I was quickly placed on a gurney and taken out to an ambulance. Mary climbed in and rode with me to Montefiore Hospital, about five blocks from our apartment building. They took me into the Emergency room, where Mary could not follow, so she walked home. But we kept in touch by phone throughout my time there, and once I was in a room upstairs, she was able to visit. Still, I am not a fan of hospitals or emergency rooms, and I soon felt my anxiety rising while waiting for some information. I decided to focus on the other people in the ER: doctors, nurses, medical techs, EMTs and patients. I tried to keep each one in prayer as they came into view. I began to feel calmer.
The doctor came to see me, and informed me that I had suffered an AFIB (atrial fibrillation) attack, when the upper and lower chambers beat out of synch, causing the pulse rate to increase to high levels and sometimes plunge to low levels within seconds. The doctor told me they wanted to keep me overnight for observation, but I had to wait for a room, as the hospital was full at the moment. Meanwhile, to keep at bay the rising anxiety, I kept focusing on the other people in the ER. I also remembered a podcast I heard by an Episcopal priest, Cynthia Taylor, whose church in Tennessee had a “Blessings” ministry. They would look for opportunities to pray for other people. For example, if they were having a meal at a restaurant, they might tell the waitress they were just about to say grace and wondered if she might need a blessing she would like them to pray for. People responded positively to this, sometimes remarking that it was the first time anyone had ever prayed for them. While this ministry appealed to me very much, speaking to strangers about praying for them is not something that comes naturally to me. I tend to be very shy when surrounded by people I don’t know. Still, I thought my stay at the hospital might provide me with opportunities to try it. In fact, I did try it three times during my two-and-a-half day stay.
First, while I was still in the Emergency room. I had just heard I was to be transferred upstairs when a woman who performed various tests on me asked if I wanted dinner. I told her I was about to leave, but she said it would still take some time, and I might not be able to get dinner by the time I got to my room. Did I want “fish or chicken?” I opted for fish, and she soon returned with a platter containing a chicken dish and a paper bag. She told me they were out of fish, but she managed to get me a bag lunch containing a tuna sandwich, fruit and cookies. I could eat whatever I wanted, so I opted for the tuna lunch, which was surprisingly good. I decided I wanted to thank her for her extra efforts and offer to pray for her, but I didn’t see her again until I was in the process of being moved upstairs. Surrounded by all these other strangers, I told her, “Thanks for the tuna sandwich!” “How was it?” she asked. I said, “Delicious. I just wanted to thank you and tell you I will keep you in my prayers.” She looked surprised and touched, and she said “Thank you” as they wheeled me away.
The next opportunity came when a “patient assistant” was trying to take some blood. She was having the usual problems with my magic veins and apologized to me. I said it was okay. I was used to it. Eventually, she gave up on my right arm and moved over to my left. She was able to get the blood she needed, and she apologized to me again for having to try twice. “I’m used to it,” I said, “I will keep you in my prayers.” She laughed, which I took as a positive response.
My final effort came as I was checking out. My roommate for the time I was in that room was a Mr. Dutton. He was a very quiet man, and we barely exchanged a word while we were together. I noticed, though, that all the staff seemed to treat him very affectionately, calling him pet names and always asking how he was doing, even though his responses were minimal. On our final day, we were both told that we would be checking out that day. A social worker came to speak to Mr. Dutton. I picked up enough from their conversation to understand that Mr. Dutton was living temporarily somewhere and was waiting for acceptance in some sort of assisted living. He was concerned about taking his medications and getting around to his appointments. The whole time we were there together, he never spoke to anyone on the phone or had any visitors. He was still waiting for ambulance transport while I checked out and was about to head home. I decided to say goodbye to him. I said, “I hope you are able to leave here soon, Mr. Dutton. I wish you well and will keep you in my prayers.” He said “Thank you, I’ll do the same for you,” and extended his hand. In these pandemic days, I hesitated a moment, but then realized I was not going to leave without returning his handshake.
I was happy that I had been able to reach across my normal boundaries and offer to pray for these people. Whether I will be able to do it again, we shall have to wait and see.
I am feeling fine these days, by the way, taking some new medications and checking in with the cardiologist. I think the future is bright, and there is much on my agenda for the years ahead. If you need any prayers, let me know. I will be happy to include you in mine.
