Amelia's Prayer

By Debrah Gish

Twenty-five-year-old Kristine Anderson leads a very busy life of working a full-time job as a nurse and caring for her terminally ill mother. She doesn't have the time for or need any more complications in her life. When she unexpectedly becomes involved with one of her elderly patients, she makes a promise to the dying woman that invites troubling implications into her life.The object of her promise came in the form of the arrogant grandson, bringing a new set of distractions that Kris wants to avoid. However, the promise made to his grandmother keeps her life involved with his. She plans to pray for him daily and never see him face-to-face, but it seems Greg Warrenton has other ideas. Or is it that Someone else has other plans for her life? Will she have the patience to keep her promise to pray for the man who infuriates her at every turn, or will she abandon the promise made to Amelia Warrenton?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098066789

Book preview

Chapter 1

I have another special, Kris. The family has requested a private nurse. If possible, I’d like for you to take it.

Twenty-five-year-old Kristine Anderson took the patient chart from her supervisor. Reading the nurse’s notes on eighty-nine-year-old Amelia Warrenton, she grimaced. From her experience, she knew this patient most likely did not have long to live.

I’ll take it, Kris answered, closing the chart.

These will be twelve-hour shifts. Are you up for that? inquired the older nurse.

I think so, Mrs. Gren. The long shifts work well for me. I don’t have to work as many days, and I can do more at home.

How are things at home, Kris? How is your mother? The supervisor leaned back in her armless chair, giving Kris her full attention.

Not good, I’m afraid. She’s no longer responding to her medication. Her vision is getting worse, and her speech is much slower, even with everything the doctors are trying to do. We feel so helpless. Kris sighed.

That’s too bad. I’m so sorry, dear. Martha Gren reached out to briefly cover the younger nurse’s hand with her own. I’ll remember her in my prayers.

Thank you. That’s what keeps us going, Kris smiled her gratitude.

The chatter of two approaching nurses drew their conversation to a close. Picking up the chart, Kris headed toward the room of Amelia Warrenton.

Kris found her patient hooked up to several monitors, as well as, oxygen and IVs. Observing the thin woman, while she counted the weak pulse beats on her slender wrist did nothing to rouse the patient. Blue nail beds; cool, clammy skin; and the pallid color are all symptoms of her weak heart. The late afternoon March sun that filtered through the partially closed blinds gave the patient the look of death. Bending over the small figure, Kris spoke softly.

Mrs. Warrenton, my name is Kris. I’ll be your nurse on this shift. How are you feeling? When she got no response, Kris continued, I’ll do everything I can to make you comfortable. If there is anything I can do for you, just let me know.

Straightening the sheets, Kris spread another light blanket over the cold limbs of her patient. Pulling a chair close to the bed, she positioned herself where she could see her patient as well as the monitors. After two hours of skimming over the local newspaper and an article in the hospital newsletter, Kris repeated taking Mrs. Warrenton’s vital signs and repositioned her in the bed. She rubbed lotion on the boney back of her patient and checked her skin for red areas. Humming softly under her breath, she rubbed in slow circular motions, thinking of the comfort of her patient.

Thank you. That feels wonderful.

Kris halted briefly at the sound of the weak voice.

You’re very welcome, Kris replied cheerfully. My name is Kris. I’ll be your nurse tonight.

I know, I heard you earlier. I just didn’t have the strength to answer you, Mrs. Warrenton answered.

How are you feeling now? Any better? Kris asked.

No, I’m just too tired to talk much. This spell I’m having is worse than the others.

We’ll do all we can to make you feel better, Kris assured the sick woman.

It won’t do any good. I don’t think I’m going to get any better this time… Mrs. Warrenton’s voice trailed off weakly.

Kris watched the patient slip into a sleep of sorts and silently agreed with the woman’s self-prognosis. When she was relieved for her dinner, Kris ate a quick sandwich and called home before returning to her duties. Thanking her relief nurse, she reassessed her sleeping patient and rearranged her pillows. Satisfied that Mrs. Warrenton was comfortable, Kris settled into her own chair for another long vigil. By ten o’clock, weariness drove her from her chair. Kris walked around the room to shake the stiffness off her legs. With her patient still sleeping, Kris stood at the darkened window and watched the car lights come and go four stories below.

At the sound of the door opening, Kris turned to greet the newcomer but was immediately silenced when a tall man quickly entered the room and rushed to the bedside of the sick woman to embrace her.

Gram? It’s Greg. Can you hear me? he asked softly.

With her eyes closed, the woman smiled weakly in recognition. I knew you’d be here soon. I’m sorry to interrupt your work, she replied weakly, her voice barely above a whisper.

I came as soon as I got word. Doc Harper called Vel this morning, and she called me immediately. I left as soon as I could make arrangements and get cleared for flight.

That’s good. I’m glad you’re here… Her voice trailed off. She appeared to be sleeping again.

The man pulled a chair close to the bed and sat with the sleeping woman’s hand clasped in his. Kris stayed rooted to the spot, hating to intercede on the scene before her. After minutes, the man glanced around the room. Seeing her, he nodded and motioned her closer. As she approached, he stood and walked toward the door. He closed the door behind him and started his interrogation.

I’m Greg Warrenton. I want to know what’s being done for my grandmother, he began.

Well, we’re giving her medication to remove the fluid from around her heart, and the doctor has ordered a mild pain reliever to keep her comfortable. She is—

No! he said forcefully. Those are symptom relievers. I want to know what is being done for her illness, for her heart condition.

Mr. Warrenton, those are the customary medications— she tried to explain but was interrupted again.

What—he glanced at her name tag—Miss Kris A., is being done to take care of her problem? What is being done so these symptoms won’t reoccur?

Sir, everything that can be done is being done for your grandmother. She is a—

He interrupted again, growing louder. "I’m sorry, but that’s not good enough. With today’s knowledge and research, I know she can be helped. If this building that calls itself a hospital and those white coats that call themselves doctors can’t help her, then I’ll take her somewhere else and find some competent medical help," he roared, growing loud enough to draw attention from the other nurses as they stuck their heads out of the other patient’s rooms to take in the commotion.

Mr. Warrenton, Kris said, attempting to quiet him, your grandmother has some very fine doctors. Doctor Harper is her attending physician, and he has consulted with two of Atlanta’s finest cardiologist. They are now on her case. I assure you—

I don’t want assurances, I want results! I’m sick and tired of these empty promises. I want some help for my grandmother.

I’m sure you do. The doctors are doing all they can for her, and they’re monitoring—

He interrupted her yet again. Yes, sure! This is the fourth time within a year that she’s been in the hospital. Each time, I’m fed the same line I’m hearing now. The doctors run around, too busy to give proper attention, and you nurses waltz in and out of the room in your cute little uniforms like everything is going to be fine. I’ve had enough of it. Lady, you don’t seem to understand. I cannot—will not lose my grandmother.

When he paused, Kris jumped in. Mr. Warrenton, your grandmother is eighty-nine years old. Her heart is worn out. There is only so much that can be done, and I promise you, the doctors are doing it, Kris replied evenly. With his quietness, she hoped he calmed from his tirade, but his next statement proved her wrong.

Miss Kris, he pronounced her name with sarcasm, I don’t know you, but at your age, I can venture to guess that you probably live a carefree life. The most important person in this world to me is lying ill inside this room. He thumbed over his shoulder toward the door. I demand something be done to help her. He turned and strode into the sick room, leaving Kris in the corridor to stare at the door and try to deal with his audacity.

Who was that? mouthed one of the nurses from next patient’s doorway.

Mrs. Warrenton’s grandson, Kris whispered.

Oh, I don’t envy you! Do you think we need to call security? the nurse asked, her eyes wide with anxiety.

I hope not, Kris answered.

Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and opened the door to room 435. Without acknowledging her entrance, the man sat beside his grandmother, silently holding her hand. From across the bed, Kris checked vital signs and slightly changed the position of her patient.

Leaning closer to the sick woman, she asked quietly, Mrs. Warrenton, do you want me to rub your back again?

Yes, that would be nice, Mrs. Warrenton responded weakly.

Ignoring the glowering man, Kris continued with her nursing, making her patient as comfortable as possible. When she at last resumed her place in her chair, Kris picked up her newspaper and held it in front of her. Even though she had read earlier all the articles of interest to her, the newspaper became a welcome barrier between her and the man on the other side of the hospital bed. The man’s tirade had been so unexpected that Kris had not been able to respond to it. Now, in the quietness of the night, her mind began sorting through every rude word he had spoken. As her memory began to unravel his accusations, she could feel the anger rising up within her until she felt she would choke on it. The very idea of him parading in here like royalty and speaking the way he did about one of the finest hospitals in Atlanta, if not all of the South. She wished Mrs. Warrenton’s personal doctor witnessed the man’s accusations. Kris bit back a grin as a mental picture of Doc Harper, the oldest and most outspoken member of the medical staff, and the brash young man locking horns like two stags fighting over their territory.

Shaking herself, she tried to think of other things, such as her responsibility at home. What was it the hateful man said about her? Uh, something to the affect that she didn’t have a care in the world. A lot you know, Your Royal Highness, she mocked mentally. If you knew what some of us face every day, you might be a little nicer to us. Well, no, I sincerely doubt if you would change your attitude toward us at all.

By the time her relief nurse came, Kris could feel the tightness of the muscles in her shoulders and neck to the point that her head was pounding. The man sat silently, ignoring the two nurses as they discussed the patient and reviewed her chart. Kris was relieved to gather her purse and sweater, leaving Mr. High and Mighty in the hands of one of the toughest nurses in the hospital.

On the drive home, Kris could hardly wait for the hot shower to ease the tightness in her shoulders. Her hands made each turn automatically, but her mind was busy. At four o’clock in the morning, traffic was light. She was finally able to put the confrontation with Greg Warrenton out of her mind. Mentally, she began a list of chores she needed to do after she caught a few hours of sleep. When she pulled into the driveway, the outside light pushed back the darkness so she could see to unlock the door. The only light in the dark house was from a small florescent light coming from the kitchen, which gave Kris enough light to make her way to her mother’s room. With the help of a night light, she could see the face of her mother asleep in her hospital bed. The clicking noise of the oxygen machine masked Kris’s footsteps as she crossed the room to stand by the bed.

Ten years ago, when the doctor had given the news to Charlotte Anderson that she had multiple sclerosis, she came home and explained the illness to fifteen-year-old Kris, the youngest of her three children and the only one still living at home. Together they searched through the library to find all information available on the disease. For years the disease was only an inconvenience as her mother sometimes stumbled or was overcome with weakness, but in the last two years, it progressed very fast, even surprising the doctors’ prognosis. Now she was an invalid with the disease that was rapidly taking her life.

Hearing someone stirring behind her, Kris turned to find Aunt Dee, her father’s only sister, leaning up on one elbow from the cot that had been moved into the sick room.

How was Mom tonight, Aunt Dee? Kris asked, easing herself down to sit on the floor beside the narrow cot.

About the same. Lance came by to help get her ready for the night. He talked with her for a while, but she didn’t respond much. I know it bothers him to see his mother like this, but the Lord helps him, just like He does you and Theresa. Oh, Theresa called and said she’d be over tomorrow to help during bath time. Now that the twins are over the chicken pox, she said she’d be able to help again.

I don’t know what I’d do without them. I have such a wonderful brother and sister. I thank the Lord every day for them. But most of all, I thank Him for you, Aunt Dee. Kris slipped her arm across her aunt’s shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze.

I’m glad to help, dear. With my James gone and my children all grown with families of their own, I’m glad to have something to do, she said softly. Besides, Charlotte was the wife of my dear brother whom I adored. How can I not help the ones he loved?

I wish I could remember Dad, Aunt Dee. I know what he looked like because of the pictures Mom has all over the house, and she has told me so much about him. Losing him when I was only two years old, no matter how hard I try, I can’t recall anything about him.

I know, Kris. He was a wonderful person, just like you and Lance and Teresa. The older woman laughed as she kept adding the names of Kris and her siblings. Now off to bed with you. You’ve had a long day, her aunt encouraged.

Yes, I have, but I’m going to get a shower first and maybe drink some warm milk. Kris looked at the clock on her mother’s nightstand. Wake me up about ten o’clock. That should give me enough sleep. Rising to her feet, she kissed her mother and her aunt before she went up the stairs toward her bedroom.

The spray of hot water did its job and loosened the taut muscles in her neck and shoulders as she stood under it. Relaxed from the warm shower, sleep began to surround her. Foregoing the warm milk, Kris snuggled into her pillow with a prayer for her mother and hope that the hateful man would not be visiting his grandmother when she returned to work the next afternoon.

Chapter 2

With the shades drawn in her room, Kris woke the next morning to faint voices drifting up from the first floor of the house. Sitting up, she studied her watch in the dim light. Twelve o’clock! She had overslept! Pushing the covers aside, she pulled on her robe and hurried down the stairs. With an apology, she rushed into her mother’s room.

Good morning, sleepyhead, Theresa, her older sister, smiled her greeting from the bedside of their mother.

Oh, Theresa, I’m sorry I slept so long. I intended to get up at ten o’clock but I guess I forgot to set my alarm, she reprimanded herself.

"No harm