Once when I was recovering from surgery, I had the vantage point to observe a man in the bed across from me. I don’t confess to know his condition, but I surely saw a man with the life slowly drifting away.
Act 1: The wife
From my horizontal position, I saw a man who moved rarely, slept much and would not listen to the nurses, pleading with him to get up to clean himself or look out the window.
His wife came to visit and cursed him. Why did he sleep all day and night? He had agreed to get up and go to the lounge, why didn’t he get up? Like a grey mist rising out of quicksand, this man pulled himself up and dragged on a dressing gown. Again she cursed him to put on some real clothes. What I witnessed for the next 20 minutes was the tired fumbling and pulling of a jersey and trousers over a hospital gown, while the wife muttered anger; Her hurt was raw, but she would have nothing to do with his deliberate weakness. They left briefly, the wife walking purposefully ahead.
Act 2: The daughter
I heard his daughter visit, and in respectful terms tell him he would have to go into a home, because mum could not look after him any more. She told him how important it was for Mum, for the family that he just try. Her heartbreak was obvious. She told him she would come tomorrow to pick him up and they would go for a walk, see his grand children. Would he like that? He grunted a reply and for the first time I heard him speak, that he would be ready.
The nurses used this opportunity to encourage him, and said they would wake him early to help him get ready, that if he got up at a certain time he could be shaved and showered and it will be a wonderful change for him.
The next day even I observed the time for his visit. Despite the numerous efforts of the nurse, he would not respond. The time of the visit came and went, he lay in bed and his phone rang many times, but he would not pick it up.
Act 3: The social worker
I recognised the authoritative tones of the doctor, and soon arrived the social worker. Her precise tones could not have been more professional, logical and clearly laid out for him. He would have to make these certain practical changes and he could sleep at these times of the day and still look after himself if he applied balance. Even the man agreed this made sense and he would do it, to allow himself to stay at home. Things were going to improve, they would be better now, she said.
The next day the times and plans came and went as he lay in bed, not moving for the phone or the nurse.
Act 4: The Christian
Unable to speak and unable to separate myself from my own grief, I prayed for him. I learnt his name and unable to even articulate what I saw, I asked God to heal him, to save him. His plight filled me with despair, I felt the pain of his family, I could feel his pain and surely his physical body would soon follow in his decline. What no one else seemed to know or mention was his clockwork trips 3 times a day. Early in the morning, before I could even stir he would climb out of bed, pull on a dressing gown and return smelling of cigarette smoke. Like one dropping from a great height, the bed would creek and he would sleep once more.
It made me imagine a rich executive in some hire-rise office somewhere. Did he know that where all others had failed, what hurt, love and logic were unable to do, his tobacco product had managed to get a dying man out of bed?
Did I say the only thing? My prayers went unanswered while I was there, but I am asked to have faith in the things unseen. To this day, I still wonder what Jesus has done with my prayers.Once when I was recovering from surgery, I had the vantage point to observe a man in the bed across from me. I don’t confess to know his condition, but I surely saw a man with the life slowly drifting awa
Once when I was recovering from surgery, I had the vantage point to observe a man in the bed across from me. I don’t confess to know his condition, but I surely saw a man with the life slowly drifting away.
Act 1: The wife
From my horizontal position, I saw a man who moved rarely, slept much and would not listen to the nurses, pleading with him to get up to clean himself or look out the window.
His wife came to visit and cursed him. Why did he sleep all day and night? He had agreed to get up and go to the lounge, why didn’t he get up? Like a grey mist rising out of quicksand, this man pulled himself up and dragged on a dressing gown. Again she cursed him to put on some real clothes. What I witnessed for the next 20 minutes was the tired fumbling and pulling of a jersey and trousers over a hospital gown, while the wife muttered anger; Her hurt was raw, but she would have nothing to do with his deliberate weakness. They left briefly, the wife walking purposefully ahead.
Act 2: The daughter
I heard his daughter visit, and in respectful terms tell him he would have to go into a home, because mum could not look after him any more. She told him how important it was for Mum, for the family that he just try. Her heartbreak was obvious. She told him she would come tomorrow to pick him up and they would go for a walk, see his grand children. Would he like that? He grunted a reply and for the first time I heard him speak, that he would be ready.
The nurses used this opportunity to encourage him, and said they would wake him early to help him get ready, that if he got up at a certain time he could be shaved and showered and it will be a wonderful change for him.
The next day even I observed the time for his visit. Despite the numerous efforts of the nurse, he would not respond. The time of the visit came and went, he lay in bed and his phone rang many times, but he would not pick it up.
Act 3: The social worker
I recognised the authoritative tones of the doctor, and soon arrived the social worker. Her precise tones could not have been more professional, logical and clearly laid out for him. He would have to make these certain practical changes and he could sleep at these times of the day and still look after himself if he applied balance. Even the man agreed this made sense and he would do it, to allow himself to stay at home. Things were going to improve, they would be better now, she said.
The next day the times and plans came and went as he lay in bed, not moving for the phone or the nurse.
Act 4: The Christian
Unable to speak and unable to separate myself from my own grief, I prayed for him. I learnt his name and unable to even articulate what I saw, I asked God to heal him, to save him. His plight filled me with despair, I felt the pain of his family, I could feel his pain and surely his physical body would soon follow in his decline. What no one else seemed to know or mention was his clockwork trips 3 times a day. Early in the morning, before I could even stir he would climb out of bed, pull on a dressing gown and return smelling of cigarette smoke. Like one dropping from a great height, the bed would creek and he would sleep once more.
It made me imagine a rich executive in some hire-rise office somewhere. Did he know that where all others had failed, what hurt, love and logic were unable to do, his tobacco product had managed to get a dying man out of bed?
Did I say the only thing? My prayers went unanswered while I was there, but I am asked to have faith in the things unseen. To this day, I still wonder what Jesus has done with my prayers.
