Easter came and went, with Sisters Christine and Miranda now under simple vows and no longer in the Novitiate. Mickey, Tanya and Jessica, as second-year novices, were getting to know the newly Clothed first-years: Sister Kathleen Dawson, Sister Nancy Seaton and Sister Alison Youmens. Mickey quickly grew to like all three of them, but Tanya, for some reason, did not.
She scoffed sarcastically during one of their discussions of the vow of obedience, when Sister Nancy commented that she thought this was the hardest vow of all. “I agree with her,” Mickey said, ignoring Tanya’s surly expression. Obedience, the vow most expected to be the easiest, was often the greatest stumbling block, “at least it is for me,” Mickey admitted.
“I could have predicted that,” Jamie said later when Mickey discussed this with him.
“What?” she asked.
“What?” he repeated in astonishment. “You never did anything without an argument! I could get my chores done five times over and you would still be trying to bargain with Mom that you would do yours later, after whatever else you were all wrapped up in.”
“It’s not enough to simply do what is asked of you,” Sister Josephine had told them often, “you must do it cheerfully, completely, without holding back or resenting it,” and, “there’s the rub,” Mickey could have said. It took a tremendous amount of discipline to stop what she was doing and immediately respond to a request from a superior, “without grumbling or sighing or muttering under your breath,” Sister Josephine with one slightly raised eyebrow and a half-glance toward Mickey.
Just a couple of days previously, Mickey had been working with the other juniors, helping to clean the classroom, “from top to bottom,” said Sister Stephen enthusiastically. “Move desks and tables and chairs, take down curtains and blinds, wash the windows.” Mickey was up on a ladder, wearing a work apron and sleeves over her habit as she reached for cobwebs “no one else can even see,” she grumbled, when Sister Josephine came to the classroom and called up to her.
“Sister Michele, weren’t you supposed to be in the infirmary five minutes ago to schedule your check-up?”
“But I’m almost done –” Mickey protested, glancing down and seeing the look on Sister Josephine’s face. With an exasperated sigh, she climbed down from the ladder, shaking her head and grumbling to herself.
“Obedience is way harder than celibacy,” Mickey admitted now to Sister Josephine who gave her a droll smile.
“Speak for yourself,” Tanya grumbled, but so quietly that only Mickey and Jessica heard. Mickey looked at Jessica quizzically, but Jessica just shrugged, equally puzzled by Tanya’s bad temper.
It seemed the theme of spring cleaning had spread from one area of the abbey to another, “and we’re cleaning again,” Jessica sighed as, one Saturday afternoon in late April, the juniors were cleaning the library. The books, some of them very old, needed dusting, as did the shelves. Mickey was once again on a ladder, handing a stack of books down to Sister Alison when Sister Mary David ran into the library, her face white.
“Sister Michele, will you come?” she asked, gasping for breath.
Without wasting time asking questions, Mickey climbed down immediately, nearly knocking Father Raymond off his feet as he tottered by with an enormous book in his hands. Nuns never ran, but they were running now, Sister Mary David trying to explain between gasps for air.
“Mother Theodora… has been sick… bad ear infection… wouldn’t stay in bed… went to vestment room… got dizzy…”
When they got to the vestment room, Mickey saw in a glance that Mother Theodora lay in a heap at the base of the stairs. Sister Anselma, Sister Catherine and Sister Paula were all kneeling around her.
Mickey rushed down the steps to Mother’s limp body. She felt for a pulse and found it weak and rapid. Taking off Mother Theodora’s veil, she said, “We’ve got to get her turned over.” She quickly palpated for fractures as she straightened Mother’s arms and legs. “I’ll take her head,” she said as she positioned herself. “Everyone else get on either side.” On the count of three, they rolled her to her back. Quickly, Mickey assessed her condition. Gently palpating Mother’s abdomen, her heart stopped for a second.
“It feels as if she’s bleeding internally, maybe with damage to the liver and the spleen.” Thinking quickly, she muttered, “We don’t have time to call an ambulance – it would take too long to get here and then get her to Millvale.” She looked up at the others. “Who can drive?”
“I can,” Sister Mary David volunteered.
“Good, get the abbey’s station wagon, put the back seat down and…” She saw the outdoor entrance – the one she had come through on that windy day she had first met Sister Anselma – and said, “Back up to that door.”
To Sister Paula, she said, “Go get Father Andrew. Tell him to bring everything he’ll need for… for the worst.” Sister Paula put her hand to her mouth, but Mickey barked, “GO!”
She looked at the others. “We need a board of some type that we can use as a stretcher.”
Sister Catherine brought a layout board made of plywood. “Will this do?”
Together, they rolled Mother Theodora to one side and slid the board under her. In just a few minutes that felt like twenty, Sister Mary David was back with the station wagon. They picked the board up and carried Mother Theodora to the car, sliding her in through the tailgate. As they got her positioned, Father Andrew came running up. Mickey and Sister Anselma climbed in the back. Mickey instructed her in how to stabilize Mother’s head. Father Andrew knelt on the passenger seat, facing backwards and administered the sacrament while Sister Mary David drove as quickly and as carefully as she could. Mickey monitored Mother’s heartbeat and respiration. And prayed.
╬ ╬ ╬
Fortunately, someone had thought to call the hospital and tell the ER they were coming. The station wagon pulled into the ER drop-off fifty minutes after leaving St. Bridget’s. Nurses came running out with a gurney. They laid the board on the gurney and wheeled Mother Theodora inside and into a cubicle.
“She’s bleeding internally,” Mickey said authoritatively as she accompanied the gurney into the cubicle. “We need a surgeon right away – it’s already been over an hour.”
The nurses looked at each other.
“What?” Mickey snapped.
“We only have an orthopedic surgeon on call this weekend,” one of the nurses explained. “The only other doctor we have is Dr. Allenby, and he’s a GP.”
Just then, a tall, thin man came into the cubicle. “What’s the situation?”
Mickey looked at him. “Greg?”
He stared back for a moment, then his eyes widened in surprise. “Dr. Stewart? Is that you?”
“It’s me. Listen, Mother Theodora is – how old?” she turned to Sister Mary David, suddenly realizing she had no idea of Mother’s age.
“Seventy-two.”
“She fell down some steps, internal injuries,” Mickey continued. “Haven’t been able to get a BP, pulse is one thirty-four and weak, no idea yet if there are any fractures. I understand there’s only ortho on call. Can we get a Medivac out here?”
He shook his head. “I just heard them on the scanner. They got called out to a multi-car pileup on I-90.”
“God help us,” she groaned. “Think…” she muttered to herself.
“Dr. Stewart,” Greg said hesitantly, “I don’t think we have a choice. You’re the only one here who can do this.”
She stared at the floor. “Will you assist?” she asked at last, looking up at him.
He nodded. She turned to the nurses. “Lori, Cindy,” she said, looking at their name tags, “I’ll need one of you to scrub in also. Has someone called the anesthesiologist?”
There was a tremendous amount of activity as everyone went into motion. Mickey gave orders for Mother Theodora to be prepped for surgery and the nuns and priest were politely ushered out of the cubicle. Mickey came out to where they were waiting.
“This could take
several hours,” she told them. “I don’t know if you want to wait here or back at the abbey.”
“We’ll wait here,” they replied in unison.
She glanced at Sister Anselma, then quickly looked away, certain that her fear and uncertainty must be showing in her eyes. Never a good sign in a surgeon about to operate on someone. How many times did I tell my residents that? She turned to go.
“Sister?” Sister Anselma’s voice stopped her. “Could we pray before you go?”
She took Mickey’s hands in hers. Father Andrew placed a hand on one shoulder and Sister Mary David the other. “Father,” Sister Anselma prayed, “guide these hands in their work. If it is your will, please allow them to heal our dear Mother and return her to us. Amen.”
Mickey couldn’t respond. Her throat was suddenly too tight. She squeezed Sister Anselma’s hands with one last look and left them.
Lori showed her to the women’s locker room. “Here are some scrubs, Doctor… I mean Sister…” she stumbled, not sure how to address her.
Mickey smiled. “Just call me Mickey.” Sitting alone in the locker room, Sister Anselma’s words kept running through her head. “If it is your will…” Mickey had never prayed like that when she was practicing, had never thought in those terms. She hadn’t been praying for Danielle Wilson like that, even now. It was her will that every patient would live. She had never considered that it might be God’s will that some would not. Quickly, she changed, hanging her habit in a locker. She pulled on shoe covers, and tied on a cap and mask. Exiting the other end of the locker room, Mickey joined Greg at the scrub sink. Cindy was already in the OR, laying out instruments.
“So, what are you doing here, Greg?” Mickey asked as she began scrubbing.
“Well, I’m from the Rochester area, so when I finished my residency in family medicine, I came back up here. I fill in here at the ER every now and then.” He scrubbed. “Um, what about you?”
Mickey smiled. “You mean, what is one of your old professors doing in a nun’s habit?”
He grinned. “Yeah, kind of.”
“I left Hopkins over two years ago to do this. I didn’t plan to be operating again.”
“I can’t think of anyone better,” he said sincerely.
She took a deep breath. “Ready?”
Five hours later, Greg found Father Andrew, Sister Mary David and Sister Anselma praying in the hospital’s tiny chapel. Anxiously, they looked up as he entered. He looked exhausted.
“She’s stable for now,” he told them as he collapsed into a pew. “Dr. Stewart had to remove her spleen – it was ruptured. The liver had to be repaired and there were some intestinal bleeds as well. We don’t have an ICU here, so we’re going to keep her in the recovery room where we can monitor her.”
At the looks of relief on their faces, he hastened to caution them, “She’s not out of danger yet. She may very well need more than one surgery to fix all the damage, and even then...”
Father Andrew said, “Thank you, Doctor. Why don’t we go back to St. Bridget’s and update the community?” He glanced at his watch. “It’s nearly midnight, but I imagine everyone will be up.”
“I’d like to stay,” Sister Anselma said.
Sister Mary David nodded. “We’ll be back tomorrow to see how she is.”
When they had gone, Greg leaned his elbows on his knees, his head resting in his hands.
“Are you all right?” Sister Anselma asked solicitously.
He sat up. “I’m fine. Just tired.” He looked at her. “I did one of my surgical rotations with her, but I never saw anything like this.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
He shook his head. “There was so much blood, I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Her hands, they moved so fast, so certainly. She’d get one bleed under control, and find two more. She was amazing. I can’t believe she’s not doing this anymore.” He looked at Sister Anselma quickly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply –”
“It’s all right,” she assured him.
“Would you like to see them?” he asked.
“Yes, if I may,” Sister Anselma answered in surprise.
He smiled. “Sure, come with me.”
He led her down a corridor, her eyes squinting a bit from the harsh fluorescent lighting. He propped open the door of the recovery room for her. Mother Theodora was the only patient, a whole host of monitors standing like sentinels around her bed. A bag of blood hung from a pole at the head of the bed. Mickey was standing on the far side of the bed, checking a monitor. She had removed her mask, but still had her cap and scrubs on. She looked up as Sister Anselma entered, and came around the bed.
“Hey there,” she said, but then suddenly looked concerned. “Are you okay? You looked flushed.”
“No, I’m fine,” Sister Anselma hastily reassured her. “It’s just that…” she looked over at Mother Theodora lying in the bed.
“I know. It’s hard.”
Sister Anselma nodded, keeping her eyes on Mother.
“Come and sit,” Mickey insisted, indicating a chair next to Mother’s bed. She pulled another up for herself.
“Dr. Allenby said she’s stable,” Sister Anselma said quietly.
“For now. The problem with internal injuries is it’s so easy to miss something, or new bleeds can develop as the inflammation worsens, or the whole abdomen can become septic if there’s even the tiniest nick in the intestines.” She watched Mother’s pasty, greyish-white face. “There’s just so much that can go wrong.”
“She looks so frail.”
“I know, but she is a very tough woman,” Mickey said.
“And how are you?” Sister Anselma glanced at Mickey.
Mickey expelled a deep breath. “I’m okay. I had to stay focused on the details and not think about who the patient was, or I’m not sure I could have done it.”
“Yes, you could have. I had complete faith in you,” Sister Anselma said seriously.
Mickey looked at her quizzically. “Why would you say that?”
Sister Anselma looked at her as if this should be obvious. “Because you’re you, Michele.”
Mickey couldn’t meet her gaze anymore. She got up and went to the other side of the bed, busying herself checking monitors and lines. Nurses came and went as they continued their vigil. Greg came to say goodnight.
“The nurses have my phone number if anything happens and you need me.”
“Thanks so much for everything,” Mickey said appreciatively.
He grinned at her. “Just a little payback for all the extra time you spent teaching me surgical technique.”
As the night crept by, Sister Anselma began nodding off. Her head jerked a couple of times, and Mickey went to her, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t you lie down in this next bed?”
Sister Anselma protested, angry at herself for having fallen asleep. “It’s all right. I’ll wake you if I need anything. This is going to be a long night,” Mickey promised her.
Mickey sat between them, two women who had become such an integral part of her life. She watched Mother Theodora closely for any change in her condition, but her gaze kept wandering to Sister Anselma as she lay sleeping. She had never seen her face this unguarded, and she watched, transfixed, aware of a familiar, unwelcome stirring of her heart as she did.
Sister Anselma was startled awake by monitor alarms going off and urgent voices.
“BP is dropping.”
“Call Dr. Allenby and the anesthesiologist immediately.”
“Let’s go everybody.”
Sister Anselma leapt out of the bed, trying to stay out of the way. She saw Mickey helping to push Mother’s bed back into the OR. She looked at a clock on the wall, and saw that it was just after four a.m.
Unsure where to wait, she went back to the chapel, praying fervently, “please, please, please… don’t take her,” but she knew she was praying just as hard for Michele’s sake as she was for Mother’s. After a long time
without word, she went outside for some fresh air. Dawn was just beginning to break. It was too cold to stay outside for long, and as she came back in she saw that it was almost seven. She went back to the recovery room and peered through the window in the door. She saw Mother Theodora there with Dr. Allenby and several nurses. She went to the chapel, and found Mickey standing in front of the altar, her head bowed, one hand covering her face. Sister Anselma went to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. Startled, Mickey turned. Her cheeks were wet.
“We almost lost her,” she whispered.
Sister Anselma guided her to a pew and they sat. “What happened?”
Mickey wiped her cheeks. “She developed a bleed in the superior mesen – it doesn’t matter which artery. It was bad. She actually flatlined on the table, but we were able to get her pressure stabilized.”
Mickey closed her eyes and bowed her head again, shaking it. “I don’t know what brought her back, but it wasn’t me.” She clenched her hands together in her lap. All the adrenaline of the last hours had left her shaky and weak. She didn’t want Sister Anselma to see her hands trembling, but she wasn’t really surprised to feel Sister Anselma’s hand reach over to hers. “You’ve never been able to hide anything from her,” she chided herself, “why would you think you can hide this?” She clasped the offered hand tightly.
“Michele,” Sister Anselma said in her calm, comforting voice, “don’t you understand by now that you are the prayer? Whatever you do, whether it’s surgery or making a tapestry or doing the laundry, if you do it with love and reverence, then you and the prayer are indistinguishable.”
They sat in silence like that for several minutes. At last, Mickey released her hand and stood, saying, “Let’s go see how Mother is doing.”
Chapter 24
David Farley found Mickey in the doctors’ lounge. “Hey, Mick, can I speak with you for a moment?”
In This Small Spot Page 14