Pandemic Parables: Processions

Pandemic Parables: Processions

I was in tears twice on Thursday April 30th at the hospital in Frederick, Maryland where I am a Resident Chaplain until the end of August. 

Grateful tears. 

It was because of two different processions. 

Let me explain.

The number of Covid-19 Positive patients who are discharged virus-free from the hospital grows daily.  By Friday May 1st it was up to sixty two. 

Glory!  Thank you, Lord!

The hospital leadership wanted to acknowledge this continually-increasing achievement; mark a milestone in the patient’s life; and recognize the skill, love, and care of the medical staff that were an integral part of their recovery. 

So they instituted the “Celebration Walk.”

We got an email outlining their plan. 

They told us that if they chose to participate, a recovered Covid patient would pick either the theme song from “Rocky,” which is “Gonna Fly Now” by Bill Conti, or the Beatle’s “Here Comes the Sun.” Their choice would be played on the overhead speakers after they were discharged and being wheeled out of the hospital. 

Any staff member who wanted to participate were to line the route from the ICU to the front lobby. 

A mask and physical distancing would both be required.

And then this Thursday, it happened. 

On the overhead speakers we heard

“A Celebration Walk will take place in five minutes. If you would like to take part please gather along the route...”

I headed for the front of the building not sure what to expect. I had participated in a deeply moving Honor Walk in the hospital months before. A patient about to be taken off life support was going on their final journey from the ICU to the operating room to donate their organs so that others might live. Their gurney was followed by grieving relatives. Hospital staff lined up throughout the long corridors in somber, respectful silence, paying tribute to the sacrifice and generosity that was being played out before them. 

This was different. As the staff gathered there was excitement. This increased as the “Rocky” theme song started. Then, when the patient appeared clutching flowers and being pushed by a nurse, the crowd erupted in cheers, clapping, hoots and shouts of joy. We started to follow the wheelchair into the foyer where a socially distanced crowd of nurses in scrubs were also raucously rejoicing. 

It was joyful. 

And surprisingly emotional. 

This has been a hard, tense season in the hospital with constant change and rapid adjustments. As the patient left the building it seemed that the virus was being swept out also.  This was a visual first fruits of certain, if distant victory. 

An assurance that the end will come, one patient at a time. 

“There’s more!” someone said. “Another patient.“

We took our places again. This time we heard “Here comes the Sun” and an elderly gentleman was wheeled out to the same excited exultation. 

I was hit with deep emotion. A few tears of gratitude and relief trickled down my cheeks. 

As I looked around I spotted several co-workers, some familiar, others unknown. 

Above their masks I saw their faces were also wet with tears. 

We nodded at each other. 

For a moment there was mutual, silent understanding. 

We recognized in the other the same joy, relief, tension, and tiredness. 

Then we breathed in deeply and went back to work. 

The next procession happened that afternoon at four o clock on the dot. To show support for the hospital workers around fifteen police vehicles, with their lights flashing and horns blaring, slowly drove through the hospital property. They went past the emergency department, main entrance, and parking lots, back out into the Main Street and away. It was raining but the staff still poured out of the building in a sea of scrubs waving, clapping, grateful. 

I was laughing, cheering, and capturing the scene with my phone one moment, and weeping gently the next. It had been a real honoring. From one set of front line workers to the next. 

And that is when it really sunk in. 

I am a Storyteller who will return to Storytelling. 

But in this hospital, at that moment,  I belonged.

And in some as yet unseen shape and form I want to work in hospitals. 

I want that to be part of my Storytelling future. 

The next day, on Friday evening not long after I got home, my cell phone rang. 

“Are you in the hospital? Did you see it? Were you there?”

One of my Hospice nurse friends was calling. 

She told me that just after I left work, half an hour apart, there were two Walks. One was an Honor, and the other a Celebration. 

A young non-Covid patient hadn’t made it. 

An older virus patient had. 

My friend had lined up twice with her colleagues within a short space of time. Grief and gratefulness were followed minutes later by rejoicing.

And that seems to sum up all of our lives at the moment. In rapid succession we have lost so much, and yet gained abundantly.  

Our familiar routines have been turned upside down. We chafe under the restrictions. We grieve our losses both small and deeply wounding. 

And yet there is bonding, comradeship, kindness, mutual understanding that couldn’t have happened any other way. 

It is a season of hyssop and honey. 

Bitterness and sweetness. 

In all of our lives going forward may the good outweigh the bad. May the joy be greater than the sadness. 

And at the end of this virus procession may we all find ourselves, often to our amazement, at a different destination than we envisioned. 

But exactly where we are meant to be. 

May that be a safe place where physically, emotionally, and financially we are provided for. 

Where we are appreciated. 

A place where we belong.

Home. 

Amen

Pandemic Parables: Here Comes The Sun

Pandemic Parables: Here Comes The Sun

The Beatle’s song “Here Comes The Sun” was sung as a message to his staff by the CEO of the wonderful hospital in Frederick, Maryland where I work as a Resident Chaplain until the end of August. 

“You’ve got to listen to this. Just sit there and listen” said my fellow chaplain when I came in from doing my rounds at the end of last week. “I was so moved when I heard it. I was in tears.”

She clicked on the link that had been sent to all the staff. Our CEO’s distinctive voice sang, and sang well those lyrics that were so apt for this season:

“Little darling, it’s been a long, cold, lonely winter.  Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here...”

And for a while it felt like the sun had indeed peeked out, albeit through dark clouds. 

It is true that the number of virus patients that had previously taken a dip have increased. But not by an overwhelming amount. As of yesterday (Wednesday April 29th) the number of deaths in the hospital remained the same at twenty two, but there are now thirty seven patients with the virus and three under investigation who are also isolated. 

One of the sunbeams through the dark clouds, though, is that fifty two Covid-19 patients have now been sprung from the hospital virus free.  Nine of those were previously on respirators.  This is an answer to fervent prayer, thank you Lord! 

It also reflects the dedicated care they get at our hospital. Hallelluia!

My biggest Hallelluia is that my friend, the compassionate, huge-hearted Hospice nurse practitioner who was felled by the Coronavirus, and was hospitalized for five days, was one of those released. She is now at home recovering. She is young and healthy but was run over by this Covid monster with all the force of a runaway eighteen wheeler truck. She says do not take this pandemic lightly. This was no heavy cold or intense flu that she had. 

It was more of a roaring flame throwing dragon than an annoying gecko. 

However she is getting stronger by the day and is looking forward to being back with her team, once again caring for those who are dying and for their grieving relatives. 

More rays of light are the way that volunteers have come forward and have created Personal Protective Equipment (PPE) for the hospital personnel. The supply of the normal disposable gowns is very low. However a senior nurse who used to be a master seamstress created a pattern for the gowns and distributed it to an abundance of willing hands. Many additional gowns have now been made that can be laundered. Masks and face shields have also been churned out in great numbers. 

God bless every one of those willing, talented, determined, much-appreciated volunteers!

When fluid resistant gowns are needed another solution has been sourced. Short sleeved waterproof capes - the kind that some hairdressers wear. Worn with veterinary gloves that go up to the elbow - presumably used for extracting stuck calves from cows. Added disposable gloves give an extra layer of protection. 

The Emergency Department Manager modeled them during a huddle the other morning taking a Superman stance with the cape furling behind her, which brought smiles to the faces of the weary workers. 

As she said: “These are clothes for heroes. There will be no black garbage sacks used here!”

The medical staff at the hospital truly are incredible. They have adapted to the constantly changing protocol with grace and courage. They are called, dedicated, and selfless. 

I admire them more each day. 

In the CEOs latest message he said that we were on week six on what he had always thought would be a ten week journey. He talked about how proud he was of the resilience and fortitude of all the staff, defining fortitude as “courage in the face of adversity.”

I see that definition in action daily in the hospital as nurses wear capes to work. 

We still have a long way to go in this virus marathon. Maryland’s Governor Hogan said today that the curve hasn’t peaked in the State. Soon, he believed, but not yet. 

Today, up on the isolation  wing of the third floor that I visit daily, there was sadness. Three patients were approaching their final days. 

Down on the first floor, however right next to the chaplain’s temporary office, is the birthing center. It is overflowing with new life. The opening notes of the lullaby that is played over the loudspeakers at each new arrival is heard frequently. 

Twins came yesterday, triplets the day before. 

Each baby is a ray of light, a promise that there is a future after this pandemic. 

Each day as I walk through the hospital. I get a visual reminder of hope’s light piercing despair’s darkness.

Right next to where staff clock in and out on the second floor is a very large photograph called Mr Wade’s Morning Sunshine.  It is by my photographer friend, Bruce Saunders and shows sunbeams piercing through stormy clouds. 

To me it encapsulates where we are in this extraordinary season. We have come through dark storms that have rocked our worlds and changed life as we know it. The tough times are not ended. But everywhere God’s grace can be seen giving hope. 

Kindness, generosity, bravery, and courage have been shown by those inside the hospital.  As they have also been shown by those outside, those who are staying at home, who are sewing, praying, cooking, caring. 

Together we are creating shafts of light in the darkness of these times. 

David, the shepherd boy, singer of Psalms, and warrior king created a principle that I believe applies to us now. (You can read about it in 1 Samuel 30.)

In a nutshell - while David and his mighty men were away, an enemy army raided their camp. Their women, children, and possessions were captured, including David’s two wives. 

David and his men were devastated. 

David asked the Lord if he should pursue and was given the green light. Some of his men were exhausted, however, and when they came to a perilous ravine opted to stay behind to look after and protect the camp. The others went on and routed the enemy, freeing all their beloved family members. 

Some rabble rousers wanted to keep the main part of the plunder for those who had fought in the front lines. 

David was not having that. 

He was adamant! 

He instituted a rule that would last “from that day to this” saying that whoever stayed behind to look after the camp would share the plunder equally with those that fought in the front lines. 

Staying at home, and caring from afar is as powerful in this season as wearing a cape and gloves. 

Thank you for allowing your world to become so dramatically constricted. 

Thank you for all your domestic sacrifices. 

Let us all hang on - even at times if it is by our last nerve. The thaw is coming. 

As the Beatles wrote and our CEO sang 

“Little darling, I feel the ice is slowly melting

Little darling it seems like years since it’s been clear.”

Here comes the sun...

Through dark clouds, yes. And perhaps with many more dark clouds ahead. But the rays of light, the birth of babies, and the resilience of the human spirit let us know that we will get through this together. 

Yes indeed. 

Eventually the dark clouds will roll away. 

May it be soon. Oh dear Lord, may it be soon. 

“Sun sun sun. Let it shine...”

Pandemic Parables: Fortune Cookies

Pandemic Parables: Fortune Cookies

Kindness always moves me deeply. 

In a previous Parable, “Frustration,” I mentioned a box that was delivered to me on St. George’s Day, April 23rd. It was sent by an integral member of the Storytelling community and was was filled with goodness. 

And kindness. 

Four hard to find rolls of toilet paper lay within; a cairn - a three stone rock marker used on trek trails to show you are on the right path; a bag of home made fortune cookies; and an affirming, encouraging, grace-filled note. 

Part of this missive said: “I ... thought of you and your brothers and sisters on the front line, so I made homemade fortune cookies and put special fortunes in them. Please feel free to share with whomever you feel needs one.”

I sampled one. It was delicious, light, meltingly more-ish, with an aftertaste of something unusual. Almond essence probably, and maybe vanilla. The hand written fortune  said “you will make a difference today.”  

I couldn’t resist. I had a second one. It said: “you will make someone happy today.” 

I hoped that both of those had been accomplished. 

These fortune cookies were both scrumptious and uplifting.  I popped each one into a perfectly sized ziplock snack bag in preparation for taking them in the next day to the hospital in Frederick, Maryland where I am working as a Resident Chaplain until the end of August.

Then I prayed over them that each would go to the right person and be a blessing to them, adding to the prayers of the friend who had sent them. 

They were a hit! 

I gave one to my fellow chaplain, the only one who works with me during the day on a Friday. 

“A present? For me!” She said, thrilled as a child. “I’m saving it for later.”

And when she did eat it she declared it to be a heavenly morsel and heaped praise on the one who made it. 

I left three others on the desks of the Chaplains who had staggered shifts over the coming weekend (we provide 24/7 coverage) then headed out the door on the way to my morning rounds. 

I stopped to give one to the security officer at the front entrance who is particularly kind and compassionate to all who enter.

Two went to a couple of wonderful Hospice nurses who daily pour out love and compassion to the dying and their families. 

One went to the cleaner on the third floor who has an angel ministry. She gathers statues of angels and gives them to patients and others that she thinks would benefit from such a touch. I have been a recipient of her largesse and knew it was a gift of love from the Lord. 

She was thrilled by the fortune cookie. 

So was the Jamaican janitor with the compassionate heart and kind eyes who works in the closed off isolation wing on the third floor that holds the virus patients. 

I gave several to the nurses who work that isolation wing, including the nurse manager who oozes compassion and caring from every pore. Then I left a couple with a note for my friend, the Hospice nurse practitioner who has the virus and who is now being looked after by her fellow comrades. 

There was one patient I knew had to have one. I left the isolation wing and headed to his room. I checked with the nurse for any allergies and then went in with my friend’s  blessing-filled gift. 

This patient had been married for a month shy of sixty years and was desperately missing his wife who had warned him to hurry back home to her soon. 

It seemed as though the years melted from his face as he realized he was getting the very last cookie and it had been prayed over by the one who made it. For an instant I could see the man, the boy, that he had been. 

He read the fortune, holding it in his wizened, shaking hands. 

“You will be showered with blessings” it said. Followed by a small heart that all these handwritten messages had on them. 

“I like that.” “He said. “The shower has already started. 

I think I’ll phone my wife and tell her what just happened.”

As I left he was already dialing with a beatific smile on his face. 

His wasn’t the only “fortune” that was incredibly apt. 

A few people opened their cookies in front of me.  

Their blessings said: 

“Be kind to yourself.”

“Today you will give someone hope and comfort.”

“You will experience great joy today”. 

Each recipient smiled deeply, and paused for a moment before saying they had been given the perfect message. 

A message they needed to hear. 

And for a moment you could see the kindness and love that had been baked into those treats wash over their tired faces and alleviate the stress that everyone in the hospital is feeling. 

Buoyed by the joy of handing out those treats, the rest of my day was inspiring at times, emotionally difficult at others. 

I was thrilled to have been invited for the first time to the Emergency Department “huddle” - a fifteen minute meeting where essential information is passed to the assembled staff. The Department Manager recognized what stress her team was under and wanted to help them in any way she could. I was tasked to pray at the end of the gathering, giving anyone who would prefer not to participate an opportunity to step away. 

When the time came I told the large assembled team that I would not be at all offended if anyone didn’t want to stay. 

Not one person moved. 

It was my privilege and honor to pray for this exhausted group who are giving of their very essence to care for and try to revive the sick and the dying under very difficult virus-causing constraints. 

I prayed and believed with all my heart that our gracious loving Lord will strengthen, guide, and guard them and their families. 

That He will sustain them, and work through them, and make a way for them in their lives where there seems to be no way. 

That he would provide for them and their families in abundant, unexpected ways. 

And that they would feel His peace, grace, and love in the depths of their weary souls and be revived. 

The ED manager asked me to come back and pray with them all daily, and I am deeply grateful that the 11.00am huddle will now be part of my daily schedule. 

Then I had some difficult visits. Among them was a patient who had had an accident that caused him to lose his livelihood. Another who felt abandoned by the recent deaths of both father and spouse. 

Then I met with two family members. They were grieving the loss of an elderly patient who had died minutes before, not long after the ambulance screeched to halt at the hospital. Their beloved relative had slipped away despite the best efforts of a highly trained team to save them. 

Their grief was deep and real. 

Getting ready to conduct a small, impromptu service to commit this patient’s spirit to the Almighty, I felt the love that had been baked into those fortune cookies wash over and sustain me. 

God’s love. 

I thought about the act of kindness that had gone into the planning, writing out the blessings, and making the cookies. The love and prayer that they had been bathed in. 

And I was grateful. 

It had been a tough week. I crawled home already anticipating the long lie in I could have the next day, Saturday morning. 

There was another package outside my front door. A large one. 

I do not want to cause jealousy but it was a pack of six extra sized rolls of Charmin toilet paper. It had been sent by a fellow storyteller who had heard about my lack of loo rolls. 

A kind, big-hearted, generous fellow story teller. 

God bless him big time Lord!

Such kindness! Where there was once a dearth, now there is abundance. So I gifted four I had bought at the hospital to my new neighbor who has hardly emerged during this pandemic and has been nowhere near a shop since self isolation began. 

I thought once again about those fortune cookies. 

Each cookie was like a stone that had been thrown in the water and the ripples were strong and endless. 

The ripples continue to flow outward. 

I love kindness. I love being inspired by kindness to be kind to others.

 

This pandemic season is a terrible time, but one that is also suffused with grace, generosity and love. 

The best of times, the worst of times, as Dickens says. 

We are all being tested. True character is on display. But we shall all get through with kindness made flesh, in whatever form is in our power to give. 

That might be blessing-filled fortune cookies; the gift of a cairn; toilet paper; a phone call; a kind note; a drive by birthday celebration for a child.  

We all have something we can do, give, say, that will create ripple-forming acts of kindness that soften the heart of the giver and enables the one gifted to know deep within themselves that God sees, knows, and loves them. 

And in this way, together, we will emerge stronger, more compassionate - whole in soul, spirit, as well as body on the other side of this Coronavirus dark valley. 

Lord, let it be so. 

Amen!

Pandemic Parables: Frustration

Pandemic Parables: Frustration

For me, Thursday (April 23rd) was a day filled with frustration at the hospital in Frederick, Maryland where I’m working as a Resident Chaplain until the end of August. 

But let me start with comforting news. The number of virus patients remained the same and has not dramatically increased. There have been nineteen deaths (each one a blow.) Thirty one patients either have the virus or are in isolation awaiting results. Unfortunately one of those includes my friend, an amazing Hospice nurse practitioner who has the virus, took a turn for the worse, and came into the hospital in the early hours for additional support. 

I’m praying she will soon be added to the thirty five virus patients who have already heard the “Rocky” theme tune upon being released from the hospital. Lord let it be soon!

Bear with me while I tell you about the frustrations. 

They started early, even before leaving the house. Straight after making my essential morning brew my electric tea kettle broke. 

Thankfully not before. 

It is irredeemably dead - which I thought was pretty rotten of it considering that April 23rd was St. George’s Day - the patron saint of England. No respectable British kitchen would be seen without a mandatory electric kettle. 

It was a very unpatriotic day to die. 

But then nothing is as we think it should be in these odd, strange virus-soaked days. 

On arriving at the hospital I saw that there was an “out of service sign” on both the individual rest rooms near the chaplain’s makeshift office. Peeking inside one open door I realized why. They had both been gutted as part of the large renovation project that has been going on around us. 

A few days before I been concerned about loo (the British term for toilet) rolls. Or the lack thereof. 

Today there are no loos. 

Of course there are facilities.  But the   conveniences aren’t convenient anymore. They are a trudge away. 

The ever-present workmen, pleasant though they are, are pretty noisy chaps. Especially when working with electric drills and emitting a sound that soars over the not-nearly-ceiling-height partition walls that currently encircle our temporary office and rattles the fillings in the teeth of the getting-less-holy-by-the-minute chaplains sequestered there.

Our Clinical Pastoral Education session was also a source of frustration. For two hours every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday afternoon the Resident Chaplains and one part time Staff Chaplain meet with the Head of Pastoral Care as part of the program that will give us our professional chaplaincy qualifications. 

There are six of us, born in five different nations, five men and me. Three are Hospice Chaplains and the rest of us work in the hospital. The part time Chaplain covers the weekend nights so we don’t have to. God bless him. 

We used to meet in the head of the department’s cosy office. Now the Hospice Chaplains work from home and our meeting space, the department head’s former office has been swallowed up in the construction. She is working partly at home and partly perched in a vacated office in the hospital that has ceiling high walls. 

She is not happy with the development. 

Our two hour meetings are now via Webex. 

On Thursday the content of the session was deeply moving and emotional. 

Unfortunately, throughout the two hours, my computer and that of my office mate emitted screeching feedback sounds despite the intervention of our in-house computer wizards. 

It sounded like nails down an old fashioned blackboard. 

By the time I started my hospital afternoon visitation rounds I was in great need of grace. 

Great need. 

If that were not enough, there was more. We had new protocols. 

Everyone who is interacting with patients, or interacting with hospital care givers, now has to wear an N95 mask under the compulsory cloth mask at all times. That means that chaplains have to wear the double protection whenever we are on the floors visiting patients, and nursing staff have to wear them throughout their shifts. 

I had to go to Operation Control and be issued an N95, a plastic container that it sits in when not in use, and a large zip lock bag that houses both and must never be sealed so that air can circulate.

“How often can I get a new one?” I said to the nurse administrator who was struggling to teach me how to wear this contraption.  

“When this one starts to fall apart then come back to us” she said adjusting the mask so it no longer covered my eyes. 

“That should be about ten days or more.”

I was not happy about wearing this mask, the N95. Only a few weeks before I had been fitted for one and failed the fitting. That was the second time that had happened to me. Apparently those with fuller faces or with facial hair - beards for example - can’t effectively wear this style of mask. 

Well I’ve lost weight and I wax and I’m still not a proper candidate. 

But I’ll be wearing it anyway. 

I discovered that N95s are very uncomfortable if you have them on for an extended period of time. 

The nurses I met were not happy about this new development. 

Nor was this chaplain. 

We bonded over our displeasure. 

As I walked along the corridors towards my first patient’s room I anticipated the difficulties.  It was hard enough connecting with a patient and drawing out feelings and emotions whilst wearing a cloth mask. How much more difficult and muffled it would be with two. Especially if the patient is hard of hearing. 

The only patients I am allowed to visit  at the moment are virus-free and not in isolation of any kind. 

My first patient, while wearing this new double protection, a lovely older gentleman, was no exception. 

I felt he looked a little bewildered at the sight of my masked face as though he was being visited by an alien. 

He couldn’t hear. 

I was apologetic and felt stifled. 

I shouted. 

But gradually we both relaxed and communication and grace happened. 

When the Lord wants to move, and, touch, and comfort, He will. 

Despite a bad attitude and a double masked mouth. 

At the end of this visit, after we had prayed together, this gentleman said to me rather shyly. 

“May I ask you a favor. It wouldn’t take you long.”

“Certainly,” I said. “What is it?”

“Will you raise your mask just for a moment so I can see who I’ve been speaking to?”

I felt like a Victorian maiden who had just been propositioned to show her ankle. 

I plead the fifth on what happened next. 

However when I left the patient had a smile on his face. 

At the end of my shift it was pouring with rain. I needed groceries. 

It took thirty five minutes to line up and start shopping at Costco. 

Life seem very difficult. 

I was so grateful to get home. 

Then things started to change. 

As I pulled into my driveway I remembered with relief that I had a travel kettle in the trunk of my car. Hallelluia!

Outside my front door was a sodden looking parcel. The writing on the front had almost washed away. But I could just make out it was from a wonderful friend in West Virginia, who is integral part of the Storytelling Community. 

Inside, I removed the dripping paper. The solid cardboard box had held up and the contents were completely dry. 

There were - glory be - four hard to come by toilet rolls. A bag of home made fortune cookies. 

And a pile of three perfectly beautiful small rocks. 

Such incredible kindness!

Love and generosity pored from that box. 

I was so grateful. 

There was also a wonderfully encouraging note. Part of it said:”I have ...included a cairn for you. As you no doubt know, cairns are used as trail markers when hiking so one doesn’t lose their way.” They are “often put there by other hikers to mark which way to go on a tricky part of the trip. Seems like this one belongs to you. ... Hope you know how loved you are.”

I melted. 

I stared at that cairn. Through it the Lord seemed seemed to be saying to me: “You are on a difficult part of the path. It feels rocky and insurmountable. You are weary. But you are going in the right direction. You are exactly where you are meant to be. Keep going forward. It will all be worth it in the end. Stay the course, my brave, beloved one. Stay the course!”

And then I remembered that it was St. George’s Day. 

Legend tells us St. George, who is also celebrated in other parts of the world, took on injustice, and that to right wrongs he fought a dragon that others had feared to face. When he finally defeated the dragon a red rose sprang up where his blood had soaked into the land. That rose - the symbol of love - is now the emblem of England.  

In these Coronavirus days, whether we are working in a hospital, or sheltering at home, we are facing a fearful enemy. Together, my brave and beautiful ones, we will defeat this dragon.  And one of the legacies will be the love and generosity that has been poured out by friends and strangers in so many settings which will ultimately change this generation at a deep level and make the world a better, kinder place. 

Let it be so. 

Amen!

Pandemic Parables: Relief

I am relieved about several things today in the hospital in Frederick, Maryland where I am working as a Resident Chaplain until the end of August. 

For one thing, although the number of virus patients are going up, it is not a dramatic rise. As of this afternoon (Tuesday April 21st) we have twenty eight confirmed patients in isolation, with an additional two closeted awaiting results. And although we grieve the seventeen patients who have died, we rejoice for the twenty who have recovered from the virus, many who have already been released from the hospital. 

I am also relieved that the hospital is saying that the COVID surge is now expected to peak a few weeks earlier than projected. 

Apparently we could see that happening any time between now and the beginning of May. 

Such good news!

On a far lighter note. 

Far, far lighter...

I am relieved I haven’t been to Las Vegas recently or indeed ever. 

Relieved that I haven’t forgotten about indiscretions that never happened on a trip that didn’t occur. 

Let me explain. 

One of the operators at the hospital called me this morning and said, a little hesitantly: “Chaplain Geraldine, your husband is on the phone.”

“I beg your pardon” I said, thinking I’d misheard. 

“Your husband is on the phone” 

But I don’t have a husband!” said I. 

“That’s what I thought,” she said. “But there is a man who says he is your husband and wants to talk to you. I asked him if he meant the head of your department, Kay Myers. I know her given name, that she never uses, is Geraldine. But she always goes by Chaplain Myers, or Dr. Kay. I asked if that’s who he meant. But no. He says he wants to speak to you, Chaplain Geraldine, and that he is your husband. 

I’m was a little confused by this point. 

“I’ve never been married.”  I said. 

Then - hoping she would realize I was joking. 

“Does he sound nice? Is he a good Christian man who is kind, intelligent, and has a great sense of 

humor?”

“I’ll ask him” she said. 

We both giggled like schoolgirls. 

She never got to find out who he was or who he really wanted to speak to. When she reconnected to his line he had gone. 

And although I racked my brain, and thought through all the drama of my misspent youth I am still completely certain that I’ve never been to Vegas...

This season is full of trauma and mystery, both. 

There is another reason I’m relieved I’m working at the hospital during the Pandemic. 

Toilet paper.

Seriously!

There is no shortage of that essential commodity within those healing walls. But the supply in my home was getting uncomfortably low. 

I had begun to seriously ration my usage. 

And by the time I got to the store in the evening after work the shelves glistened in their pristine emptiness. 

What was a girl going to do?

I mentioned my predicament in a comment on a friend’s FB picture when I saw that they were nonchalantly propping up their computer against a twelve pack of plump rolls. 

I committed the sin of envy. 

Big time. 

A friend in Tennessee offered to share her well-stocked supply. At first I was delighted until I realized what that would entail. 

My friend would have to get out of her recently vacated sick bed, wade through her flooded back yard suited up with mask and gloves; and hover outside her local post office waiting until she would be the only one in there. Only then would she be able to send off the parcel she had laboriously packaged. 

I would never let that happen!  

I love her immensely for the offer. But no!

Still I had got to the point yesterday where I was in a staff rest room on the third floor, my assigned floor, and there, propped up against a water pipe, was a spare toilet roll. 

I lusted. 

Then I went into the isolation wing for my daily visit with the nurses. I bumped into the tall Jamaican cleaner who works there, the one with wonderfully kind eyes. He was exiting a supply cupboard. Curious, I peered into its depths. 

It was a Corona virus Aladdin’s cave! 

Next to gallons of disinfectant and sterile wipes were roll upon roll upon roll of domestically sized, individually packaged toilet paper. 

I drooled. 

I began to understand how the generation who came out of the Great Depression hoarded food, paper bags, jam jars. 

The trauma of sustained lack had forever changed their habits. 

I felt close to them. 

Would I ever be able to think about toilet paper - loo roll as we say in England - in the same way?

Walking back to the Chaplains’ office I muttered a quick prayer.

“Lord, I really would like some rolls of toilet paper. And I’m too tired to go into more than one or two shops to find it, especially if I discover it was sold out hours ago. Lord. Help!”

Later that afternoon in our office one of the other Chaplain’s said:

“I went downstairs to the staff cafeteria and guess what they have started doing? They are helping out the staff who are having problems finding basics. They say they’ll have a range of things over the next few days. But for the moment they selling paper towels, bread, and toilet paper.”

Toilet paper!

I was down the stairs and along the endless corridor to the cafeteria almost before she had finished speaking. 

There, indeed, in the entrance, on a newly erected shelf, nestled next to other goodies were loo rolls!

Glory!

Handing over 59 cents for each plump package was a joy, and a relief. 

The Lord had heard my prayer. 

And quickly. 

Once again I knew, that in this season of trauma, mystery, and unanswered questions, God is faithful. Both in the small things as well as the large. As the scripture says, He will make a way where there seems to be no way. 

He will provide. 

There will be enough. 

And when it comes to the uncertain future, that we all face, I hold onto with an iron grip, and speak out determinedly the promise in Jeremiah 29:11 “For I know the plans I have for you” declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future. “

And then I remember once again that one of the names of God is “El Shaddai,” which means the Great Breasted One, or The Comforter. God is Mother as well as Father. 

Mothers care, protect, nurture, provide, and love fiercely. 

And I had been mothered. Beautifully. 

And I had the toilet rolls to prove it.