All night all day
Angels watching over me my Lord
All night all day
Angels watching over me
It didn’t hit me until two nights ago. I was sound asleep in my bed in MD Anderson Cancer Center. I was tired, no, exhausted really. It had been a long day and longer evening. So, as I said, I was sound asleep when I sensed, more than knew, that two people were hovering about me at 4:00 AM. In my groggy awareness, I knew that my nurses were ministering to my medical needs. One was taking my vitals, the other drawing my blood for a necessary CBC (complete blood count) and blood chemistry workup.
It is then that I realized that my angels were watching over me.
No, they didn’t have wings and haloes. They weren’t even dressed in white gowns. Still, they are part of the army of angels who watch over me through my toughest medical times.
I wish I could remember all of their names; since I can’t, I’ll not mention any of them by name. They know who they are. They are the ones in Hot Springs Mercy Cancer Clinic who tended to me for nearly seven years as I fought CLL, chronic lymphatic leukemia. They are the ones who held my hand as they searched for places to insert needles to administer the next dose of chemo drugs. They are the ones who pierced my veins to draw blood for my tests. They are the ones who made me comfortable for the seven hour wait while disease killing drugs slowly dripped into my blood stream.
My angels are those at Mercy Hospital in Hot Springs who administered the dreaded pentamidine treatments designed to keep me from developing pneumonia. They knew I hated the breathing treatments; still they smiled and encouraged me. They are the imaging operators who peered into my body with x-rays and magnetic fields.
These are Harley’s Angels.
Even more angels surround me at MD Anderson. I have yet to find a nurse who frowned because they had to take care of me. They always entered with a smile and a cheery greeting. They are the ones who felt my pain when I needed my port accessed. They are the ones who cheered me on, telling me that they were praying for me, for my experimental drugs to work. They are the ones who listened when I needed to talk. They are the ones who found answers for me when they did not know the answers themselves (which didn’t happen often.) They are the ones who waved good bye when I left their care.
I love my angels, my Harley’s Angels. They are by far better than either iteration of Charlie’s version. No, they don’t carry guns and jump through windows and all those other fantastic things. Even better, they are the ones with the healing touch, the healing words, and the healing compassion.
To all of my Angels, thank you, thank you, thank you. A thousand “thank you”s would not begin to express my gratitude.
Here’s to all my Harley’s Angels: past, present, and future!