REFLECTIONS FROM THE COVID EMERGENCY WARD .

It is now six weeks since kind neighbours gave me a wonderful welcome-home from hospital with balloons flying, bunting flapping, a home-made poster  and even a Union Jack proudly hoisted.   Their kindness to me and my wife has done much to banish my memories of a week in the emergency Covid Ward and my nightmares have now stopped.  I have regained the two stone I lost and, like many others, I’m so keen to get away from the inconvenience of life under lockdown that I’m tempted to forget how bad this virus is and why life under lockdown is worth it.  So here is a blog based upon an email I sent to a friend shortly after I returned home.  It records my raw reflections on my experience which you may find shocking. 

“I have now been home for eight days and am gradually coming to terms with what I experienced in hospital, which was, frankly, traumatic. The hospital was so under-staffed as to be unsafe. Fifty percent of the staff were off sick and it was impossible to replace them all with agency staff. Those agency nurses who were hired had no one to teach them the basics and they were frequently working in areas in which they had no expertise. I spent one night on a general ward when my ability to take in oxygen, even with a mask, was dangerously low and I was moved to an emergency ward for treatment, which involved a machine which forces oxygen into the lungs through a face mask which covers the entire face.

 Not a pleasant procedure, but far worse was the experience of seeing patients die because there was no one to respond when monitoring machines were sounding alarms and knowing that if one was in trouble, it was potluck if there was anyone free to come to the rescue or whether all staff would be unable to respond because they were already dealing with others in a critical state. In short, I quickly realized that the staff were overwhelmed and the fear in their eyes and the trauma they were suffering was not their fault. It was like being in a ship which has been swamped by waves of ever-increasing magnitude whilst the crew were ever decreasing in number.

 Under those conditions I learned that Jesus is real; prayer was not difficult; worship was not difficult (I took great joy and strength from Bach’s ‘St Matthew’s Passion’ on Easter Day whilst on the machine.) After three days on the machine, my prayer had changed from, ‘Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me a sinner,’ to, ‘Lord Jesus, I know you are with me and you can see what’s going on around me and my fear. I’m buggered if I’m going to die here Lord: give me the strength I need to get out of here alive.’  Not likely to become a future congregational classic but short, heart-felt and to the point!

 There were also some God-created moments of grace I could not have manufactured. For example, on day one there was a cock up and I was abandoned in a ‘side ward’ (think cupboard, not intended to take a bed) whilst all my alarms went off and a deafening alarm which no one heard for a very long time. I was only rescued because I WhatsApped a registrar in another hospital and he realized the gravity of the situation and used official channels to speak to the registrar for health in the hospital I was in. This led to the nurse in charge coming to see me and apologising profusely for the fact I had been overlooked. She introduced me to another senior nurse, who was likewise apologetic and, though I could barely speak for lack of breath found myself forgiving and comforting them.  They were pretty upset.  Six days later, on the day before I was sent home, the second nurse mentioned sought me out in the recovery ward and asked me if would return to the hospital to encourage the nurses once I am strong enough. I am now chatting to a few contacts to see if I can line up resources that might offer a counseling / listening service for nurses so that they can know there is somewhere to turn. There were also opportunities to encourage the odd patient and nurses. [I have since discovered that the Samaritans have a hotline dedicated to NHS employees 0300 1317000]

 Coming out of the emergency ward I experienced nightmares so that sleep was difficult. I guess I probably got about one hour’s sleep in total each night I was in hospital so it is not surprising that I was mentally struggling. With each day that passes, and each night of rest I am gradually getting stronger and able to piece things together. I am no longer taking for granted things like a) quietness and peacefulness, b) the freedom to go where one wants when one wants, c) ability to wash oneself, toilet oneself and eat / drink.

 I have long wondered whether many of the evangelical churches, in a well-intentioned effort to be accessible and welcoming to visitors, have gradually become focused on what almost amounts to entertainment rather than presenting a balanced style of worship which includes lament, puzzlement, anger with God, bewilderment and suffering as part of the normal Christian life?  My experience in hospital has again made me wonder how effectively we are preparing followers of Jesus to cope with life crises?  If this pandemic forces us all to get real and look some of these issues in the face that will be all to the good. A recalibration is required. In essence, I think Jesus bluntly and repeatedly warned that He was serving the Father to his death and that his followers serving Him were on the same trajectory (eg: Take up your cross / No servant is greater than his master etc). Do we get that message accross effectively?  If not, the impression may be given that becoming a Christian entitles one to  a ‘get out of jail free’ card against hardship, disappointment and difficulty.  This superficial approach will surely need reassessment by the time COVID-19 has finished. We have seen nothing yet: I fear for those parts of countries such as India, Bangladesh and Africa where social distancing and hand washing are not options…

(A Sunday Times article, complete with pictures, gives a bird’s eye view of the hospital during the same period.)