Trusting Life's Flow...

Recently, we have come into contact with many people who started as strangers.

We trust the medical professionals who are entering our lives, as we lean into their advice and follow their direction. We are organised and show up where and when we are requested, and these appointments form the pattern of each day.

It is in the spaces in between that life is flowing in a welcome sweetness.

A smiling receptionist asked what we were watching on television, and a few days later, she came and found us and shared her thoughts on a programme we’d recommended.

At another centre, the consultant was running late, and a nurse came out and asked if she could make us a hot drink.

In one hospital, we walked past their in-house workshop and later got to meet one of the engineers who is based there. What followed was his story from the age of thirteen, shared knowledge of lathes and milling machines and what their work in the workshop involves.

At Tim’s first radiotherapy appointment, without warning, the double doors closed, and I stood outside watching Tim and the radiographer disappear down a corridor. It was an abrupt parting I was unprepared for, and I turned, unsure what to do next. A voice called out, and I saw a lady sitting in the waiting room. We were the only ones in there, and I sat beside her. I was close to tears. She said,

‘I saw what happened.’

She held her hand out, and I took it. As we sat there quietly, I steadied myself and explained that it was the first time since Tim’s stay in the hospital that we had been apart. She asked where his cancer was, and then told herself off for asking. I shook my head, and when I was able to speak, I answered her and asked her how she was. I sat listening to her story. Her bravery and kindness shone out, and we hugged before she went through for her treatment. Over the course of a fortnight and our daily visits to that hospital, I never saw her again, but I remember her name, and I hold her in my healing prayers.

On another day, Tim had been called through for his treatment, and I bobbed to the loo. Returning to my seat, I was aware that someone was looking at me, but I needed to settle myself down and be quiet for a few moments. After I looked up, I saw a gentleman a few seats along, and he was sitting there, looking straight ahead, and wringing his hands. I was sure it was his gaze I had felt a few minutes before.

I moved across to sit next to him, and without speaking, I placed a hand over his. He looked across at me, and we sat there in silence for a while. Simply resting our gazes on each other. We started chatting and found we had much in common. He is a gentle soul and has had a rewarding working life as a gardener. At one stage, a nurse came out because our chat was stopping this lovely gentleman from drinking the water he needed before his treatment. We were gently told off, and both got an attack of the giggles, and promised to behave so he could drink. Just before Tim returned, I commented to my newfound friend that he and Tim would get on. They did, and we all fell into a pattern of sitting together, as his treatment times and Tim’s were close most days.

On Tim’s last day of radiotherapy, our appointment was moved to the afternoon, and we were concerned we’d missed our friend. Life had other ideas, as his hospital transport had left without him, and the receptionist had called them and they were sending someone else to pick him up.

Our friend had a dry, demonstrative sense of humour. He was quick and quiet, so if you weren’t paying attention, you’d miss his words and hand signals. That day, as the receptionist was told by the hospital transport that they’d just dropped him off at home, she fired back with,

‘I think not. I’m sitting here looking at him.’

Our friend’s hand signals had me in stitches.

I asked him how long he’d been there and if he had had anything to eat. He reached into his bag, brought out a white bag and handed it to us. Tim opened it, and inside were some Cyclamen cuttings our friend had grown in a pot, for our garden. My eyes filled, and I looked at him, whispering thank you. We exchanged details, and Tim smiled at him, saying,

‘I know my wife, you’ll be receiving a parcel.’

Sweet moments and loving connections. 💕