Presence Matters

I found myself in the back of an ambulance for the second time in the month.

The pain was excruciating. As soon as they pushed liquid pain relief through my cannula, it started to ease.

The paramedic knew what I needed to make me comfortable. He administered the drugs and sat with me till it started to take effect, then sat quietly.

Presence matters.

I was wheeled into a part of the A&E that I hadn’t been to before. I lay there so drugged but so aware of so many people milling around. I was also aware that Clive, my beloved one, was in another part of the hospital looking for me. I couldn't text him, so I asked the paramedic to message him directions so he could find me. He arrived in minutes, not receiving the text, but found his own way. He sat by my side throughout the night.

Presence matters.

Moved to a different room and later admitted to a different ward. Clive no longer could be with me; a gentle, softly spoken nurse would come to my side and say, “Angela, do you need more pain relief?”

Presence matters.

During a shift change, my kind nurse left and would be back again a few hours later. Another lovely nurse replaced her; he detached my drip and walked me to the toilet.

Presence matters.

I was admitted into the surgical ward. This would be my home for the week.

This was not my choice of holiday abode. The star rating would have to be very low because of my neighbours' noise levels and the staff's general demeanour. All jokes aside, the NHS is broken, and all the staff are doing the best they can with what they have been given. They are all on their knees.

There was a patient who had special needs who only shouted certain words. She couldn’t hold a conversation, but her shouting became quite wearing.

A student nurse brought her a magazine she couldn't read, but she would throw it on the floor; when someone picked it up for her, she would throw it on the floor again. This became her game. When I was not in pain, I would go and pick it up for her and tell her not to drop it. This would make her chuckle as she flung it over the bed once again. She would blow raspberries at the nurses who tried to change her.

When the doctors did their rounds and talked to the other patients, this patient would shout louder, wanting a response. They didn’t have time to play her game or talk with her.

Presence matters.

I tried to encourage the staff and listened to others as much as I could as I waited for the day of my surgery.

One night, a lady in the opposite room to me started screaming out in pain. It was 10 pm. I said to myself, I need sleep. The nurses must surely know that she needs help. I started to pray.

“God, I am a patient in this hospital; what am I supposed to do?”

I sensed that he wanted me to sit with her. I went to the toilet and tried to talk myself out of it.

I walked to the nurses' station and said: “I am sure you have heard the lady. Can you help her?” The nurse in charge said, “She is not due any medication till 10.30”

I went and sat beside the lady, who was still screaming in pain. Her hand was on her abdomen, and she was writhing on her bed.

I sat and gently placed my hand on her shoulder and said, “You are not alone. I know the pain is bad, but the nurse will give you meds soon”

With her eyes still closed, she said, “I am going to die”

I said, “Not on my watch” I whispered an arrow prayer and told her my name and said

“Do you have a garden at home?” Imagine you are in your garden. What is your favourite flower?”

She replied, “A rose” I told her to imagine a rose and its aroma. I encouraged her to think of her family and her safe place.

I swapped the dry wet wipe on her forehead for a cold, wet one.

I kept rubbing her shoulder and sat quietly. She stopped screaming. While sitting with her, I felt the Holy Spirit whisper, “Presence Matters.”

Later she started screaming again, and once again I went to the nurses' station, who told me to

“Look after yourself” So I had to obey and go back to my bed.

Over the days, my neighbours were swapped with quieter, sicker patients.

The beeping machines didn’t let me sleep much. To drown out the noise, I often put in my earbuds and listened to scripture lullabies.

One song I listened to on repeat was

Be still my soul

Be still and know that He is God

Rest quietly, rest in his loving arms

For He is watching over you, ever faithful, ever true

So be still my soul, be still and know He is God.

Be still my soul

Be still and listen for his voice

Rest in his peace

Knowing how much he cares for you

He is watching over you

Every faithful ever true

So be still my soul

Be still and know He is God.

These words were a balm for my mind and soul.

When finally I was allowed surgery, that’s another story!!

I was in the theatre and, to calm any nerves I had about the surgery, I started to sing that same song quietly to myself.

The anaesthetist chatted with me and put me at ease, and the next thing I knew was being woken up by an angel of a nurse who told me she had put a heated blanket over my very sore abdomen.

I thanked her, and she offered me the best chilled glass of water.

I asked her to call Clive, which she did immediately, and she came back and said, “He was relieved”

She was beside me the whole time that I came round, swapping the cold blankets for warmer ones.   I didn’t know her name, but I remembered how she made me feel.

Presence matters

I can't remember being wheeled back to the ward. I remember feeling so sleepy and thinking.

‘I hope Clive doesn’t wait till visiting time to come and see me’  I think I called him.

Minutes or hours later, I knew he was by my bed. I felt his calming presence before he even spoke.

Presence matters

Family and friends came to sit with me. Others sent beautiful cards, gifts and flowers.

I am so grateful for their prayers and support.

I was released on good behaviour!! How wonderful home is.

Healing has begun, and now I am trying to be patient in the process.