After my kidney transplant in 2004, I had an unexpected “wilderness experience” in which I was tempted and my patience was tested. Having been on dialysis, and then having my friend Mary offering to be a donor with a successful transplant, I was ready for it all to be behind me. I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. However, the transplanted ureter wasn’t large enough, so every three months I would have to go in for outpatient surgery to place a stint until it stretched enough. It was a routine disruption for a day, but really not that big a deal.

One day, I went in as usual, fasting because I had to be sedated, but this time as I lay on the table half asleep from sedation, I realized that everyone stopped, and that the doctors were huddled in one corner talking in quiet voices. I asked if anything was wrong, and was told that I needed to be admitted, because I was hemorrhaging. Well, let’s just say I wasn’t happy about this turn of events. While I was extremely grateful for all the wonderful care of my doctors, nursing staff, and new transplant, I’d had enough of being in the hospital.

I was told not to move at all—every movement had to be done by the nursing staff. I had tubes and wires going in and out of me everywhere, and I was propped on all sides by pillows to restrict me from even adjusting my position without someone helping. I am not a person who likes to sit still very long—I need to be active, so this was truly a test of my patience.

So, there I was—stuck—not too happy about it, and I began to learn about my 94-year-old roommate. I will call her Flo. God bless her, because through her and especially her loving family, from my position as a reluctant patient in a hospital bed, the Lord worked a change within me.