Listening to Charlie

The Bible tells us that we all have at least one spiritual gift.  I believe mine is the gift of encouragement. (Romans 12:8) I love to encourage others, and sometimes I’m blessed to see that encouragement turn someone’s somber countenance into a hopeful one. Unfortunately, like most people, I sometimes neglect opportunities to make a difference for someone. But, whenever I think of Charlie, it serves as a reminder not to let those opportunities pass.

You see, Charlie was a sixty-some year old loner in the small town where I lived and worked. Everyone knew of Charlie, but no one really knew Charlie. Most of us didn’t know his last name and only his closest neighbors knew where he lived. But, it was almost a given, if one were to drive down Main Street they would see Charlie walking up one side or the other. I never saw him stop to visit with anyone or anyone stop to visit with him.

Charlie didn’t drive, he only walked; shoulders rounded and eyes focused on the sidewalk in front of him. If you looked closely on breezy days, you could see the end of his long gray beard swaying.  In the summer he wore a T-shirt with bib overalls, and in the winter he swapped out his t-shirt for a long sleeved flannel shirt. Everyone considered Charlie somewhat strange. The kids in town sometimes teased him while the adults just ignored him.

Then the unfortunate happened. Charlie was brought into the hospital where I worked as a staff nurse, diagnosed with a left cerebrovascular accident (stroke). Lying on the bed in room 116, he was a fish out of water. Not one of our four doctors had ever treated Charlie, making us wonder if he’d ever seen a doctor in his sixty plus years. It was probably a safe bet to say he’d never been in a hospital. The stroke had left him aphasic (unable to speak) and unable to answer any of our questions.

The stroke had also left him paralyzed – a proud man suddenly caged in a flaccid body. No one had ever known Charlie to have shared his body with anyone. Now strangers were dressing and undressing him daily. We sat beside him and placed food in his mouth. We gave him medicine he didn’t want. Every two hours we placed the urinal for him.  His blank stare and the tears in his eyes told us how humiliated he was.

The speech therapist came every day for five days, but she reported to the doctor that he was non-compliant and wouldn’t try. She followed suit and quit trying, as well.  But Lou, the physical therapist, wasn’t so easily discouraged. Twice a day, she worked with Charlie. She rubbed, exercised, and stimulated his limbs any way she could.

“These legs have walked a lot of miles, Charlie, and they’ll walk many more.” She told him about other stroke patients and how they were progressing. She gave him small goals to attain. When he stared tearfully out the window, she pretended not to notice.

Finally, Lou’s efforts began to make a difference. During a morning session, Charlie attempted to make slight, gross motor movements.  Lou noticed and praised him up one side and down the other. As Charlie’s efforts increased, his tears decreased.

We were all elated with Lou’s reports, but still Charlie remained silent. The speech therapist had told us Charlie should be able to make sounds, but the nursing staff was convinced she was wrong. It had been weeks without any attempt at verbalization.

But then, one quiet night, nurses at the nurse’s station heard a strange guttural noise coming from room 116. They tiptoed down the hall to Charlie’s door. With eyes wide and giving each other the thumbs up as they listened from the hall, they quietly rejoiced at the sound of Charlie practicing sounds. Gradually the night time utterances turned into syllables. A week or so later,  the aide that picked up Charlie’s empty water pitcher nearly dropped it. Charlie had just looked her in the eye and said clearly, “Water, please.” She grabbed the phone beside his bed as she leaned over the side-rail and hugged him. The entire nursing staff responded to her page to come to room 116 where they  heard a successful repeat performance.

Lou would say she was just doing her job. Maybe – but she taught everyone of us how far a little persistence and encouragement can go. This is why the  remembrance of Charlie always spurs me to plant that seed of encouragement. It may not change someone’s life or attitude immediately, but coupled with persistence, it just might make a life changing difference.

Until next month, keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.

(If you like this style of writing, check out my book page on how to obtain my two Christian Fiction novels, set in the Sandhills of Nebraska.)