The gift of life comes wrapped in many different ways and is all the more cherished for being wrapped with much care and attention. (The rest you will have to find out for yourself).
Before he passed away five years ago my late husband Patrick was all I ever needed. Patrick made life fun and at the same time safe somehow. Life was an adventure to be explored, an opportunity to be seized with both hands and not let go until it had given up all it held. Even my inability to have children because of a life saving hysterectomy early in my marriage could not rob us. We took every opportunity to enjoy other people’s children - and the immense pleasure of being able to hand them back at the end of the day and gladly retreat into the uncomplicated company of each other. We may not have been parents but we were a much loved - if slightly crazy - Uncle and Aunt to many. But we were rovers and they are half a world away now and grown up with families of their own.
But it was different now. I felt so alone there in the hospital. Not the chatty old lady plugged into the bed by a variety of tubes and wires connected to equally chatty machines and screens, ready to tell all and sundry my most intimate details, but the scared little girl huddled inside the "tough old bird". The world had become a darker, more dangerous place for an old lady living alone. A confusing place where those who should visit don't, and those unwanted prowlers who do visit without invitation or permission, shouldn't. Well at least now I'm not alone - well physically anyway. But now, more than ever before I needed someone to be beside me. I never knew my biological father, but there was a time, through my faith, that I had known a father's love. He was always there to cling on to when the going got tough, but we shared the good times too, just like a loving father and daughter should. But in the fullness of my life with Patrick I had let myself drift away. I felt that I had lost contact with my “other” father over the years and now it seemed I was to face the toughest time of all - alone. But then suddenly there was Andrew.
I'd first noticed him about eight weeks ago although for how long he had been quietly slipping in behind the doctors and nurses on their regular raids of my private room I could not tell. I soon noticed that he would also appear elsewhere as I traveled the length and breadth of the hospital to be pinched, prodded, punctured, and pummeled in a never ending round of tests and treatments. What caught my attention was the way he would stand back and just watch while the doctors and nurses swarmed about on their appointed tasks. The mystery deepened as day after day I pieced together just who was who and who did what in the assorted stream of masks and gowns that bustled through my room with annoying regularity. A telling comment here, an introduction there, and the odd question enabled me to eventually sort out this mini army that now ran my life. Dr Phillips the eminent and much respected oncologist (never did learn his first name), Matron Warrener ("Warden" Warrener to her staff - at least in her absence). Bet and Christine the ward nurses (never did learn their last names), Nigel and Gary the orderlies, and Louise and Anne who brought the meals with a certain - not altogether unwarranted - air of apology. And then there were those who reigned in those small kingdoms in the other parts of the hospital and to whom I must travel to hold court in their own sacrosanct, equipment filled domains. But "Little Jack Horner", as I soon christened him for his corner hugging habits, remained a complete mystery.
"Little Jack Horner" neither spoke nor, it seemed, was ever spoken to. Indeed, if anything, it was like he went out of his way to purposely avoid any contact with the other staff and was always the first out of the door, usually managing a good ten paces head start. I quizzed Bet and Christine about him but they had no idea who he might be as they accounted for all of my usual attendees. Neither of them could recollect noticing anybody who shouldn't be there and trying to describe him was useless as "average height and build, average complexion, hospital cap and gown", only narrowed it down to two thirds of the male staff of what was a very large hospital. At least it gave me something to do other than be an unwilling spectator at my own health crisis.
But today it was different. Today my mystery man missed his ten pace head start. Indeed he missed the exodus all together, remaining secreted in his special corner of my room. It seemed like forever before he stirred, enough time at least for a little tight knot to tie itself around my stomach and hitch itself up a few notches. I suddenly became acutely aware of just how distrustful I had become of younger people, men especially. Seeing in each one a potential mugger, rapist, or at best con artist, looking for an easy target. There is a period when an older woman might be flattered by, and indeed sometimes even take enjoyment from, the attentions of a younger man, but the really old and weak, it would seem, are attractive only to predators. But the closer "Little Jack Horner" came the smaller the knot became until it totally lost itself in some vague corner of my anatomy. This was different, "Mr Horner" hadn't been the only one doing the watching, so he was kind of familiar now. Something in the way he moved and smiled, and looked you square in the eye had eventually quelled my predator fears to the point where it was overwhelmed by sheer curiosity. Besides I was getting recklessly desperate for company - any company.
Still strangely non-descript my mystery man stood up well to close inspection. I judged him to be in his late thirties or early forties with that sort of nice "log fire and hot cocoa" air of warmth about him. His face smiled. "Hi!" he said, in this sort of liquid amber mellow voice, "I think it is time I introduced myself, I'm Andrew." "Andrew ....?" I raised one quizzical eyebrow. A moment of indecision ran across his face before he quickly added, "Jones, Andrew Jones," with the kind of relief reminiscent of someone who has been holding their breath while frantically searching for something important. He paused for a moment and a small sparkle briefly lit up his eye, it was a sparkle I'd get to know very well, "Your probably wondering what I do here". "Now that's the understatement of the month", I thought to myself. But my mouth just said, "Yeah". A moment of concern clouded otherwise remarkably serene features as truth and compassion struggled as only they do in the sincere of heart. The moment passed, vanquished by the light of inspiration. "I'm with intensive care. I'm here to ensure you are being well looked after and resting comfortably".
From then on Andrew no longer slipped in with the others. Instead he would pop in by himself frequently and bring me things to make my confinement more comfortable. Books, newspapers, toiletries, a steady stream of flowers. Frequently he would manage to sneak in the odd box of chocolates, although he always ensured I had a proper balanced diet covering all the major food groups - KFC, Pizza Hut, McDonald's, etc. How he managed to get it all passed "Warden" Warrener I'll never know but often the opportunity to "pull one over" her would brighten my whole day. My inner child was having a BALL! Other times Andrew would just sit and talk, and hold my hand. Sometimes it was just enough for him to be there and sometimes even when he wasn't it was just enough that he existed.
Then of course there were the "escapades". The midnight kitchen raids (although I can tell you there aren't many spoils in a hospital kitchen), the moonlight strolls, doing our own rounds of the wards making new friends. We almost had to get retreads for the wheelchair. He was quite adept at unhooking me from the mini-lab that passed as my bed and hooking me up again after. Obviously he had worked here for a long time. I remember one time even having a wheelchair race with Mary Cooper who we met in ward 5. Mary was in for a Gallbladder operation to remove some Gallstones. Andrew introduced me to Tony whom he said was a colleague of his who was looking after Mary, and next thing I knew there we were racing full pelt down the corridors, me and Andrew versus Tony and Mary. We won but it would seem we shook the gallstones right out of Mary. It was five days later before the doctors finally admitted that they just could not find them any more and sent her home. I told Andrew that her church was calling it a miracle but he just flashed one of his sparkles and said, "Of course you have to get the vibrations just right". Unfortunately my tumour, it appeared, was made of sterner stuff.
It was incredible just how much pure fun you can have when you are restricted to a hospital bed. Andrew helped me to look beyond the four neatly tucked corners of my bed and learn that whatever life I had I not only had to seize it with both hands but to wring out every drop from it so that when I left each day behind I took with me every memory, and every promise and possibility it could have held. And something else I noticed, life was no longer one big pain. The pain was still excruciating at times but it was no longer my life, the centre of a diminished existence. Now it was quite literally just a pain in the neck. A big one admittedly but none-the-less just a pain.
Andrew possessed an immense strength of character but with immeasurable kindness and gentleness. You knew you were safe with Andrew around. Were I a bit younger I might have wanted Andrew in a different way but mostly I found, more than anything I wanted him as a son. To have been able to say "This is my son Andrew" would have given me all the pleasure I needed. But like any mother I was beginning to read Andrew like a book. There was something he needed to tell me but was not sure how best to do it. So next time he popped in I just hit him with it straight up. "O.K. Andy baby your holding out on me, c'mon spill it." There was that brief cloud of concern again. "OK", he relented "remember when I said I was with intensive care?" "Yeah like I believed that!" I interjected with a smile. "Well that wasn't quite ... accurate." The words came slowly as from one who handles the truth with great care and reverence. "I'm really with the palliative care unit." We both let that sink in for a bit before we went on to discuss my prognosis. "How long do I have?" I eventually asked. Andrew leant over and smiled "The real question is - How long do you believe you have?" and suddenly the sparkle was back. Apparently the fun was not yet over. After that Andrew still took care of my needs and desires and made it all bearable but now it also included getting my affairs in order and making funeral arrangements and occasionally comforting me when I needed it.
It took Dr Phillips several more days to get around to discussing my prognosis which was pretty much more or less as Andrew and I had discussed before so obviously he and Dr Phillips had been discussing my case - or so I thought. "As you know", Dr Phillips said in the kindly but somewhat aloof manner doctors adopt when they are dealing with someone they care about but know it is best not to get too attached to, "the tumour is inoperable. Unfortunately ..." "What a singularly stupid word for such occasions," I thought to myself. "... it has not responded to treatment", Dr Phillips continued unaware of my mental musings. "I know", I said, as if it was old news, which, in a way, it was. Dr Phillips faltered in his prepared oratory. "Just how does one prepare to tell someone they will very shortly disappear from the face of the earth and can't do a thing about it?", I mused to myself as I waited, the rebel in me secretly pleased to stuff up his carefully planned spiel. I mean if your on the slide anyway you may as well have fun on the way down . "Good grief, I sound like Andrew", I smiled to myself. Dr Phillips meantime was rapidly eyeballing all the staff in the room in succession and receiving the same response from each. "Don't look at me", said each raised eyebrow and shrugged shoulder before another set of eyeballs joined in the search for the guilty party. The roving eyeballs having exhausted all potential targets in the room finally settled back on me. "How do you know?" Dr Phillips finally asked. "Andrew told me", I replied hoping I was not getting him into too much trouble. All the eyeballs had another quick unspoken conference with eyebrows and shoulders working overtime again. "I see", mumbled Dr Phillips in that way which really says no I don't but I've stopped looking, as he sought the safety of his prepared monologue once again. Of course by this time I had lost all interest in the petty details. I mean, being told that you will soon die and there is not a blessed thing that can be done about it pretty much tops any discussion.
Andrew popped in later waving a KFC box in each hand and I recounted my meeting with Dr Phillips as we ate. Andrew was most impressed that I was able to still have a little fun with it. But I had been doing some thinking since the meeting and I looked Andrew squarely in the eyes. "They don't know who you are do they? You don't work for the hospital at all." I had always had my doubts but enjoyed his company too much to ask outright in case it burst my one remaining bubble of joy in life. "Never said I did", he grinned before hamming it up tip-toeing to the end of the bed and pinching my charts before bringing them up to me. "That's true ", I thought as he handed me the clipboard and said cryptically, "Bottom of page two". I lifted the first page and dropped my eyes to the bottom of the second. There in the sprawling hand of Dr Phillips it read, "Talks of a mystery visitor 'Andrew'. Humour her - Mental integrity no longer a priority". Of all the emotions I could have felt the one that hit me was disappointment. "Does this mean your just the meanderings of a feeble old mind?", I asked not really wanting to hear the answer. Andrew smiled and leant forward so I could get a good look at the sparkle in his eyes and said, "The question is - do you believe I am." "How am I supposed to know", I cried surprised to find tears in my eyes. "Maybe I'll just leave these KFC wrappers here for Matron Warrener to find", Andrew teased, "but seeing as I'm here we may as well enjoy the time." And raving lunatic or not I did enjoy the afternoon with him. But as he stood to leave I couldn't help it, I had to know. "Andrew", I said softly as he tidied up ready to go, "leave the wrappers here". I thought he might be hurt by my doubt but he just smiled and flashed two sparkling eyes at me and with a bow and a flourish let it rain KFC wrappers and boxes all over the floor. "Oops", he grinned, "Matron will be upset!"
I was not surprised when Matron came in later and saw nothing. What did surprise me was when Christine came in about a minute before her and had a pink fit before hurriedly gathering up all the boxes and wrappers and stuffing them into an unused drawer, to be disposed of properly later. As she closed the drawer and straightened up Christine shot me a quizzical look just as Matron breached the door of the ward. I just gave Christine the biggest smile of my life and mouthed, "Andrew". "That'll take her mind off the job for the rest of the day", I giggled to myself. "Good Grief", I thought, "I haven't giggled for such a long time - definitely overdue!"
It was the next afternoon before I saw Andrew again. I was really tired and had been feeling quite unwell all day. It was all I could do to just lie there quietly. That was something I did like about the hospital, you could just lie there for ages and not move a muscle. I had been reveling in this little luxury for quite a while when Andrew came in absolutely beaming from ear to ear. That smile of his was positively viral in its infectiveness. "What are you smiling about?" I managed around a stifled grin. "You're getting out of hospital today", he positively radiated, the sparkles coming thick and fast. "Andrew", I laughed, "you've been the dearest angel to me these past few weeks but even you could not pull off a miracle like that", nodding toward the assorted tubes and wires that sprouted from various parts of my anatomy. "You're crazy" I said and then paused, "You know I think you are the only thing I am going to miss when I finally go." "Betcha don't" he grinned. There was that mischievous sparkle again. "OK Andrew" I demanded, giving him the look only someone old enough to be your mother can get away with. "Time for the whole story." "I do think you are right", he said jovially. "I really AM in palliative care - just not with the hospital. Your father sent me to bring you home. Ready? Or are you going to continue lazing away the rest of your life in that bed forever."
It wasn't the total surprise I thought it would be. I think sometime over the last few weeks I had somehow half guessed, half hoped. I was about to say that I needed to rest just now when I realised that I had been feeling quite well again for sometime now - very well in fact. "Why yes! I do believe I am ready", I said raising a hand and affecting the drawl of a southern belle, "Let's go". Andrew didn't miss his cue and with a flourish took my hand and gave it an elegant kiss before helping me to my feet. We were almost out of the door before I stopped. "What about my things?" "Do you think you will be needing them?" Andrew smiled. I looked back. One book, today's newspaper, a few toiletries, a bunch of flowers, some framed pictures, one tired, old, used body. "No ... I don't think I will at that" I smiled turning back to Andrew before resuming our casual arm-in-arm stroll down the corridor. My but it was good to feel young again. "By the way, just who are you, REALLY?" Andrew stopped, faced me and drawing himself up into his full height snapped a smart salute. "Angel, 1st class, Andrew, 12th Brigade, Guardian Division at your service Ma'am" he managed to get out before bursting out laughing. "You did good soldier", I laughed snapping a salute right back at him before we headed off back down the corridor like a couple of school kids again.
It was great to be in the sunshine again. "Don't we have to go somewhere now?" I queried as we strolled through the park across the road enjoying things I thought I'd never see again. "Plenty of time", Andrew grinned, "You'll soon get the hang of it.", he added cryptically. "He's right", I thought, "I'm still thinking in the old way". About ten minutes later I burst out laughing. "Sorry Andrew", I sputtered, "remember when you said 'The real question is - how much time do you believe you have'?" "Yeah", he grinned. "Well I just got it!". "And ..." he prompted. "Why I do believe I have all the time in the World - and out of it", I answered swirling around on the grass like a teenager.
Later as we walked toward the dusk of the first day of the rest of my life I "got" something else, but only the merest hint of a smile crossed my lips on this revelation. Boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands, wives, it was all meaningless here in this place, but the need for companionship remained as strong as ever. I knew that in this place there would be no strangers, and it will be great catching up with Patrick again. But Andrew was the special friend that helped me to get here and because of that we would always have that extra special bond that everybody needs at least one of. I looked across at Andrew. From the moment I first met him I knew that Andrew had a great gift for companionship. But it was only now I realised that Andrew WAS the gift. "Thank you father", I said under my breath, "you picked him well!"
This book consists of a 150 pages of Christian poetry about the end of time and the Second coming of Jesus Christ not as a servant but as a King, the King of kings. To bring righteousness and peace to the earth and restore the government of God! Peac
In "A Touch of Your Presence" are words that would inspire, encourage and strengthen one's soul when faced with challenges and difficulties and to know the awesomeness of God's power.
