The blood machine

By Caroline

I don’t remember the official medical name of the blood machine, but it was softly ticking like a clock keeping time for an event no one wants to be a part of.

This was the fourth time I’d seen Mr J on my pastoral care visits to the hospital this year and he is a very special person; always willing to share a smile despite the cancer that is eating away at his body and blood. He never fails to invite me to sit down and I always do because he teaches me about suffering with joy, he teaches me to take my eyes off myself, he teaches me to trust Jesus more and I never fail to tear up as soon as my feet touch the threshold of the doorway on my way to the next patient.

I’m so happy to see you Mr J, only….not here. We both smiled as I took his hand.

Yes, he said, here I am again. They blew out my veins on my last visit which started this whole latest trauma…water in my blood.

Pull up that darn chair, he quipped.

As I did, he defied the pain I’m sure he felt as he lifted his right arm black and blue from many attempts to access his veins bound by embedded tubes so impeccably taped in place, it’s hard to imagine they could ever come out; he took from his bed-table…a beautiful boxed cross. It had a ruby red jewel at the top.


Continue reading at Caroline's blog Bell of the Wanderer.