STRANGE FEELING IN THEATRE
I was the theatre superintendent or manager so I didn’t scrub for operations very often. It was my job to keep check on all the operating rooms and make sure everything was going smoothly and all the staff were working well. Having visited Ian on the ward the night before, I made it my business to meet him at the door and go with him into the anaesthetic room as he had requested. While in there, though the anaesthetist was very sweet and reassuring to him, he hung onto my hand tightly. Even at the point of succumbing to the anaesthetic, he pulled my hand up to his mouth and kissed my fingers. I found this gesture gut-wrenching. The thing was, I knew, as a little provincial hospital, the few cases like this we had done (though mostly on elderly or even moribund patients) had resulted in the patient’s death within only days or weeks. I felt that kiss was awful as I was almost certain this was going to be the last thing he did.

It was after that I began to be aware of some strange manifestations around the operating table. Every time I entered the room where he was, there was this presence, sensation in the room. It was almost tangible, much like walking along the deep end of a swimming pool. And it scared me. I became convinced that it was because I had become ‘emotionally involved’ with the patient and in those days, ‘getting involved’ with a patient was almost a disciplinary matter. But the dilemma remained that whilst I had this extraordinary experience in the operating room, just as soon as I stepped outside into the corridor, the sensation ceased. How could that if it was my feeling creating it? Surely it would be evident all over the department, not just in one room? It was bizarre!

The next day I called up to the ward which was my habit when we had had a big case. My staff would want to know how the patient was and so I always called in to get an update. Ian was in a side room, on a ventilator. Two junior doctors and a physiotherapist were in there and the physio called me to come in. But, as I stepped across the threshold of the room, there was that sensation again. I was really unsettled now and I fled!

The next day I was starting a week’s leave and was glad to. I wasn’t accustomed to this emotional roller coaster and was anxious to escape. But there was no escape. That evening I suddenly and inexplicably burst into floods of tears. I cried all evening, all night and all the next day. During the evening, I started praying for Ian. I was not in the habit of praying. God had never figured much in my life. But I prayed and prayed that evening for a man I hardly knew. It was both exhausting and releasing.

POST-OP SCARES
Later I was to discover that many serious problems had beset Ian in his post-operative period: machine failures, inexperienced doctors and nurses and oversights in care. A senior doctor told me some weeks later that Ian should have died not once but at least FOUR TIMES during that Friday evening and the twilight hours of Saturday morning.

But even as new a Christian as I was, I knew why he had survived!

THE DAY!
The next day was the Sunday before Christmas 1980. There was a Hospital Carol Service in the evening and I was a member of the choir. I hadn’t joined this because of any faith on my part but simply because I enjoyed the singing! I needed to be in uniform for this event so after I changed, I took the opportunity to call into the ward and see how Ian was. Entering his room which was serving as a temporary intensive care (we didn’t yet have one at this hospital) I was staggered to feel the same sense of presence that I had felt in the operating room during his surgery. But somehow it wasn’t quite so scary as it had been before. Approaching the bed, I stood and looked at him for some seconds. He was heavily sedated and still intubated (a tube in his throat for connection to a ventilator) but was being trialed off the ventilator for a short while.

THE HOLY SPIRIT PRESENCE
As I stood there, still unaware of the dramas of the previous 48hrs, I felt a compelling sense of compassion overwhelm me again and a voice in my heart saying “Woman - behold your son”. For a moment I was scared all over again. Surely these were the words the Saviour had said whilst hanging on the cross. They couldn’t be uttered to the likes of me! Surely that was blasphemous! But then quite suddenly, without a shadow of doubt, I KNEW the identity of the ‘presence’ had just spoken to me. It was God - God Himself. I left the room in a bit of a daze and went down to the little hospital chapel and there, on my own in the darkness, I gave my heart to the Lord.

Going almost immediately to sing in the Carol Service was a strangely exhilarating experience. All those old familiar carols and songs suddenly became vibrant with new meaning. The one I remember most was “Joy to the World” which I had never heard before! (honestly!) I was so excited I wanted to run up and down the aisles shouting for joy!

A SERVANT OF THE LORD
I then lived my life in two arenas, it seemed. On the one hand I was pursuing a church life, getting confirmed and learning what it was to be a servant of the Lord, and on the other, getting to know Ian and his wife and learning how to offer help without being intrusive. And also how to be involved without letting the hospital know. Which was a little difficult as Ian kept calling on me at work when anything troubled him or he just wanted to talk.

The relationship was a difficult and turbulent one as Ian valiantly worked his way through all the emotional rapids of coming to terms with his approaching death. Although I was the repository for all his anger and rage, with the help of God and good Christian friends I stayed the course. Towards the end things calmed considerably so that we were able to share a more affectionate time.

THE BEGINNING OF THE END (or the end of the beginning?)
Losing Ian was one of the most painful, devastating experiences I have ever had to live through and 27 years on, I still feel the loss even though I knew him for less than nine months. When God gives you a gift like that, it hurts to lose it. But most of all, I praise God for allowing me the great gift of faith which he presented to me through Ian. Because of that, I believe that Ian was able to take hold of his own redemption in his final days because he knew this story, what had happened to me and why I was there.

God be praised for His wonderful loving kindnesses!

JAF

November 24th 2003
(Thank you to Ian’s parents Bill and Cynthia, and the rest of his family for their approval of this story which was such an important episode in my Christian life.)