Thought for the week: Bob Ward is in good nick
‘Everything appeared set up for intense boredom, but that was not how the experience turned out.’
An unexpected not-so-funny-turn pitched me into a hospital A&E department recently. For four nights I was parked in a bed with none of my usual baggage: no books, PC, newspapers or TV. Visitors were not permitted on account of the pandemic. Everything appeared set up for intense boredom, but that was not how the experience turned out.
The ward where I was placed consisted of three bays on either side of a large open space, the setting for a distinctive kind of life. So I became a participant observer of the interactions between all those who entered the arena. ‘I’m pushing ninety-three’ remarks the crumpled gentleman across the way to a nurse. ‘What’s your secret?’, she asks respectfully.
Medical workers require the gift of being able to approach a patient as a stranger, yet achieve an instant rapport. Other professionals might say the same but in healthcare the physical intimacy calls for personal qualities of a profound kind.
It occurred to me that even the patient has a duty of care towards the carers. This is implicit within the concept of a National Health Service, because the NHS is owned and supported by the whole community. We share in the responsibility to make it work. In a broad sense we are all part of the service.
While reflecting in this way, I recalled the period I spent acting as a minister in prisons. Prisons are monuments to distrust: who can you rely on? All activities are guarded; keys rattle at every door. I was given the task of working with prisoners to explore ways whereby people can build trusting relationships. It was a tough call but not without some progress. When prisoners are released, nobody claps. The community owns the prisons every bit as much as the NHS but by and large it doesn’t care to acknowledge them. Circles of Support and Accountability point the way but they are not enough.
A Covid alert at the hospital meant that on discharge I needed to go into self-isolation at home, occupying one room for twelve days. I became a hermit, a shelled walnut held in the palm of God. The experience was a far cry from a prison, and I was well supported by my family, but I had to adapt to being confined. Nevertheless, I felt myself to be in a healing space where love knocked gently on the door; there was an atmosphere of trust. A tablet enabled me to Zoom into a Meeting for Worship with local Friends. This was not like prison; I was accepting the discipline to protect those I care for.
In lockdown, our town is a near-empty arena. We hang on without hanging out with anyone. Yet coming through this experience my sense of gratitude has sharpened, not least for acts of neighbourliness. Truly I’m blessed, held in the palm of God. Could that be the secret?
You need to login to read subscriber-only content and/or comment on articles.