Nights were equally obstinate; there was no way they were going to give way to the days. I must confess that as I lay there, I languished — oh how I languished. You see, if there was no way the days were going to give way to the nights and vice versa, life would be at a standstill and I’d be lying there forever, a forlorn old creature hooked up to feeding tubes and electric wires, hoping there would be a powercut.

And talking of prayer, my advice to those preparing to go into hospital is: pray before you get there! This I learned years ago when I was seriously ill in Rome. I was suffering from a bacterium capable of killing me and I never said a prayer—I couldn’t. For the past sixty years as a religious and priest I’ve been more than happy to pray several times a day. I’ve studied prayer and lectured on prayer, but that has been no help when sickness was draining the life out of me. During my stay in the Royal I doubt that I ever managed to finish a Hail Mary. But, thank God, a phalanx of folk was doing the praying for me. What’s more, I was inundated with “holy” cards wishing me well and assuring me that, not one Mass, but novenas of Masse s were being offered for my return to good health. There were so many of those multiple Mass cards that the Masses promised are probably still being said — even now. If I suffer a relapse, I’m probably still covered

I was all of six weeks in the Royal. As time passed and I became a bit (but not much) brighter and more aware of life around me, I continued to languish. Who could blame me? I was, without warning, introduced to hospital food. Enough! I’ll only upset myself if I say more. I remembered the mouth-watering menus I was presented with when in hospital in Rome. I remembered, too, how we were asked to indicate whether we wanted red or white wine to accompany our meals. To tell the truth I wanted neither red wine nor white wine. There was only one thing I wanted and that was OUT . Like the big child I am, I wanted to go home to our beloved Bishop Eton—yes, to the building, but more importantly to the community that gives life and purpose to the building. Waiting for the day of deliverance/homecoming was anything but easy.

What eased the pain of waiting were the constant visits to the Royal of the different members of our community. Not a day passed without a visit from at least one member of the community. Often, they arrived in threes and fours, helping each other along, and in danger of being mistakenly admitted. This kindness continued during my immediate convalescence at Christopher Grange and has continued to this day here in Bishop Eton, where our home-grown paramedics still attend to my daily technomedical needs.

I’m back home again, and I’m ever so grateful for all that has been done for me. During my illness, I did live through some dark, even frightening, times, but despair was never an option. There were too many on my side. We were a power to be reckoned with. As we lived through this experience, grace, normally thought of as a theological truth, became a lived reality—became words of encouragement, a warm embrace, little acts of service, a willingness to wait and watch and listen and love. We were a grace-fuelled community and we were winners. As they say daftly on television these days: ‘Why don’t we all give ourselves a big round of applause?’

First Published in BE Alive June 2017