Psalm 48:9 (New International Version)
9 Within your temple, O God,
we meditate on your unfailing love.
Mum is in hospital being assessed. She seems a little brighter today (Tuesday)but was so happy when we arrived as soon as visiting hours started. She looked so lost, sitting beside her bed in a chair, waiting. I was given permission to stay beyond visiting hours, for which I was so grateful as I had three extra hours with her. Our hope is that she will get the treatment she needs to get better, but the hospital staff are thin on the ground and are very rushed and my worst fear is that her care there might be less. There are horror stories on the news about the hospitals here, and I see first hand how understaffed they are. I mustn't go there, so instead I will focus on the blessings for the past day or so.
I thank God for:
Carers who truly live up to their name; who touch Mum with gentle hands and speak to her in soft tones.
Dr. Potter, who kindly and seriously listened to my “diagnosis” of Mum’s condition (which was wrong,) and then explained several of the signs that he would expect to see (but wasn't) if my diagnosis was correct. I felt respected, treated gently, and heard.
For the cheery paramedics, Sue and Liz, who made the journey to the hospital, and wait there, a pleasure and who felt like friends by the end of a couple of hours.
For Angela, Mum’s assigned nurse in the Medical Assessment Unit, whom I observed for five and a half hours never walking at less than a brisk clip across the ward. She was obviously working extremely hard and over busy, but I was there for Mum and so I interrupted her anyway for things that were needed, and never received anything other than a patient, smiling response under obvious pressure.
For the young doctor who eventually assessed Mum (he might have been 40—everyone looks young to me these days.) When he asked Mum how she was feeling and she did not answer immediately, I explained that Mum would not mind us speaking for her, (Mum‘s standard response to doctors who inquire as to her wellbeing is to brightly and politely say, “I’m very well, thank you.”) The doctor put up his hand to stop us, and insisted on talking first to Mum. He became an instant hero in my eyes. When he drew the curtain around her bed to examine her, we listened as he asked her what she had done when she worked. “I was a typist,” said Mum. And she was, when she was 18. We heard him reply, “You have typist’s hands.”
Lord, please bless each one of these dear people, whose hands have touched Mum; whose words have fallen on her ears, and whose gifts and skills have ministered caring and healing to her.
Prayer is to live life in the presence of God