BoomerGirl Diary

Over 30 years ago, before the advent of keyhole procedures, I had emergency gall bladder surgery. Several doctors had told me I was “too young” for such a condition and by the time of the operation, I was extremely ill with related complications. I knew it was serious when a priest arrived at my hospital bed to anoint me (in those days this was called the Sacrament of Extreme Unction, enough to scare the healthy never mind the sick.)

Post-op I still felt intense pain and nausea, registered distress and tried to call out but found no voice. Death seemed like an option. In the midst of the enveloping darkness, I felt a gentle pressure on my hand and a soothing voice whispered in my ear:

“Eileen, the surgery’s over; it all went well.”

The gentle stroking penetrated whatever semblance of consciousness remained.

“You’re doing great, Eileen,” the voice assured me.

It lingered; embraced, encouraged. and comforted me,

I felt a deep sense of peace and even relief from pain. From time to time, I felt the gentle stroking on my hand. I was too weak to open my eyes fully but felt sure God had sent an angel to comfort me.

Later, while drifting in and out of sleep in Intensive Care, and too weak to do much of anything else, the Mother Superior (head nun) came to visit. She stood by the bed, concern written all over her face.

“You were lucky to pull through, we nearly lost you,” she said in clipped tones.

I wanted to cry, but lacked energy. I couldn’t form words.

“I won’t stay,” she said. “You really need to rest.”

My brain screamed, “Please stay and hold my hand.”

I moved my hand, with all the attachments, and tried to invite comfort. She couldn’t oblige. She was unable to give me the gift of her presence.

A few days later, when I was sitting up and taking notice, I discovered my angel’s name was Debbie, a newly qualified nurse.

I thanked her for all she’d done for me. She looked perplexed.

“What did I do?”

“You held my hand and said my name. You reassured me.”

“Oh! That’s nothing.”

“Debbie, it was everything to me. You were present to me. I felt God’s presence because of you.”

When I left hospital, I wrote to thank her for the great gift she’d given me. I encouraged her to continue to share the power of healing touch, words, and presence. I feel sure that she has continued to touch many other lives.

In our busy world, the gift of presence can be a rare commodity. We’re often too busy to notice when someone just needs a hug, a reassuring touch, a gentle smile or a word of comfort and reassurance. Just think of the many people who blithely ask you:

“How are you?” and then swirl by without waiting for a reply.

When was the last time someone stopped you, looked in your eyes and asked that question and really wanted to know?

When was the last time you gave someone the gift of your presence?

How did it feel when someone was fully present to you?