That daily hour

It’s 5:45 p.m., time to go for our daily meeting. As usual, I put everything aside and get ready for the hospital visit. Then I realize there won’t be a meeting anymore. In fact, there won’t be a meeting for a long time to come until our Heavenly Father arranges one sometime, somewhere.

It was also her TV hour. The machine had the volume turned up loud. The medical staff nearby, though obviously disturbed, made no complaint, knowing that it was her only entertainment throughout the entire day. While massaging her limbs and enjoying the program with her at the same time, I had to throw occasional glances at her in case she needed help as she could not utter a sound, let alone calling for help. When she was seized with sudden coughs, which happened even in her sleep, I had to help her remove the saliva/phlegm by doing suctioning, a skill I had acquired through long experience, which gave me the satisfaction of medical work, though far from being professional. However, it was the responsibility of the nurses to deal with the phlegm deeper down the throat. It demanded immediate attention and that was the time I dreaded most as there was not always someone at the nurses’ quarters. Most of them had been summoned to various tasks in the wards. But when someone was available, I almost always had my request attended to. I felt so sorry, for example, to have to seek help from a nurse who had just finished a task somewhere and had sat down for a bite of her bread. The nurses there had actually got so much used to my frequent requests for suctioning that I would only have to show myself at the counter and the work was done.

There were few words between us. She ‘talked” by winking her eyes. I recited the alphabet letter by letter. On hearing the letter she wanted, she winked. By combining the chosen letters, I made up the word. And word by word I worked out the sentence. That was how we communicated. Most of the time, she wanted to make known to me her physical conditions, of which she had a strong sense of awareness. When in a good mood, however, she would ask less stressful questions such as those about her grandchildren. Her daughters were there, too, on regular visits. Together we worked on her different limbs. She felt apparently satisfied listening to us talking about everything, occasionally raising a question or contributing an idea. In fact, her intelligence was not the least affected by her handicapped state. We sometimes sought her advice when we had difficulty making a decision.

The fifteen-minute walk back home after the visit found me walking at a leisurely pace, partly due to my fatigue but mainly because of my deep thinking. It was the time when I prayed to God, making self evaluation of my performance and begging for better strength and perseverance. I felt consoled at the thought of her pain relieved with my help. I thanked Jesus for having been with me there, boosting my mood and telling me what to do when things went wrong and also holding me back when I was on the verge of losing my patience. Yes, I sometimes regretted my lack of patience - . I could have been more tolerant of her requests though I found them too demanding at times. I kept telling myself I would do better next time … as if there were always the next time.

No, there will not be the next hospital visit. From now on the hour will always find me lost in the treasured memories of our being together.