Star Bright, Star Bright
by Janilou
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Inspirational short Story. A night in the Intensive Care Unit
Dedicated to those who have given up hope. God loves you.
Star Light, Star Bright
Screeeccchhh.
The old woman pulled the chair away from the window and I shuddered as the metal legs
skidded across the white vinyl floor tiles. Fighting off a wave of weariness, I released my grip
on her grandson’s limp wrist. His dark-skinned arm rolled back onto the stark, white sheet and
lay as still as death.
Glancing at my watch, I noted there were just thirty-five minutes left of my shift. I hope I don’t
get this room again tomorrow night. Only two weeks to go. I hated looking after comatose
patients; the living dead whose hope for recovery made winning the lottery seem simple in
comparison. After twenty years of nursing, I’d burned out.
"Let me write down his pulse-rate, and I can help you position the chair," I offered.
Wiping her wrinkled brow, the old woman’s lips struggled to form the briefest of smiles in
return, but grief flooded across her face like a tsunami engulfing a struggling swimmer. "Thank
you, missie. I’d appreciate that. I’m late tonight. Had to visit another young man. Are you new?"
"Yes, ma’am. I’m the relief nurse. I usually work in Plastic Surgery, but they call me in to work
here in the I.C.U. when they’re short-handed."
Scribbling down the pulse and blood-pressure reading, I slipped around the bed, and lifted the
chair as close to the bed as it would go. "Would you like me to put the bedrail down?"
Seeing her nod, I reached over and collapsed the rail, before helping her into the chair.
"The machines never hush," she muttered.
The constant beeping, whirring and whooshing of the ventilator and heart monitors kept up
their evening serenade like frogs and crickets by a pond, as daylight vanished outside the
double paned window behind the bed.
"How was his day, Nurse?"
Looking up from my chart, I noted the glimmer of hope struggling through the resident grief
and winced. My mind raced through my shift, searching for a single event, anything I could tell
her that might bring hope, or promise of improvement. I opened my mouth to speak, but no
words came.
Her face fell. "Ah, I see. No change today."
My heart twisted, and an uncomfortable warmth spread up my cheeks. "I’m sorry. Not today.
Although, the morning nurse did say he seemed less restless."
I watched her cup his limp hand in hers and stroke his smooth skin. They told me she came
every day at eight and stayed until the last bus left at night for her home in a neighboring
suburb.
Leaning against the bed, she spoke to her grandson in a soft whisper. "Nathaniel John, you
listen here. You’re all I have left in the whole wide world, and Lord knows, I won’t have you
giving up on me. You need to get better, you hear? Land sakes, you’re only twenty-two-years-
old. Just a youngster."
The rhythmic beeping of his heart-monitor didn’t alter. I eased myself onto the stool at the end
of his bed and flicked through his notes. It read like a bad movie script: Bradford, Nathaniel J.
MVA (Motor Vehicle Accident) Multiple Trauma. Head injury. All other members of family D.O.
A. at St. Luke's Medical Center.
A yellow sticky note taped to the nurse’s work station read: "If patient regains consciousness,
call Dr. Lambert immediately. Do not discuss accident or patient’s condition with members of
press."
The one other survivor of the tragic accident was the driver who’d crossed the yellow line and
wiped out this woman’s entire family. Five people died that day. Her grandson probably wouldn’
t see the end of the week. Even in a big city, the sensationalism of a multiple-fatality car
accident always attracted the media’s attention. Cameras poised, they hovered like vultures,
waiting for a young man to die.
The howling of an approaching siren grew louder as yet another ambulance approached the
hospital. Slipping from my seat, I walked across the room. "Would you like me to shut the blind,
Mrs. Bradford?" Somehow, shutting out the night seemed to lessen the impact of constant
reminders of another life in crisis.
The old lady looked up. "Now, missie, I can’t wish on one of God’s stars if you go and do that."
I looked out into the tepid night. The hideous neon emission from the metropolitan monstrosity
we called our city, leaked upwards into the sky, hiding any semblance of natural star light. No
one can see a thing through all those lights. God’s stars indeed. How could there be a God
who allowed such pain?
The old lady stood and walked on stiff legs to join me at the window. She placed a gnarled
hand on my shoulder.
"Ah, I know what you’re thinking, child," she clucked. "Just 'cause you can’t see those stars,
doesn’t mean for a moment they aren’t there. I can close my eyes and see every one of them.
Like diamonds sewn into a velvet blanket by God's hand. Why, as a child, I used to lay out on
my lawn with my brothers, and watch them glitter for hours. Can’t you see them?"
She pointed, peering into the ocher haze.
I shook my head. "I’m sorry. I don’t."
"You have to look with your heart," she sighed.
She glanced back at her comatose grandson. "Every now and then, when I was a little girl, one
of those poor stars would fall to earth. Mama always said God stays up all night, searching for
those fallen stars. Even though they look dull and ugly here on earth, He knows them by sight
and name. He gathers up those fallen stars, and takes them home to heaven, where they
shine more glorious than ever before. When morning comes again, the new day brings new
hope for everyone."
Head nodding ever so slightly, she searched the sky. "Star light, star bright, help me feel God’
s love tonight."
I stood motionless by her side.
She looked away from the window and sighed. "Nurse, I’m asking God to heal my grandson. He’
s all I have left in the world. I’m not sure I can go on without Nathaniel, but I’ll do my best, if it’s
God’s will. Seeing those stars in my heart brings me hope and lets me feel God’s love. If I can’t
do that, what do I have left?"
"I’m sorry, Mrs. Bradford," I stammered. "Of course you should hope. There's always hope," I
lied.
"Now, you call me Nellie, you hear?" she said. Patting my hand, she shuffled across to the
bed, and sank into the chair. "What’s your name, child?"
"Elizabeth."
She nodded her approval. I glanced at my watch again. Under her warm gaze, I moved around
the bed, repositioning the pillow between her grandson’s legs. "I have to call the other nurses
in to help me turn him over in a moment, before I go home."
She smiled. "You handle him so gentle-like. You care about him, don’t you? I can see it. You’re
a born nurse." Her gaze fell onto my left hand. "Where’s your wedding ring, girl?"
Stunned by her scolding tone, I looked down. The vacant, pale shadow where my ring usually
hugged my skin stood out like a ghostly reminder of what should have been. "I, uh, my
husband left me for another woman," I blurted out.
Smoothing the sheets, I looked away and fussed over her grandson, taking a washcloth and
wiping the beads of sweat from his brow. Why did I tell her about that? What’s wrong with me?
Nellie stared at me, hands pressed together, and tears rolling down her wrinkled cheeks.
"Poor Elizabeth," she whispered. " It’ll be alright. You’ll see. God knows how much you’re
hurting. Just because you can’t see Him, doesn't mean He isn’t there. He loves you, child. Don’
t stop believing when life gets hard. That’s when you need Him the most. Poor child."
The sweet scent of lavender drifted around me as she leaned forward and kissed my cheek.
I swallowed hard. How does she know I don’t believe in God any more?
The night nurse bustled into the room. "Hello!" she exclaimed. "Evening, Nellie. I see you made
it in okay. I’ll be Nathaniel’s nurse again tonight. Let me get the ‘handover’ from Elizabeth here,
and I’ll go make you a cup of hot tea before you head home."
Leaning over the charts, the night nurse muttered, "Isn’t Nellie amazing? Every night, before
she comes here, she goes to visit the other young man in Ward 5B, the one who caused the
accident, so she can pray with his family."
"It doesn’t surprise me a bit," I said.
Stepping up to the bed, I walked over and touched my patient’s brow. "Goodnight, Nathaniel."
Looking at the saint sitting beside him, I added, "Goodnight, Nellie. I hope he gets better soon."
"He will, child. Either here on earth with me, or in heaven with his Maker. The stars will shine
again for you, too, Elizabeth," she whispered, squeezing my hand.
"Thank you." Giving her a quick hug, I stepped back. The evening nurse began chatting with
Nellie, so excusing myself, I left the room.
Outside in the yellow haze, another ambulance roared around me, red lights reflecting off my
name badge as I waited for my taxi to arrive. The massive building behind me twinkled and
glowed like a patchwork quilt of light squares. Each room above me contained someone’s life,
and their unwritten future, unfolding with each new day and every new shift.
Looking into the hazy sky, I still couldn’t see the stars. Hope. God’s Love. Nellie’s words
fluttered through my empty heart like butterflies on a summer’s day. An angel on earth
dressed like a grandmother. Sitting by her dying grandson’s bed, she had wept not for herself,
or him, but for me, the burned out nurse. Where do you find unselfish love like that?
Ignoring the drizzle stinging my face, I closed my eyes and whispered, "Star light, star bright,
help me feel God’s love tonight."