Keeping afloat in hospital

I watched a young mother phone her family from her hospital bed across from me.

The conversation was overheard in the darkness of the ward with about 10 beds. Full of those recently involved an accident or illness and an awful lot of elderly patients were in their midst. It was a group with which I was surrounded and I was kept awake at night by their groans of pain and sometimes excruciating cries of agony. Who knew that even a simple bed sore could cause every movement to be torturous? I grew to recognise the victim behind the drawn curtains. Their voices their groans and cries became familiar. Familiar but impossible to get used to. I don’t think we’re meant to lie and hear such suffering without responding in some way. And if we can’t respond by doing something useful then surely, we’re meant to respond in other ways? I think to be a human being is to be impacted by the suffering of others. If that does not occur, if there is no empathy then we’re all in trouble, deep trouble. 

The conversation started quite innocently she was telling her husband that she might have to stay another night in hospital, when they had been convinced that her release would be the next day. All her family members had been quite excited during visiting time that she would be back among them again not here imprisoned in the hospital ward with us. But a doctor had just informed her that her blood results were not quite as they should be and she would need to be another night tethered to a drip pumping medication through her system for hours. Devastated, she had phoned her husband late in the evening to break the bad news. He had sounded stoic. He was the one looking after their four-year-old daughter and probably had much juggling to do there, as well as keeping his young wife’s spirit high in this impossible situation. However, when he handed the phone to his daughter so that the four-year-old could say good night to her mummy, the four-year-old had been devastated. She cried. “I want my mummy! I want you here!” and just kept repeating the same thing again and again. Her mother was encouraging and bright and cheerful and said, “I’ll be there soon don’t worry it soon, it’s okay don’t worry, I’m fine. I’ll be home soon. I’ll soon be with you”, in a happy, enthusiastic voice. But the tears of the breathless four-year-old would not stop. The conversation ended and suddenly all the bravado that she had been bravely summoning drained away and she put her hands over her face and sobbed in the darkness. 

It’s heart-breaking at times this life. There’s not much anyone can do about that. But the least we can do is to be aware of the pain and the suffering and the hurt and not shut our eyes to it. What I wanted to highlight was how wonderful people can be in the face of such things. 

There was a Polish lady at the end of the ward who didn’t speak English and who tried repeatedly to engage with people with laughter with hand movements, but it’s difficult when you don’t know the language. Gradually, she became more subdued and more withdrawn. You could see the difference after three days her gestures became smaller and attempts to engage others stopped completely. Then, on the ward appeared a young doctor, not one of the ones who usually covered our medical ward, and he approached her bed and started speaking fluent Polish to her. It was wonderful to see her reaction at first incredulous and then this outpouring of words and sentences, talking excitedly. Her eagerness and happiness and opening of the floodgates was wonderful to behold. They chatted for about 10 minutes then he left. I wish he could’ve seen the lasting transformation his 10-minute visit meant to that elderly lady. It was one of those game changers and out of the sullen recluse emerged the chatty funny woman again.  

My next-door neighbour phoned to ask if I needed anything.  She was going abroad for a week but wanted me to know her husband was available for anything I needed. My other neighbour who lives opposite spotted me reversing out of our yard and ran over to ask about my relative in hospital.  Her concern was touching and she leaned in through my window and gave me a huge bone-crunching hug.  The neighbour on the other side stopped me on the pavement to present me with a huge cake yesterday.  It means so much to have kindness shown in difficult times.  I  make a mental note to be more attentive and responsive to those in need of kindness.

"Do not be content with showing friendship in words alone, let your heart burn with loving-kindness for all who may cross your path."

Abdu'l-Baha

Cities of bodies

Thanks for calling yesterday and truthfully sharing your feelings. I appreciate your honesty and openness. May you ever remain so translucent. You have no idea how you are missed, how you fill every space with light, love and music. So many people were touched by your presence here. I never got to meet the magic/fighting/colleagues at work but I did meet teachers/Belgium Nadine/Catherine etc and they all speak of you as if you are belonged to them! I have no idea how you worm your way into people’s hearts but it is a mighty capacity. You had it at a young age. I remember Ursula returned from a long absence from the island and she spotted you across the room and both of you run to hug each other. I must admit to feeling jealous. I wanted her to have missed me as much! 

My mum loved having you in her home. “So easy to live with and love”. Not a bad verbal portrait. Remember her telling you the story of the bird? Difficult, painful days when you were broken physically. I remember thinking how often can someone be de-cored like an apple until they bleed on a regular basis and not lose their very sanity. Life has been full of trauma for you. But your radiance has never faltered. You will ever be loved. As a wise man so eloquently put it, “if I was in a lost place and you were a complete stranger I'd want you to be my friend”. Likewise, if I was facing hell, I'd want no one else by my side. 

I heard what you said about the Big city and the people. Don't underestimate big cities. I've always felt, even while visiting for a few days, in big cities, as if there was a glass ceiling and, not only could I not really pray but, God felt so distant. I know it wasn't because God moved away, so I put it down to that toxic big city effect. Perhaps, they are places so filled with pain, loss and suffering they hurt the heart. So totally the opposite of Jimmy and the Eleni’s vegetable garden and barbecue space in Rhodes. Remember that dirty, lonely space you are living in now, is surrounded by all the lovely places around the world filled with people who love you deeply and sincerely. Whose love you have had a chance to bathe in year after year. Then, feel for those city dwellers, “cities of bodies” rather than the “country of souls”. They may not have experienced Ursula's hugs, Jimmy’s roasted goat balls (and yes, they were real goat’s balls!), mum’s soda bread and pancakes, your nephew’s hugs (albeit squeezed out of him), grandad’s endless teasing or your dad’s wonderful food. Your family and friends are bound to you in ways that the lonely can only howl in anguish that they know not such brotherhood. Bonds tested in battles, blood stained with backs against the wall, against all odds. 

I sat down at a table at Bucharest surrounded by strangers from Poland, Bulgaria, Kosovo and got talking to a young woman from the south of Poland. As we spoke, she looked familiar and I asked a few questions. She said she knew Sarah. Our Sarah! Then, I remembered visiting her home with Sarah on a two week trip in the 1990s in Poland. Suddenly, it was as if Sarah was sitting at the table beside us. My goodness the coincidences in life surprise and bewilder one. I am so grateful for having knowing Sarah and having seen her ability to love others. I remember us sitting together in a car and she confided to me that she missed her breast so much after the operation. Wondering what they had done with it. Burnt it, dumped it? We both sat and wept together for this lost breast. We can't do much for each other in this world at times. Sometimes we must just feel each other's pain and loss and just weep.