The words I'm looking for are 'thank you'

Someone close to me ended up in the emergency room this past weekend, then needed to be admitted to the hospital.

But it wasn’t “the” hospital, it was “a” hospital.

When my family member experienced unexplained pain and was taken into the Waseca Hospital emergency room, it required a number of different medical image types to learn she had experienced (unexplained) internal bleeding and ended up with an internal bruise that was putting pressure on some of her nerves.

The only “medication” for the bruise, it was determined, is time. It must heal itself.

The pain would decrease as the healing progressed, but for the time being, it needed to be “managed.” Thus, my relative needed a hospital bed.

Many of you already know this, but beds in hospitals are hard to acquire these days. Thanks to staff shortages, hospitals (and other health facilities) do not have enough people to support and care for the number of patients their structures are physically capable of holding. I had heard about this, but had only considered it on–let’s call it–an “academic” level.

So when the emergency room staff at the Waseca hospital told me my 90-year-old relative would be admitted, I felt a sense of relief: she would be made comfortable in a stable environment.

The next words after “admitted” were “at New Prague.”

When I asked “Why so far away?” the spokesperson looked somewhat insulted and responded, “Actually, that’s pretty good.”

That’s when I remembered the experiences that had been shared with me. Someone who was to be “hospitalized” but ended up in a long-term care facility because there was no “hospital” bed available anywhere in the state.  Someone whose medical bills were accompanied by hotel costs because the only available bed was more than a hundred miles from home. Measured against those barometers, absolutely, the 40 miles to New Prague were completely manageable.

So what I want to say right now is, “Thank you, medical professionals.”

I have always known your job is demanding. Watching as you cared for my 90-year-old, I was reminded of your professionalism, your compassion, and your thoroughness. I witnessed your versatile range of skills, from delivering medication to calming fears. I admired your willingness to perform even undesirable tasks in a way which put the patients’ needs first.

You are people with busy brains, big hearts, and soft hands. Thank you for the tasks you perform, the words you say, and the blessings you share.