Analysis of The 151st Psalm

The 151st  Psalm
Just what did the kind-faced pediatrician see in her daughter's examination? It was never actually quite clear to her. In retrospect, she thought that she sort of understood—and she felt that she actually didn't.
Whatever it was, it led to a flurry of words and phone calls and ultimately to the loud resolute pulsing of an MR scan.
And from there, to a single room on the surgical floor at a Children's Hospital that she had previously only seen in the vague distance from the bridge—and on television. They arrived---she promised herself that she would remember the parking level—and then holding hands in mutual comfort they traversed some long hallways—with open working spaces for staff---with the accompanying sound of the rapid click of typing from countless keyboards---and the vague smell of orange-scented bleach.
The military, she reflected, had taught her a thing or two about terrain---and after the first white coat rounds of the morning, she engineered a much narrower pass into the hospital room--with some strategic rearrangements of the furniture.
And amidst snack runs for her daughter's favorites—and sorting out the right way to find Sponge Bob and Frozen---she settled into a seat that would control the seemingly endless flow of white coats into the room. No one—as it turned out--- said the shadow of a word about the rearrangement---and if there were some understanding small smiles---they were hidden under the Covid masks. But their faces and eyes were kind. Like the pediatrician's.
And she resolutely decided to hold until relieved.
When Dad arrived in the evening, with some grit remaining near his fingernails from his repair shop shift--- despite the grease-be-gone goop--she arose after some gentle conversation to take on a newly improvised mission to the chapel on the first floor.
Elevators, more hallways, past the gift shop that was shuttered for the night. And finally, the chapel door. She sat for a bit—she realized how truly tired she  was---noted that she felt much older than she had felt last week—and she stood up and  walked forward some paces. Softly, she opened the overly large visitor book and proceeded to write what can be fairly described as a veritable cry to heaven.
"Lord, please save her and protect her. We have traveled such a long way and we are tired and frightened.  Guide them in their work and take their hands in Yours. We have faith in You."
Note: The generally accepted theological position is that there are only 150 psalms. But on that evening, without much question, she wrote the 151st.