Promise to Breathe

By Sarah Kenman

Diane Harrell has a problem, her leg is swollen and she doesn't know why. Her doctor isn't helpful, and she finds herself in deep trouble. She's in the beginning of a heart attack that she doesn't have time for, and there's no way to stop it. She knows this is the end of her life but finds she has one more promise to keep. A promise to breathe. You can reach out to the author at : [e-mail]

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098033477

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Promise to Breathe

Sarah Kenman

Copyright © 2020 by Sarah Kenman

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 1

It’s June seventeenth, the hottest day of the year so far. Feeling the heat rise off the cement sidewalk through her shoes, Diane Harrell was limping into her doctor’s office. Her leg was badly swollen and greatly hurting. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped away the sweat that was dripping into her eyes. The contrast from the heat of the day and the blast of cool air from the air-conditioning as she entered the foyer raised goose bumps on her arms and neck. It took all the energy she had just to breathe. She leaned on the counter and told the receptionist her name, and she was here for her appointment.

Before she could get set down to catch her breath and rest for a minute, she was called to come into the examining room. Instead of sitting on the examining table, she sat on the chair beside it, and when Doctor Pothan entered the room, she told him she was more comfortable sitting here and stuck out her swollen leg and pulled up her sweatpants to show him why.

I see. he said. He took her blood pressure and her pulse, then with the stethoscope to her chest, he listened to her breathing.

You’re breathing like you’re out of breath. He looked at her, then listened one more time to her chest.

"I am out of breath. It’s hotter than heck outside, and it isn’t easy to walk with my leg as swollen as this is. And it hurts so bad, the pain makes it hard to breathe. I feel like I’ve done heavy hard work all day. I’m having an awful hard time breathing."

That’s just the diabetes there. He made an off-handed motion pointing to her leg. You are diabetic, aren’t you?

Doctor, this looks like something more than just diabetes. Look at this.

Her ankle was swollen well over her shoe, and as a matter of fact, there was no ankle at all, ankle and leg were swollen into one huge log that could hardly bend. Her shoe wasn’t tied and was stretched open as far as she could get it to go. The shoe looked to be three sizes too small for her foot.

This is not just normal diabetic swelling, Doctor. Something is going on here. What specialist do I need to see for this kind of thing?

Before we go that far, I’m going to have the nurse check your A1c just to be sure. But I think it’s your diabetes. Then we’ll go from there.

He turned to the nurse giving her instructions to take Diane’s A1c, the test that measures the sugar level in the blood, then he left the room. The nurse pulled open a drawer and set out a monitor, lance, and strip, grumbling, I don’t like doing this.

Diane rolled her eyes, "What do you mean you don’t like doing this?

Taking someone’s A1c. I don’t like to do it. the nurse answered.

Then why are you doing it?

Because I have to. But I don’t want to.

Then please let me do it.

No, no. I can’t let you do it. I have to do it, she said fluttering her hands.

It’s just a stick. Why can’t I do my own stick? I do it all the time. And what about this don’t you like doing? Diane asked.

Well, it’s just that I usually don’t have to do this and I’ve not done it all that much. I don’t know how to do it and not hurt the person. Seems I always hurt the person.

Well I’ve done it a lot and I do it very well, so let me do it.

No. I can’t let you do it. I have to do it. You’re the patient and I’m the nurse and I have to do it. She swabbed Diane’s finger then still holding the finger, she hesitated.

What’s wrong? Diane looked at her finger, it was fine.

Well, I don’t want to hurt you.

What! Diane’s eyes widened. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the doctor standing just outside the door listening but not coming in. She thought he must be waiting for the nurse to get done with the A1c. When he saw that Diane had seen him, he stepped back out of sight.

I don’t know what to do. I’ve not done this that much, and I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.

Are you joking me? Diane looked into the nurse’s face. She saw that the nurse was not joking and thought maybe that’s why the doctor was standing at the door like he was, maybe he was keeping an eye on the nurse for some reason.

You’re not joking. How do you become a nurse and not know how to do this? If you can’t do it, then you should let me do it. I could’ve had it done already. It doesn’t take that long to do. And if you can’t do it, then somebody who can should be in here to do this. Diane sighed, Never mind. I can tell you how to do it.

The nurse gave her an odd look.

Well, it’s my finger. I know how to do it and it not hurt. I’ve been diabetic for a gazillion years. It’s not a hard thing to do, just a little stick.

That would be alright if you told me how to do it, I guess. It’s just the doctor always does the…the…, she stammered.

Stick. We diabetics call it stick. You make a stick. Diane made a motion with her fingers of a quick sticking.

Yeah. And doctor wanted me to do it this time. I guess every patient has their way to do it that doesn’t hurt them. And I haven’t used this type of lance and monitor before, so I guess it would be alright if you told me how to do it.

Diane wanted to ask her if she was a real nurse or a trainee. And she always thought it was a little odd when she came in to see the doctor, that he did the A1cs. And now he’s allowing this incompetent nurse to do an A1c on her.

It’s not hard to do. Diane showed the nurse where it was more comfortable to release the lance on her finger. You don’t have to go very deep on me to get a drop of blood. Before Diane could tell the nurse she was pushing the lance too hard against her finger, the nurse released the lance into her finger. Diane gave a little jerk and said, Ouch. The nurse put the strip to the oversized drop of blood; it read one twenty-eight. The nurse sighed with relief, Diane asked her for a piece of cotton to stop the dripping blood. Doggone it, her best finger for sticking was already bruising.

Might I give you a little advice on your technique? Diane holding and pressing the cotton to her finger asked.

The nurse turned away from her. See, that’s just why I don’t like doing this. Nobody is ever happy how I do it, and everyone says it hurts. I never want to do it again!

Well trust me then, we don’t want you to do it like this anymore either. There is a way you can do it and it not hurt. Don’t push. Just put the lance to the finger and press the button. The lance goes into the finger. Stop stabbing your patients.

I’m stabbing my patients?

The doctor had stepped into the room. What’s it say? he asked, looking over the nurse’s shoulder, she showed him and told him the result from the stick.

Diane asked him, I’m always in the six percent range doctor. Still think it’s diabetes?

I don’t know what it is. But I want you to go to the lab for an ultrasound on your leg, then come right back here when you’re done.

An ultrasound? On my leg?

Yes. I want to see what’s going on. Can you make it to the lab? he asked as he watched her get up from the chair.

It would be quicker and easier getting there if I had a wheelchair. She steadied her balance before she took a step. Holding up her finger said, I need a Band-Aid, finger still bleeding.

Dr. Pothan told the nurse to call floor two’s admit and see about borrowing a wheelchair from them for one of his patients, just long enough to get the patient to