Pray Attention

Written October 10, 2010 8:40 pm

Anita had a quiet day today.  Sunday is a day of rest at Shepherd Center, i.e. no therapy.  She was off the vent at 6:00 am this morning.  She continued to rest until 9:00 am, whereupon, she ate breakfast, dressed, and got up.  Anita participated in a Skype video with family members and took some phone calls from friends.  She then ate lunch, followed by attendance to a non- denominational church service. She remained up in her wheelchair for the afternoon, read the latest Caringbridge entries (Thank you for your many wishes and prayers), watched some TV and ate dinner.  She retired to bed and remained off the vent again until 10:00pm.

Church.  John and I decide to make the journey to the 4th floor and attend the service.  I am able to drive myself there as long as someone else pushes the elevator buttons.  It's "freeing" to get away from the Neuroscience Unit, which I affectionately call, The Island of Misfit Toys.  It takes me awhile to back into the elevator.  My neck stiffness makes it difficult for me to maneuver in small spaces.  Shepherd has an awesome "fix it" staff that repair corners and elevator walls scraped up by unskilled drivers.  I figure I am good job security for these engineers.

The service is conducted by volunteers from several churches around the Atlanta area.  There is a piano, music, and a message just like real church.  Some Sundays there is even a choir. The worship is attended by many.  A few wear helmets and stare blankly into space. Several patients are in power chairs, like me, and some are able to push themselves in manual chairs.

I find it hard to focus on the sermon.  The music is nice, but I am distracted by the "congregation".  The ventilators keep time with the music. I look around at the sea of patients and visitors.  Most are younger than me. I can't help but think of all the stories contained in this room.  I wonder what has happened to all these folks. I want to know what they were like before their accident or illness.  What do they miss the most?  How are their families?  Their pets? What have they lost? What have they found? And, what are their hopes?  Chances for recovery?

The music stops.  The silence brings me back. The message of the sermon today is hope. I glance around again and see some smiles. We are all here.  There is hope.  If I had a magic wand, I would wave it and heal us all.  But I don't.  So I'll just pray.  Now...for just a little while.