My first memory is of pain. I was, I think, only two years old. I try to recall, but get only an impression of a blurred face, my nurse, injecting another heavy dose of some pain killer. She emptied the syringe into my bottom right cheek, unsheathed the metal knife, gave my sting a few pats, then secured the rail of my hospital crib. Only now, while I try to bring up this memory, I remember that she turned out the lights and closed the door behind her.
Now whatever that drug was, it had no affect. The pain in my remaining intestines grew to such a extreme that in an attempt to escape the pain, I began to rock the crib and scream out knowing that the door was closed. After a while I thought my nurse was unable to hear my cries for help, and when no one came, I realized that the intent of closing my door had been to muffle the noise from their ears. Then I realized I was alone, that I was not able to depend on anyone.
Still, the torture increased and my only comfort was not just to rock myself, but to throw myself back and forth with enough force to drag my crib across the room and into the corner.
In those moments and the hundreds of painful episodes to come, Jesus walked in with his loving presence. When you are two years old, you come with very few preconceived beliefs or ideas about anything. All I knew was pain and no one was coming to help. And without my asking, He walked in. I just knew he was there. I knew who he was. I don't know how I knew, but he was so real, so obvious, so loving, so comforting and so much better than any remedy.
After a time against the wall, it was over, and the pleasure of the absence of pain filled me. I looked out the window beside me, looked at the blue and the clouds of the sky, felt the quiet of the room.
Sometime later, two nurses came running in. And when they found me in the corner of the room, they gloried in what I had done, having never before witnessed such a feat. And at the sound of their astonishment, I forgot about the pain and smiled with a certain pride in what I had accomplished. It quickly became the talk of the floor, and I couldn't wait to tell my dad and mom.
Now whatever that drug was, it had no affect. The pain in my remaining intestines grew to such a extreme that in an attempt to escape the pain, I began to rock the crib and scream out knowing that the door was closed. After a while I thought my nurse was unable to hear my cries for help, and when no one came, I realized that the intent of closing my door had been to muffle the noise from their ears. Then I realized I was alone, that I was not able to depend on anyone.
Still, the torture increased and my only comfort was not just to rock myself, but to throw myself back and forth with enough force to drag my crib across the room and into the corner.
In those moments and the hundreds of painful episodes to come, Jesus walked in with his loving presence. When you are two years old, you come with very few preconceived beliefs or ideas about anything. All I knew was pain and no one was coming to help. And without my asking, He walked in. I just knew he was there. I knew who he was. I don't know how I knew, but he was so real, so obvious, so loving, so comforting and so much better than any remedy.
After a time against the wall, it was over, and the pleasure of the absence of pain filled me. I looked out the window beside me, looked at the blue and the clouds of the sky, felt the quiet of the room.
Sometime later, two nurses came running in. And when they found me in the corner of the room, they gloried in what I had done, having never before witnessed such a feat. And at the sound of their astonishment, I forgot about the pain and smiled with a certain pride in what I had accomplished. It quickly became the talk of the floor, and I couldn't wait to tell my dad and mom.
I think it's interesting that you're first memory was of pain . . . I like how you described it. It was both sad and funny.
ReplyDeleteMy first memory was oddly enough the back of my eyelid. I saw the pinkness of flesh, as though someone were shining a bright light upon me- a light I had never experienced. I saw the veins in my flesh. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say I truly believe it was my memory of being born or trying to see for my first time. I know they say babies can't remember until they are a certain age, but I have always had an incredible memory of my childhood. It's interesting though, because as time goes on, I am unable to remember as well. I know they call that the effects of old age, but it is significantly less than my memory was as a baby and child.
ReplyDelete@The Bride: I know someone who has a similar memory. She last remembered it when she was almost three, and so cataloged the memory that too important to forget.
ReplyDeleteIt was something like: She was comfortable and at peace and the voice she heard was almost godlike.
"First Memory" Actually you were only one year old & it must have been after your surgery because for three days I stayed in your hospital room and took care of you before your surgery. The nurses let me care for you because they didn't have experience with your problem.
ReplyDeleteSo sorry and sad you suffered so much pain, but God was always there giving us all the strength to go on. Love YA! MOM