Time Out

Before every heart or lung surgery there are specific things that are supposed to happen to keep the patient safe.  In the pre-op area before the patient goes to sleep, the surgeon marks the correct side of the body with a marker.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve hunted down a surgery marking pen or even a standard Sharpie for Dr. Halloran or Dr. Dickson to mark the patient’s correct side for lung surgeries. (Not for heart surgeries, since there aren’t two options.)

Then, once the patient is in the operating room and asleep, there is a time out before the procedure begins. The activity in the room stops, and everyone is quiet while one member of the team states the name of the patient, the correct site of the operation, and the procedure to be done.   According to the Joint Commission (sort of like the government body for hospitals), these three items are the minimum, and need to be agreed upon by the surgeon performing the surgery, the anesthesiologist, and all members of the operating room.  A time out cannot be done before the surgeon arrives.

The other day I was thinking about how odd this procedure really is.  Why does it need to be done?

A time out needs to be done, I think, because as humans we do a really bad job of seeing the big picture at times. People get hungry.  People get yelled at.  People get tired, or sore from too much sudden exercise.  Nurses and surgeons experience all of these things, and if your stomach is growling and someone just yelled at you, and you just can’t wait to get out of the hospital because you heard bad news about a family member, you probably aren’t too focused on the big picture.  However, as the patient roles in, and someone calls a time out, it forces everyone to consider what they are doing, rather than to just plunge in and do it.

I was driving home from Goshen the other night (yes, that’s where Marnell lives) when I laughed out loud in my car.  I laughed, because I had missed the big picture and was unnecessarily worrying and God suddenly called a timeout.

Fresh off of a nice week in the beautiful scenery of Pickle Lake, I had plunged back into my job and I was worrying about the possibilities…  if I should get a new job, and where I should work, and how much I should work, and all sorts of things.

Then, like a flash, I remembered what had happened the other times I needed a job.  I remembered the job at the jail, that I was sure I should get, and how I had failed the lie detector test in an uncanny twist that could only have been God’s direction.  I remembered the job at the rehab where I thought I should work, and how they never called me back so I took a job at a place I didn’t think would be right, and 30 minutes later the first rehab called me.  I remembered the job in Chicago that I was sure would hire me, and how I was sure that it would be a good job, but they didn’t call me so I took another job, only to have them call me as well.  I remembered the heart surgery job and how God had been so specific about showing me that it was right, and how I kept hearing the song, “All the Way My Savior Leads Me”. 

And I laughed out loud.

How ridiculous to worry, when God knows how to direct me, and when he has done so in the past multiple times through multiple creative and interesting ways!

If this were a time out, I was the patient, and my job dilemma was the procedure. But the most important thing is the surgeon, and the fact that he’s done this a thousand times before and knows exactly what he’s doing.

God must get so frustrated with me, after all the times he’s proved his faithfulness.  As Marnell seems to delight in saying about once a week, “I have a good memory… but it’s awful short.” So true of my memory of God’s faithfulness! And perhaps in a way, we are all quick to forget what He has done in our lives.

That’s why we need these time outs.  We need to sit back and remember the facts of God’s faithfulness in the past. In a world where we get hungry and tired and bullied and lose sight of the truth, remembering his faithfulness brings moments of joy and laughter, and a feeling of perfect safety.