spiritual discipline or practice; in the end it is an act of obedience. 

Secondly, it’s an act of sacrifice – though it may be hard to understand, when we worship, we are making a sacrifice to God. We offer ourselves in worship.  The Catholic and Orthodox churches understand the mass as a sacrifice.  Is that true in the Lutheran church too?  I seem to remember phrases like, “we offer here our sacrifice… etc. in the liturgy.

And thirdly, it is an act of faith, trusting that God is present and provides (in the story it was the lamb in the thicket).

Why do we keep going to church on a regular basis?  Certainly, we don’t have mountain top experiences every Sunday, though we probably all have experienced profound and meaningful worship experiences at various times in our lives.  If you scan your memory for very meaningful worship experiences you will remember the setting, where and when it happened and what moved you at that time.  When I posed that question to our Wednesday book discussion group, several said it was the sermon: “the message spoke to me very personally and directly”, another said it was the complete liturgy in a magnificent chapel with a great pipe organ accompanying the processional and hymns; while others pointed to an outdoor worship at a camp, singing songs around a campfire.  Not surprisingly, some like quiet and silence, having time and space to reflect and know the presence of God in nature or in the worship service in church. 

In its many forms worship happens when the faithful gather to praise, honor and glorify God.  As we enter into the presence of the living God, we are renewed in our faith, remembering again that we are loved by God and saved by grace through the sacrifice of Jesus.  That’s why I go to church.   

 

 

 

Independent People

 

I post this review not necessarily as a recommendation but because it may be of interest to some to hear about a little known though a well- regarded book by an Icelandic author who won the Nobel prize for literature.  I had not heard of either the author or the novel before though some famous writers rank it as one of their favorites.  I've not read anything about Iceland previously.

Some of the following is from Wikipedia:  

Independent People is an epic novel, by Halldór Laxness, originally published in two volumes in 1934 and 1935; literally the title means "Self-standing [i.e. self-reliant] folk". It deals with the struggle of poor Icelandic farmers in the early 20th century, only freed from debt bondage in the last generation, and surviving on isolated crofts (farms) in an inhospitable landscape.

Book One and Two are published in English in a single volume.  I have only read Book One thus far, as it is somewhat of a labor to read of the harsh life and grinding poverty page after page, and Book One ends on a down note.  However, the writing is good, especially descriptions of the landscape, the geography, the life of Icelandic farmers, the history and myths of that country.  The dialogue is sometimes quite humorous and reveling of the furiously independent nature of the people in that rural culture.

Independent People is the story of the sheep farmer Guðbjartur Jónsson, generally known in the novel as Bjartur of Summerhouses, and his struggle for independence. There is a little bit of the character in A Man Called Ove in this character, but Bjartur is much less likeable and quite a stubborn and brutish man. 

This book is considered among the foremost examples of social realism in Icelandic fiction in the 1930s.^[1] It is an indictment of materialism, the cost of the self-reliant spirit to relationships, and capitalism itself. The book finally brought Laxness the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1955.^[2]

The novel is set in the early decades of the twentieth century but ... Independent People is a pointedly timeless tale. It reminds us that life on an Icelandic croft had scarcely altered over a millennium".^[3] As the story begins, Bjartur ("bright" or "fair") has recently managed to put down the first payment on his own farm, after eighteen years working as a shepherd at the farm of the well-to-do local bailiff, a man he detests. The land that he buys is said to be cursed by Saint Columba, referred to as "the fiend Kolumkilli",^[4] and haunted by an evil woman named Gunnvör, who made a pact with Kólumkilli.

He marries a woman called Rósa, a fellow worker where Bjartur had worked and he is determined that they should live as independent people.  She is miserable in the spartan “croft” (farm), where they live in a rustic house with the farm animals kept in a pen below them.  He is not an easy person to live with, quite critical and insensitive.

Bjartur discovers that she is pregnant by the son of the bailiff. In the autumn, Bjartur and the other men of the district ride up into the mountains on the annual sheep round-up, leaving Rósa behind with a ewe to keep her company. Terrified by a storm one night, desperate for meat and convinced that the sheep is possessed by the devil, Rósa kills and eats the animal.

When Bjartur returns he is mystified as what has happened to the ewe, so he leaves his wife, by now heavily pregnant, to search for it in the mountains. He is delayed by a blizzard, and nearly dies of exposure. On his return to Summerhouses he finds that Rósa has died in childbirth. His dog Titla is curled around the baby girl, still clinging to life due to the warmth of the dog. With help from Rauðsmýri, the child survives; Bjartur decides to raise her as his daughter, and names her Ásta Sóllilja ("beloved sun lily").

The narrative begins again almost thirteen years later. Bjartur is now remarried to a woman who had been a charity case on the parish, Finna. The other new inhabitants are Hallbera, Finna's mother, and the three surviving sons of Bjartur's second marriage: Helgi, Gvendur and Nonni (Jón).

The rest of the novel charts the drudgery and the battle for survival of life on the farm, the misery, dreams and rebellions of the inhabitants and what appears to be the curse of Summerhouses taking effect.

The most important theme of the novel is independence, what it means and what it is worth giving up in order to achieve it. Bjartur is a stubborn man, often callous to the point of cruelty in his refusal to swerve from his ideals. Though undoubtedly a principled man, his attitude leads to the death and alienation of those around him

Was Pacifism even an Option?

 

 

Judy and I are on an email list of about a hundred people who served in Vietnam with several Church-related non-governmental agencies during the 1960s and 70s.  That period was one of extraordinary conflict and change, socially, politically and personally for those of us who were directly involved in Vietnam as well as for the generation in the US who came of age during those decades. 

Participants on this list have shared reflections and feelings about our time in Vietnam, experiences that had a transformational effect on our lives for many of us.  Many chose to continue on a path of service to people living in poverty and conflict, often living for years in Asia or other parts of the world or working for peace and justice at home. 

Our two years in Vietnam was the first time we, growing up Lutheran, had encountered people committed to a pacifist stance on war.  These were mainly volunteers serving with the traditional peace churches, the Mennonites, Quakers, and Church of the Brethren. Many of the young men served as conscientious objectors.  Interestingly, one of our Lutheran colleagues had also taken the CO position, almost unheard of among Lutherans.  Neither in my early formation in church nor in studies at Luther college had I been exposed to this alternative life and theological view.  During the reformation, the early Reformers, such as Tyndale, Luther, and Calvin, were all proponents of the just war theory. Only the “radical reformers” i.e., the Anabaptists, rejected the notion of a just war.

Whether or not we were pacifists, almost all of us who served in Vietnam Christian Service believed the US war in Vietnam was not a “just” war.  I was beyond draft age, so did not have to face a choice between going to Vietnam as a soldier and resisting the draft.  In fact, during my senior year in high school I raised my right hand and joined the US Army Reserve, vowing to defend the flag and country by violent means if necessary.  It was just what young men did in the Minnesota rural community where I grew up.  There was a plaque on the back wall of our rural Lutheran church with the names of members of the congregation who had served in the military during the first and second world wars, with a star next to the ones who had lost their lives.  My brother had joined the Army before me and served two years during peacetime, between wars.  My father did not serve in the military, not because he tried to avoid it, but because he was a farmer and too old for the draft during WWII.

While growing up in a somewhat politically conservative community, my world view began to change to a more liberal one through college and graduate studies and travel. In 1960 I volunteered for a year in England in a Lutheran retreat center that served many WWII refugees from Eastern Europe who had settled in England.   Many of them had lived through the ravages of both Soviet communist repression and occupation and the terror of Naziism.   I met no pacifists during that year, but heard plenty of horror stories about the human cost of war. 

Recently there has been a lively exchange of opinions from some of the participants on our email list. It seems we are unanimous in the opinion that the invasion by Russia of their neighbor Ukraine is an abhorrent and unjustified act of war.  In this exchange lifelong pacifists struggle with questions of what they would do in practice, not just in theory, if one’s home or country was thus attacked. 

I have been thinking about this issue while not commenting on it, largely because I do not have clarity about my opinion on pacifism, even as I had great admiration for colleagues who took this stance and went to Vietnam to serve Vietnamese civilians suffering the ravages of that violent conflagration.  

Two Christian authors and thinkers who had an early impact on me were CS Lewis and Dietrich Bonhoeffer.  Recently I took a look to see what insights they provide on the question of just war theory and pacifism. I have read only a tiny portion of the many books written by these two prolific thinkers, but can point to Mere Christianity and The Screwtape Letters by Lewis, and The Cost of Discipleship and Life Together by Bonhoeffer as books that brought me to a fuller Christian commitment and more mature faith. 

Both Lewis and Bonhoeffer described their conversions to Christianity in the 1930s during the build up to the Second World War.  Though Bonhoeffer had been a lifelong Lutheran, he came to a fuller understanding and Christian commitment through his study of the Beatitudes. Lewis, a don at Oxford, describes his conversion as both an intellectual and surreptitious experience in his book Surprised by Joy.  He wrote “that while riding to a zoo in his brother’s motorcycle side car, when we set out, I did not believe that Jesus is the Son of God and when we reached the zoo I did”.

The BBC asked him to give a series of radio talks during the height of the blitzkrieg in London, and it is said that his voice became just as familiar to the anxious British people as was Winston Churchill’s.  These talks were later compiled into the book Mere Christianity which became a classic.  I read it while in England in 1961, a kind of conversion experience for me, though I had been raised as a Christian in my youth.

I re-read these two books recently with a mind sensitive to what Lewis had to say about war and peace, and specifically, pacifism.  I found a number of statements that showed he had a low opinion of pacifism, and, though I understand how experience forms belief, I wondered if he may not have searched the scriptures thoroughly to see the validity of opposition to war that some take.  

Darrell Cole, a professor of ethics at Drew University, summarizes the views of C. S. Lewis:

Lewis had been a soldier, so he knew what it was like to experience that essential nature of all battle, so aptly summarized by Homer as “men killed and killing.” Thus, Lewis possessed the mind of someone at home with just-war doctrine, and he had the experience to know its applicability to modern warfare. Indeed, his battle experience consisted of enduring the rigors of the trenches in the First World War, arguably the most horrible kind of warfare the world has ever witnessed. If there ever was a type of warfare designed to turn the most hardened veteran into a pacifist, surely it was the kind of warfare seen at the Somme in 1916. Yet Lewis was never a pacifist, and, in fact, he argued vigorously against pacifism on a number of occasions.

Lewis gave a paper to a pacifist society in 1941, stating fully the reasons why he was not a pacifist.  According to Lewis, pacifism fails to persuade on every level of moral judgment: facts, intuition, reasoning, and authority. For many modern Christians, there are two pertinent facts: War is evil, and war is necessary. Thus, such Christians are persuaded by the “facts” that they must do necessary evil. Lewis is too careful a thinker to fall into such a trap. For him, war is certainly disagreeable, but it is not necessarily evil.

I was disappointed to see CS Lewis take pot shots at pacifism in his books, and particularly when he argued that “ordinary citizens often lack sufficient training to decide whether a given war is winnable. Thus, Christians do not have the same duty or right as have their leaders to decide when a war is unjust”.

That idea goes completely contrary to my view.  Certainly, citizens should hold political leaders accountable for decisions that bring us into unjustifiable wars, e.g., Vietnam, Iraq, etc.  I doubt that politicians even consider the criterion of the just war theory in making decisions to send their armed forces into war. 

So then, turning to Dietrich Bonhoeffer, one of the most famous theologians of the 20^th Century.   Certainly, we learn from his writing, but more so from his life and witness, especially the events surrounding his death.  He was executed by the Nazis just weeks before the end of the war after several years of imprisonment.  Why?  The narrative I have always heard was that it was because he joined in a plot to assassinate Hitler. 

An interesting article by Ted Grimsrud, a professor at Eastern Mennonite University, examined this history in a different light.  In this article he refers to the work of his colleague at EMU, Mark Thiessen Nation in a book he co-wrote with Anthony Siegrist and Daniel Umble (Bonhoeffer the Assassin? Challenging the Myth, Recovering the Call to Peacemaking, published by Baker Academic in 2013). Grimsrud wrote:

Bonhoeffer was well known as a pacifist in the years leading up to his arrest, based in part on his exposition of the Sermon on the Mount in (the book) Discipleship. But then, the story goes, he had a change of heart given the exigencies of Nazi tyranny and joined with the conspiracy that sought to assassinate Hitler. The attempt on Hitler’s life failed, the conspirators were arrested, and most—including Bonhoeffer—put to death.

Bonhoeffer, then, has become kind of a poster boy for “Christian realism,” a recognition that pacifism is a fine ideal but at times in the real world one must, of necessity, turn to the sword and use “evil” methods to defeat a greater evil.

…. Now, this use of Bonhoeffer’s martyrdom may be, and of course has been vigorously debated for years. But maybe one of the premises that all sides to the debates have generally accepted—that Bonhoeffer indeed did take part in the effort to kill Hitler—is not actually true.

….. Bonhoeffer refused to fight in the military and found a way to do constructive ecumenical work while not violating his convictions. He was arrested mainly because he was known to have connections with assassination conspirators, but was convicted of draft evasion (in his case, a profoundly pacifist stance), not involvement in the plot. In the end, he was executed. We don’t know exactly why, but quite likely simply because he was seen as an enemy of the state (which had been his label from 1933)—one of thousands the Nazis put to death in the final months of the war as a concluding act of revenge.”

If this argument is true, it appears that Bonhoeffer died because he was a pacifist, not because he repudiated pacifism.  A pretty powerful Lutheran/Christian witness.   Would that have made a difference to Lutheran young men in the 60s if this point of view had been taught at Lutheran colleges and seminaries?  There were many young men, among them Christians, who resisted the draft, went to jail, or fled to Canada.  I don’t know if I would have had the courage to do that if faced with a draft notice at that time.  Again, the testing between theory and practice.   I didn’t even go into the streets to join the mass protests, though we did go to Vietnam for Lutheran World Relief, which I rationalize as a kind of activism in lieu of direct peaceful protest.

So, in the end pacifism was not an option in my youth, but now in my old age where do I stand?  If someone with a gun broke into my home to rob, I would not shoot that person, because what he would take from me is not worth my taking his life, and besides I do not own a gun.  If someone was violently attacking my grandchildren, I would try to put myself between them to try to physically dominate and restrain the attacker, but with poor results for me, no doubt.

On a gut level I agree with the just war doctrine though I think the military answer to world problems is too often contrived by politicians, ill-conceived, without a clarity of how to end it, and unnecessary.

But I do feel great empathy with the Ukrainian people as they defend themselves from a very unjust and increasingly barbarous attack by Putin.  I also remember the personal stories I heard from Estonian, Polish and Latvian survivors of WWII back in 1960, both soldiers and civilians who were caught up in the war and had no choice about it.  On the other hand, I witnessed death and destruction in Vietnam in a war I did not consider just.  There does seem to be clear criterion for making the distinction.

In the end, I am caught in a quandary by Jesus and the Beatitudes he taught.  I have never been able to practice those “blessed are the ___” principles to my own satisfaction. But I believe what the Gospel writer wrote is right:  Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called the children of God. Mt 5:9

 

 

 

 

“Mountains Beyond Mountains: The Quest of Paul Farmer, a Man Who Would Cure the World” by Tracy Kidder

 

 

When I heard the news a little more than a week ago that Paul Farmer had died of a heart attack in his sleep, I immediately ordered a copy of this book that I had read shortly after it was published in 2003.  I was immensely impressed and inspired by this story then, and as I re-read the book I was inspired again, maybe even more so now.  Makes me want to know the rest of the story.

The author, Tracy Kidder, accompanied Farmer to many of the places where he made such an impact in the lives of thousands, through his tireless work to both treat disease in situations of extreme poverty as well as to create public health systems and models that were adopted by many countries and international health organizations. 

Back when I read this book, I was traveling around the world trying to do my bit to improve the lives of poor people through development projects.  Paul Farmer was also traveling to many counties, especially Haiti, Peru, Russia, and Chiapas state in Mexico, but I must admit that his passion and seemingly endless energy and intelligence far out strip any thing I ever contributed to our common endeavor.  I never ran across him even though we traveled to many of the same countries.

The book tells the story of Paul Farmer up until he was about 42 years old.  When he passed in Rwanda, he was just 62, and was spending time there teaching at the Hospital and University of Global Health Studies he founded.  His specialty was infectious diseases, especially tuberculosis and AIDS.

He and several others founded the organization Partners in Health, which initially was to raise support for the hospital and rural health program he established in the central highlands of Haiti, where some of the poorest of the poor in this hemisphere live. Now PIH works in many more countries with astounding success. The PIH model is one of accompaniment and forming partnerships with local organizations and governments.  That is same the approach I was promoting during the years I was with Lutheran World Relief, Heifer International and Agros International.

So much has been written about and by Paul Farmer. It is available on the internet, so I should not try to cover too much of his life and legacy in this short review. He was a visionary and humble, even as he gained international fame.  He was happiest when trekking out for hours (mountains beyond mountains) to visit the sick in shacks in the Haitian countryside.

He earned his MD from Harvard Medical School at the same time as he finished a Doctorate in Anthropology from Harvard. During his career he kept one foot in the US medical system on the staff of Brigham and Woman’s hospital in Boston and taught at Harvard Medical school.  The other foot was in Haiti, and later with the poor in other countries. 

I was intrigued to learn that he got much inspiration from Liberation Theology, which had arisen out of left leaning theologians of the Catholic Church in Latin America in the 1960 and 70s.  He was raised a Catholic but did not subscribe to much of that doctrine in later years, but certainly adopted the Catholic teachings on justice and service to the poor. 

One of the tenets of Liberation Theology was to take the “Preferential Option for the Poor” – which in Farmer’s shorthand was O for the P.  He said this:

The basis of our preferential option for the poor is to say: I accompany them not because they are all good, or because I am all good, but because God is good.

Many other Paul Farmer quotes can be found on the internet.  One that I have heard many times is this one, but I didn’t realize it came from him. 

If I am hungry, that is a material problem; if someone else is hungry, that is a spiritual problem.

If you are in market to be inspired in this world of seemingly endless injustice and poverty, I recommend this book. 

Jerry Aaker, March 2022

 

Getting Back on Track

This new year of 2022 did not start out as planned.  Today I am five weeks out from a complicated major surgery, two hospitalizations, and a slow and painful recovery.  I had been having bouts of fatigue for months.  But, with medical professionals who got to the root of the problem and good care, I am gaining strength for today and hope for tomorrow. 

On this Valentine’s Day I am so thankful for Judy, the love of my life, the one who has carried me through some rough patches these last several years.  When I have felt listless and lack of purpose, she has been here to do almost everything for me. It has tired her out, but she is strong and full of compassion!

I recently read “Yes to Life” by Victor Frankle, who wrote: …that someone is tired and exhausted, is not enough of a reason to stop in their tracks.  Rather, everything depends on whether carrying on does have meaning, which makes it worth overcoming and continuing to live despite persistent ‘world weariness’.

Thank you, Judy, for your love and caring.  And thanks to so many friends and family for their words of encouragement and prayers.  

My Day With Nurse Ratched

 

 

I was introduced to my nurse for the day at 7am shift change.  Awakened from deep sleep by blindingly bright florescent lights from the ceiling above.  Half awake, I heard the night nurse, “This is Jaime your nurse for the day.”  I said, “Hi”, looking at her blankly.  They moved on.  I was now awake – no more getting back to sleep.

I’d been on Morphine for pain, a very small dose on request.  Every nurse the last 3 days just gave it to me without question.  There has to be an interval of 3 hours.  At 7:30 I asked Nurse Jaime for my pain med.  It had been 7 hours since my last dose.  She looked at me like I was a drug addict.  “I’m going to do an assessment”, she said.  She listened to my lungs, looked at my feet and asked my pain level.  About 7 was my reply.

Morphine is very addictive was her comment.  A refrain she repeated throughout the day.  I told her it’s on my orders and the pain is quite intense. She responded that Morphine could cause constipation and confusion.  Did you have a BM yesterday?  She had me there.  No BM.  I have not had food for 3 days so what is there to pass?  After a few more fruitless comments I asked if she was denying my request.  I’m not denying it, I’m doing an assessment she replied.  I was tired and said, “Okay; forget it.”

I asked for pain meds at least 2 more times during the day without success.  Once I woke up and saw Nurse Jaime was talking to Judy.  I again asked for Morphine.  She could not give it because I was sleeping - it was too risky.  I said, “But I’m not sleeping now.”  “What’s your pain level?”, she asked.  My reply was about 8.  She stared at me. I asked her if she’d checked the chart of pain levels of 1-10?  I had studied that chart in the ER a few days ago.  I reminded her that 7 to 9 is extreme pain.  Her response was that a number is not everything!  I can give you Tylenol.  I accepted her offer.

Later I was woken up again by bright lights in the ceiling.  She had urgency in her voice.  “I see your wife has left. Do you live far from here?  She needs to come get you.”  I thought it was midnight and something drastic had happened I couldn’t understand.  It was only 3:30 pm and I was being discharged.  Within an hour I was saying my fond goodbyes.

Judy drove me home where I fell into my recliner, exhausted.  I took a couple Tylenol.  Reflecting on the day, I asked Judy what was the name of the nurse in the movie, “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest”?  I looked it up.  Her name was Nurse Ratched!

Jerry – Feb.2,2022

P.S. I might be confused, but I’m not constipated!