Tears and touching are some of the most profound forms of connection among people. They soften hearts and open doors to each other’s hearts that were otherwise closed. Spiritual care in a hospital environment brings people together in the best way possible under the worst of conditions. I regularly meet strangers and confront situations that require patience and acceptance so I can do the best for others.

What does a multi-faith hospital chaplain do? First and foremost, a chaplain is always there to be a listening ear in a compassionate and caring manner. A hospital chaplain cares about spiritual and emotional well-being of patients, their families or loved ones, as well as the staff at the hospital. As chaplains, we are in the service of everyone, religious or non-religious, faithful, agnostic, or atheist, during both good times and bad times to share joy and sorrow. We visit the patients that need comfort and support, and listens to their worries, concerns or happiness. We are with the patient in their last moments to offer blessings and stay with the families when their loved ones are going through this transition. We are together the broken-hearted who need to be heard, patients who request prayers before their surgeries, and babies who are newly born or die young. We touch hearts, wipe tears, listen to life stories, open spiritual gates, and help people reflect on their own lives to find out where they are on their journey. Lastly, we encourage and empower the ones who are in their recoveries. Sometimes patients are the teachers who allow chaplains journey with them.

I had an interesting encounter with a 67-year-old Catholic lady who came to the hospital for spinal surgery. She did not ask for a chaplain visit but her name was on my unit list. I met her post-procedure during my regular rounds. She was frustrated and upset because the doctors told her that she had cancer; however, what type of cancer she had was still unknown ten days into her stay. She was emotionally overwhelmed with worry about her physical condition because the doctors were still testing the results, and she felt they were not giving her clear answers. She was not alone, because her daughters lived close to her however she could not help but cry when she started to speak about being away from her home and family for a long time, along with the uncertainty she faced which was obviously hindering her ability to cope. I was very concerned with her psychological and emotional state. She was not ready for a longer conversation with me. She dismissed me after a few more minutes and said, “I rather want to be alone at this moment”. I replied, “I understand, it is okay with me.” Upon leaving, I reflected on not being able to help her at all. I felt badly of the situation, and felt that I had missed an opportunity to provide care that I was not able to reach through to her.

The next day, the patient’s nurse telephoned the Spiritual Care Office and requested that I return. The phone call meant a lot for me because I anticipated that there was something significant happening. I immediately went to the patient’s floor and saw her nurse. She told me that the patient wanted to see me before she was transferred to another unit. Upon entering the room, the lady told me that she did not want me to know her as a rude person. She apologized for her attitude the other day and said, “We are both believers and we should not be like that towards each other.” I confirmed this sentiment, and she continued, “I don’t know as much about your faith as I should know, and I felt that I need to know more of it.” She asked me if I could talk about the main principles of Islam, and I accepted her request. I stayed with her explaining, shortly, the basics of Islam, how God sent prophets to all human beings throughout history, and how the Qur’an was revealed and compiled. We had a good discussion which relaxed her and as our conversation ended our relationship between each other was more important than her illness. Her embarrassment replaced with peace at the end. “I am so glad that I was able to call you back,” she said with contentment. “I am so glad that you took the opportunity to invite me again to your room” I responded with a smile. This time, I left her room with a great sense of relief and satisfaction.

“Can you hold my hand?”

Another thought-provoking visit was with a 69-year-old lady who came to the Emergency Department (ED) on a night when I was on overnight duty. It was 4:40 am when I was paged by the ED nurse as the patient asked for a Catholic priest, who was not available. She indicated that the multi-faith chaplain was okay to visit with her. She looked youthful and pretty in her bed but, as I asked her about her concern, she responded, “I am scared of dying.” Doctors had told her that she had an obstruction which was resulting in a removal of one of her kidneys. She was also experiencing blood pressure and diabetic issues.

She was alone at the hospital and her emotions were in a whirl with many thoughts on her mind as the surgery was imminent. We continued the conversation in a manner to address the frustration and fear she was feeling. She responded positively to my empathy and reassurance. She told me about her financial difficulties and that she would lose her home soon. Then she asked me, “Can you do me a favor?” I said, “Sure, what is it?” She asked, “Can you hold my hand?” I took her hand gently and prayed to God, asking Him to provide her with comfort, peace, relief from her worries and for a successful surgery. It was a moment that we both appreciated. After prayer, she asked me about myself and we spoke of our families. I reminded her that the Spiritual Care would be happy to be with her and that I would like to follow up with her during her stay. She seemed relieved and less anxious by the time I departed. I can only imagine how stressful it was for a lonely lady who was dealing with many issues in a strange place in the middle of the night.

From a personal point of view, conversations on faith or religion always remain behind the feelings or emotions of the patients during my visits. I focus on their current spiritual or emotional crisis within the hospital. My goal in my interactions with patients is to provide a safe and non-judgmental space built upon trust and a genuine human connection. After assessing their needs, sometimes I explore if they have a religious background or community, any spiritual practices such as reading holy texts, prayers, rituals, or meditations which might be helpful support for them. I also try to understand if any of their practices help them cope with their difficulties in any way. On the other hand, each patient is unique and each visit is different than the last. One common point is that when words cease to be enough, a warm touch on the hand or the shoulder, or a silent tear shed, become powerful enough to build the connection between the chaplain and the patient. The goal is to always share a genuine moment between two strangers, one of which may literally be on their death bed. It helps to remind us that our faith and appreciation of the Divine can unite us, and that we will all return to God someday.

Even though the price is high and the company is a new one, the interest is rather high. An average of eight thousand people in a year die alone in Denmark. If old people without anyone to knock their door are not visited by some health staff, their bodies are discovered days, weeks, and sometimes months after their death; what announces their death is either a filled-up mailbox, or the sound of the hungry pets left behind, or some other way. If there are any relatives, they learn about it from the officials.

It needs to be underlined at this point that the issue is not specific to Denmark. A brief look at the reports from different countries within recent years reveals a similar picture. It is estimated, by Kenneth W. Wachter, Ph. D. at the University of California at Berkeley, that “the number of Americans between the ages of 70 and 85, without a living spouse, without any biological or stepchildren, and without living siblings or half-siblings, will total more than 2 million people by the year 2030.” A research result appeared in The Guardian suggests that “Up to 60 people die alone in their homes each week in England without friends or family to support them or arrange their funerals.”

The actual problem is not only having no relatives. There is a very dramatic indifference of family members towards the elderlies, which cannot be compensated by any public service however perfect it can be. Many developed countries provide luxurious hospices for their senior citizens, but the warmth of a real family aura cannot be substituted for. Answering the reporter asking why the relatives of the terminally ill abandon them, Anne-Mette Harder says, “After a long period of disease, the family cannot look after the patient anymore.” For a more satisfactory answer, she confesses: “Even if the patient is their relative, people are afraid of visiting a person lying at a hospital. They forget death will one day catch them as well, or they fear facing death. Since family ties are not very strong, even the spouse of a person suffering from a terminal disease abandons them most of the time,” alluding to example of the deceased TV speaker Kamilla Bach Hansen who died at 36 from cancer. At the beginning, Hansen had expressed that her greatest support was her husband, who later on left her when the course of the disease became irreversible.

Harder continues: “As a person who spent 20 years of her life in hospitals and with patients, I admire the care of some immigrant groups for the patients. When someone gets ill, all the acquaintances run to the hospital. At the beginning it seemed weird to me that people brought meal to the hospital. After I learned that it was a tradition, I appreciated it. The hospital visits are not formality; they never leave the patients on their own. They constantly come to visit the patients, raise their spirits, and pray for them.”

In countries where people do not bother with raising children and the family relations are weak, it will not be very surprising if the number of such companies grow.

Priest Tove Fergo, former minister of Danish Churches, thinks that his people have a lot to learn from the other in terms of familial love. Fergo completes his words as follows: “These people have great respect for parents and family elders. They do not leave the elderly on their own, and do not break contact with relatives. We have just the opposite. Family concept is disappearing. They must present an example for us with respect to family life.”

Putting aside complicated debates about tradition versus modernity, the first and foremost question here is to strike a balance in between and not lose the values that make us truly human. Something deep inside every one of us urges more than turning our head and dismissing the issue until we face the same situation one day. An urge for deeper meaning… something we can refer, as food for conscience.

Hasan Cucuk is the representative of Cihan News Agency in Denmark.

It is usually easy to associate with people from one’s own culture. Why step out of your comfort zone to extend a friendly hand to someone from a different culture? Perhaps, if my experience is typical, to enjoy one of the most rewarding experiences of your life. This opportunity is readily available to Americans who wish to make the effort. To interact successfully with Turkish students and professionals in America, for example, the American host must navigate differing perceptions of family, society, and ultimate duty. By practicing role reversal, a person of goodwill can overcome the barriers of language, religion, and nationality. Allow the person getting help to become a helper, and the student to become a teacher. Take into consideration the enthusiasm many cultures have for personal relationships. You might find your own life changed for the better.

Turning the tables to build intercultural friendships

Americans in university cities can build lifelong friendships with sojourners from around the world. Year after year, bright and ambitious young people leave other countries to acquire an American degree, make American friends, and soak up a culture and language very different from their own. They have traveled halfway around the world to meet us. Traveling a few miles across the city is a small step by comparison, but the rewards are great.

My adventure in trans-cultural friendship combined a personal interest in the Turkish language and culture with a graduate-school class. I analyzed interactions with Turkish sojourners in several different settings, wrote a scholarly paper, and completed the class. My family also made lifelong friendships with fascinating people. Much that we learned can be applied in other contexts.

Edward T. Hall describes Turkey as a “high context” culture, and America as ““low context.” In Turkey, much more time is devoted to developing the relationships behind transactions than to the transactions themselves (Friedman, 1979, pp. 45–54). Relationships, connections, and group harmony are the important values. The validity of the group is more important than individual rectitude.

Given these insights, it would appear that an American wishing to establish rapport with Turkish sojourners should understand the basic elements of Turkish culture. Beyond this, the technique of “turning the tables” has value. Create a situation in which the guest can function as a host, the student as a teacher, the outsider as the portal to an alternate inside.

First adventure

In August 2004, I went to a local university to meet a “language partner.” Picture a casually dressed, fifty-something man walking through the parking lot with an elegant young woman. The director of the language partners program introduces them, gives them a list of suggested activities, and leaves it to them to make further arrangements.

“Dawn” is an engineer who wants help with her colloquial English. The fifty-something man wants to learn Turkish. Each wants to see the world through the eyes of the other culture.

The two arranged a first meeting in a wide-open public place-the university’s student union. They brought notebooks. He brought a Turkish elementary-school primer. They sat on adjacent chairs and practiced reading aloud.

On the second meeting, in the same place, Dawn introduced her husband “Freedom.” The researcher and Freedom chatted for a few minutes, discussing common interests in history and politics. The researcher apparently passed the test, since the couple extended an invitation to continue the lessons at their apartment.

When you are invited into a Turkish home, the researcher had learned, expect to be served food and drink, and be sure to bring a small gift. With this in mind, he purchased a book at a used bookstore. He knocked on the door, greeted the couple, and stepped in. Freedom reminded him to leave his shoes at the door. The three chatted for a few minutes about history and politics, Dawn served tea and cookies, and they began doing language work.

This established the pattern the visits followed over the next eighteen months. The American would speak to Freedom first, discussing Freedom’s academic progress. He would present them with a small gift, usually an inexpensive but thoughtfully chosen book. Dawn would serve tea and a snack of some kind-baklava, spinach cake, yaprak dolmasi (stuffed grape leaves), and so on. The language partners would work together on their parallel projects while the husband was in the apartment. Week by week, I made progress in my Turkish textbook.

Since I am a professional writer, I also proofread Freedom’s scholarly papers for colloquial correctness. Towards the end of the experience, I also helped Dawn translate three affidavits into clear English.

A few months into the adventure, the researcher invited his young friends over for a Thanksgiving dinner. The Turkish couple brought a bouquet of roses. Dawn brought a pair of fluffy slippers in a grocery bag to wear while visiting, which greatly fascinated the American six-year-old daughter. The families ate together, then sat in the living room and talked while the six- and eight-year-old girls frolicked. The guests enjoyed being around children.

Some time later, Freedom and Dawn invited the researcher’s family to their apartment for an iftar, the formal after-sunset feast held during Ramadan. That year, at the end of Ramadan, the researcher’s family had their friends over for a Bayram (Eid) dinner. Over the course of the project, the researcher had the Turkish couple over for dinner several times, and invited them to attend his daughter’s wedding as valued friends of the family.

Towards the end of Freedom’s master’s degree program, Dawn got a job translating for a Turkish family that had come to the USA seeking specialized medical care for their thirteen-year-old son. Dawn introduced the researcher to this family so that he could continue his informal self-study of Turkish. In May of 2006, Freedom completed his degree program, and the couple returned to Turkey.

I e-mailed them nearly twice as often as they e-mailed me (142 to 74). Fifty-one times, these exchanges involved the kind of practical help that a native speaker of English can offer someone whose native language lies completely outside of the Indo-European family.

These numbers are not asymmetric when weighed against the fact that I was a guest in their apartment approximately sixty times, and received from them the coaching I needed to acquire a rudimentary knowledge of Turkish.

Another goal of the encounters, to foster mutual understanding, was also apparently reached. In an e-mail from Turkey several months after their return Dawn wrote:

“Turkish people are religious people (of course not all of them but the majority). I saw the same thing in the USA. From the cinema and TV shows we watch through TV, American people seem like they don’t care about religion and they are very free about what they do in their lives. I think in real life it is not like that. As I see in your family, you care about your family very much and you try to teach your children about what is important in life for you. I think it is the same in Turkey.” (Gençer, 2006)

Second adventure

A second adventure in acculturation involved a Turkish family sojourning in the USA to seek medical care for a seriously ill son. The project began when Dawn introduced everyone at the clinic lounge. Later social encounters included picnics, and a series of language exercises at the hospital cafeteria.

The “Smith” family consisted of “Henry,” the father. “Margaret,” the mother. “Janet,” a seventeen-year-old daughter, and “Eric,” a son who had his thirteenth birthday while in a sterile ward of the hospital, undergoing bone marrow transplant therapy.

I met the family through Dawn, who had found work as a translator for the Smiths, helping them in their dealings with medical personnel. At one highly stressful point in their sojourn, the daughter’s student visa was revoked. Janet had curtailed her exchange student activities to find the university-connected health center, whose services offered the last hope of saving her brother’s life. As she was the only member of the family comfortable with the English language, Janet was needed at the hospital. Furthermore, Eric had only consented to the painful course of treatment because that ordeal gave him the opportunity to spend time with his beloved sister.

While Janet’s visa situation was being negotiated, she, Henry, and Margaret composed affidavits to plead their case. Dawn translated these into English, to the best of her ability, and asked for my help with a final edit.

At the initial meeting, following Dawn’s directions, I found the fourth-floor children’s lounge. Dawn took me in through the airlock, and explained how to put on the disposable overshoes. We went to Eric’s room. He was seated in his bed wearing pajamas and playing a video game. Janet, the big sister, was also present. Dawn and the parents, Henry and Margaret, escorted me to a visitor’s lounge.

We sat around a table, they offered me some donuts, and we conversed. Henry and Janet had an apartment near the hospital, but Margaret spent every night with her son in the hospital room. Dawn explained that American hospital personnel do not understand the intensity of the family bond in Turkish families. Apparently, it would be unthinkable for a Turkish mother to leave a dangerously ill child in the care of strangers overnight. She slept in an overstuffed chair in the room.

Janet’s visa problems were resolved, and I had banked some good will for my earlier efforts on their behalf. They were glad to hear that our church was praying for their son’s healing. After all, Margaret explained through Dawn, Christians and Muslims worship the same God.

I brought a few small presents, including a book of handy English phrases, listed with their Turkish equivalents, and the English repeated phonetically in the Turkish alphabet.

The Turkish tutorial sessions began in June 2006, and lasted almost six months. For our first tutorial session, Henry greeted me with a smile, and led me to the first-floor cafeteria. He was cleanly dressed, but looked as though he had missed shaving that day. I used an unobtrusive digital voice recorder to record the lessons. A continuous buzz of background conversation can be heard on the recording. Henry brought out several sheets of neatly hand-written Turkish sentences, and a brief essay describing his situation. The bulk of the conversation consisted of discussing the prepared lesson. I heard myself on tape frequently interrupting, and interjecting encouraging words (Yes! Yes!) and attempts at Turkish repartee. Henry spoke carefully, slowly, with frequent backtracking and repetition.

After we had talked for a bit over an hour, Henry asked, “Is that OK for today?”

“I’ve learned a little sentence in Turkish that goes like this: Affedersiniz. Kaybolduk. Bana yardým eder misiniz?” I answered. (Excuse me. I’m lost. Can you help me?) He laughed, I turned off the recorder, and we made arrangements to meet the next week.

Time after time, when we settled down to talk, Henry’s careful preparations guided the remainder of the conversation. He was in charge, genial, and seemed to take pleasure in imparting information, in helping.

We exchanged frequent e-mails to set up or cancel our meetings. Henry spent at least five times as long coaching my Turkish as I did his English. In part, this was because his English is much better than my Turkish.

Twice, Henry accepted an invitation to attend a picnic-one on the Fourth of July, sponsored by my church, the other a few weeks later sponsored by the Divan Cultural Center, a Cary, NC organization dedicated to fostering Turkish–American friendship. Both times, he and Margaret seemed to enjoy themselves, and delight in the opportunity to interact with other adults.

Even under conditions of weariness and extreme personal stress, this Turkish professional, a government-employed engineer, was unfailingly polite, and seemed to genuinely enjoy interacting with a sympathetic American. The format of becoming a tutor, a mentor, apparently provided a space of mastery during a time of uncertainty and anxiety.

Henry maintained control of the conversations, staying on the sure ground of a topic he knew well, the Turkish language. Although I was able to buy him a beverage once, he was careful to not let that happen again. When he attended a Fourth of July picnic sponsored by our church, he brought us a gift bag of imported delicacies. When he came to the Divan Cultural Center picnic, he timed his arrival to be after the food had already been mostly consumed. He was apparently wary of incurring asymmetrical obligations.

Conclusions

My family has “adopted” another young Turkish couple. This ongoing project involves several issues. How can an American establish rapport with people from a different nation, linguistic family, and religion? What can he learn once the rapport is established?

The technique of “turning the tables” helped insights and perspectives to cross the boundaries. By becoming a student of the Turkish language, I allowed people who were immersed in an alien linguistic environment to feel at home, and to talk about a topic they knew very well. By demonstrating a sincere interest in, and respect for, their home culture, I helped them to feel at home in my culture. By fulfilling the Turkish expectations of guests, I helped guests in my country to fulfill the satisfying role of hosts.

The first project demonstrates the progress of a mutually satisfying and symmetrical relationship with a Turkish family over the course of nearly two years.

The second project demonstrates how important control can be to a Turkish sojourner whose life has been shaped by traumatic events beyond his control. Although Henry often looked tired, he was always punctual and fully engaged in our conversations. The heart of each encounter consisted of animated conversation in simplified English and Turkish, a great deal of laughter, and a sense of delight in being able to make ourselves clear to one another in the other’s language.

What insights were conveyed over the bridges thus built? To some extent, Turkish sojourners and immigrants do indeed bring with them “differing perceptions of family, society, and ultimate duty.” For example, to avoid offending Turkish sensibilities, the wise westerner avoids extended contact with someone of the opposite sex unless the other party’s spouse is also present.

The longing all respondents expressed was for Americans to think beyond their own culture, and to take an interest in the different lives of people in other parts of the world. Given the Turkish enthusiasm for personal relationships, a small effort by a citizen of the United States can dramatically aid cultural understanding in both directions.

Thomas C. Smedley, MS, is a student at Regent University pursuing a doctorate in Communication Research. He is a technical writer with a special interest in building bridges between disparate communities – programmers and end users, Americans and Turks.

References

• Berry, J., Kim, U., Minde, T. and Mok, D. (1987, Autumn). Comparative Studies of Acculturative Stress. International Migration Review. 21-3, 491-511
• Gençer, N. (2005). Personal conversation.
• Gudykunst, W. & Ting-Toomey, S. (1988). Culture and Interpersonal Communication. Newbury Park, CA: Sage Publications, Inc.
• Teske, R. and Nelson, B. (1974, May). Acculturation and Assimilation: A Clarification. American Ethnologist. 1-2, 351-367.
• Weinstock, S. (1963, June). Role Elements: A Link between Acculturation and Occupational Status. The British Journal of Sociology. 14-2, 144-149.

Despite the improvements, increased age, in general, coincides with an increased incidence of both mental and physical illness. This is made worse by a weakening of social contacts and a reduction of income. Thus increasing age is also characterized by a dramatic increase in the use of health and social services. The older the person, the more likely he or she is to be admitted to hospital and the longer the stay.

The increasing demands on the hospital service have not been met by an increase in the total number of hospital beds. Medical and surgical treatments previously thought to require a three- or four-week stay in hospital are treated within a week or ten days. Also more work is now undertaken in the outpatient department on a day-care basis without overnight stay. Many medical cases previously requiring hospital care are now dealt with by the family doctor with the patient at home.

The whole concept of care has changed dramatically in recent years, and this has affected the caring approach in hospitals, residential homes and in the community. In the past, caring involved an active carer looking after a passive patient. Although it seemed quite natural to look after the sick and disabled in this way, the process produced too much dependence of the patient or client on the carer. The modern approach in health and social services is a process of enabling. Carers enable patients (or clients) to do as much as they can for themselves. This approach reduces dependence and keeps down the total level of care required.

The idea is that illness is best treated at home, if possible. The new legislation on community care, which took effect on the 1st April 1993, is based on this principle. Pain is a burden on oneself, and being removed from home and family to the strange environment of a hospital ward adds to the stress. This is especially so for the very young and the very old.

However, not all homes are the most satisfactory places in which to be ill. Many lack the basic amenities of hot and cold water, indoor lavatory, and satisfactory heating. Also there may be no relative or friend to do the caring,-to prepare food, ensure and maintain good standards of hygiene, and to offer companionship. Often the problems can be overcome to a certain extent by the use of voluntary help from religious groups and the agencies of the Health Service and local authority (e.g. community nurses, home helps, and ‘meals on wheels’).

At present only about 6% of all elderly people are in institutional care of some sort (hospitals, residential homes, and private nursing homes). Even this small percentage imposes very heavy burdens on these institutions; present resources are simply not enough to meet even a small increase in numbers. There are waiting lists for most institutions caring for the elderly.

A further 12% of the elderly are enabled to manage in their own homes, with the help of the care agencies already mentioned. The new community care programme strongly encourages such help in the home. Only a reduction in the proportion of very old people in the total population and a healthier elderly population would result in some easing of the problem.

Care on a self help / family / neighbourhood basis backed up by the provisions of the health and social services appears to deliver good results. When husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, friends and neighbours, are involved together in the process of caring for the elderly, a very good sense of community develops. Children in particular have a special responsibility towards their parents. God says in the Qur’an:

Your lord has decreed that you worship none but Him, and that you be kind to parents, whether one or both of them attain old age in your life, say not to them a word of contempt, nor repel them, but address them in terms of honour. And, out of kindness, lower to them the wing of humility and say: ‘My lord! bestow on them Your mercy even as they cherished me in childhood.’ (al-Isra,17.23-4)

26% of elderly people have no children at all and so are especially vulnerable in times of crisis. In other cases the children may exist but are so far away as to be unable to help. Regular help to the elderly is best given by relatives, neighbours, and friends-shopping, housework, house maintenance, gardening and social visits. However, statutory and voluntary services are still required to take over-or at least plug the gaps-if the task proves to be too great for the community. It is, of course, best for society if people learn to care for one another in their own homes. 

At reception, he was met by the doctor who introduced him to a nurse who accompanied him to the ward and indicated his bed. He felt he was being processed-routine procedures, no doubt. He noted his surroundings with the nervousness of someone about to undergo his first operation. There was a plain white smock for him to put on. He undressed completely behind curtains which enclosed the bed and put on the smock. The transition from the many bits of his normal clothing to the single, bare hospital smock put him in mind of a corpse being dressed in a shroud. The nearness of the afterlife came home to him sharply, and he thought: ‘There is too much of show and display in our lives. It makes us heedless of death and the hereafter.’

The anaesthetist and the nurses who wheeled him on a stretcher-bed to the operating theatre seemed hardly to be aware of him. They talked mostly to each other, and religion was no part of their conversation. They did their work routinely. He could not feel any friend- liness or warmth towards them. Clinical sterility and all the hardware of modem medicine around him reminded him of darkness rather than light, of cold and not warmth, of pessimism and not hope, of death rather than life. He felt himself a stranger in this world, an alien, as he sometimes did also among people on the street, in the bus, at the market.

The anaesthetic when administered was most effective; he must have passed out after only a few seconds…

He woke to find himself in the ward again, and in pain as if oppressed by a heavy burden. It must be all over, he thought, somewhat amazed. Whatever needed cutting out must have been cut out. He felt as if he had been given a new life. As he was coming to, he heard other patients complaining of their pain: ‘0 God, I cannot bear it. 0 Lord, help me!’ Why must it be so? Why do we not grasp our neediness, our weakness, before God, until our suffering is extreme? To knock so urgently at the door of His mercy when we experience hardship, while we fail to thank Him in prosperity, is something peculiar to man.

He had been freed from a bodily illness. The skill of the surgeon had cut out the local cause of his pain. Good. Now, if only there were illustrious doctors who could cure the wounds, the pain and sufferings, of his spirit, who could cut out the tumours of his sins!

After being discharged from hospital he returned home where he lived alone for some time. He received news of the death of his grandmother. He wouldn’t be able to see her again and kiss her hands as he used to do on festival days, nor hear her recite, in her supplication to God after the dawn prayer, the names of all her relatives, one by one, praying with sincere tears for the well-being of each of them.

One by one all his loved ones would be separated from him. That was certain, living in solitude was good and proper. It helped him to feel the closeness of the real Friend. Family and friends and colleagues could be a comfort at times, but they also inculcated routine and habit. For this reason, perhaps, serious-minded people have always felt a need to go into retreat for a short period. A famous man who suffered greatly in this age used to be fearful of what was familiar and altered by human handiwork and familiar with what had remained unaltered, wild: therefore, he used to go into mountains and stay in the company of his Compassionate Lord who knew the innermost secrets of his heart.

His lifetime and the lifetime of his loved ones were short. Either he would leave them or they would leave him: separation was certain. He had noticed in the mirror that white hairs were beginning to appear on his head. Old age and death… Despite the white hairs, he felt himself a child, not even an adolescent. To experience the reality of old age and death is something quite different from what is presented on the subject in books and movies. Certain realities can only be understood with the passage of time and by directly experiencing them; they cannot be understood through words or images about them, however eloquent or moving.

He drifted on waves of intense emotion, at times supposing he was very far away from Him, at other times feeling that He was very near. New windows were opening in his mind for why he believed what he believed, why he had said what he had said, why he had lived through what he had lived through. He saw these words in a light-filled book: ‘We shall seek to sell our selves and our goods (which were only ever on loan to us) to God, in exchange for Paradise, the realm of eternal bliss, and for His pleasure which is a goal whose value no mind can measure’. Is it such a heavy bargain that most people do not sell? No, indeed it is not. For the circle of the permitted things is broad enough to know many pleasures and find ease and contentment in this life. There is no need at all to venture into the circle of the unlawful. The obligatory duties are neither many nor burdensome. To be a slave and soldier of God is a rank of such honour, the delight in it can scarcely be expressed in words. And our duty is to act for the sake of God, and to give and take for His sake, and to move within the circle of His permission and law, so that we may attain peace.

Peace of mind, soul and heart… The peace felt in the bones through the sheer ease of observing the bounds, of not transgressing. Who knows how many people are seeking this peace? How many are fed up with the unlawful ways, who long to rise up against their sins, but plunge back into them after finding no support and becoming depressed…

Looking through a photograph album, he slipped into old memories. The adventure of his life was covered with the leaves of years. Regret at not maintaining the innocence he had been born with increased as he turned the pages. How should so many sins be cleansed, so many spiritual wounds be healed?

Whenever he felt helpless he would turn to his book of supplications and recite from it. He did so now. After a few sentences he was overcome with weeping. He had thought after the operation: ‘If only there were an illustrious doctor certificated by the Healer who could cure the illness and sufferings of my spirit.’ Now, it was as if that doctor were standing but a few steps ahead of him: ‘O my Lord! Peace and blessings from You upon our master Muhammad, the chosen one! In his example is the healing and remedy of hearts, the wholeness and cure of bodies, the light and brightness of eyes.’

I could hear the voices of children crying in the ward at the other end of the corridor. My own poor child could only say ‘mum’ in fear while he was being examined. A little later, he fell asleep. After the examination the specialist took me aside. He had a look of deep concern and sorrow on his face:

-‘I am very sorry, doctor. It could be polio,’ he said.

I stared at him blankly, not believing what I was hearing. I could believe that some other mother’s child caught polio but I could never imagine that such a disaster would touch my own child. I no longer felt like a doctor but like a mother, waiting at her child’s bedside in an agony of anxiety.

-‘But he has not caught polio yet, has he?’ I asked again.

-‘No, not yet. I hope he will not’, the specialist answered. When he looked at my face, he noticed my worry and went on:

-‘He is sleeping now. You’d better go and get some sleep, too. I’ll call you if there is any change.’

I decided to do as I was advised. It was already very late, past midnight. I had been very busy since five o’clock in the morning, along with the other doctors. Everyone had been working very hard as the epidemic had got worse. I looked at my son’s red lace, longing to help him, to take away his pain, but there was nothing I could do except wait. I wanted to take him in my arms and surround him with all my love. But that was not possible then, so after a time I left his bedside and headed home.

The house was still and quiet when I opened the door. My husband had gone to Chicago on business. I did not tell him about our son’s condition. I did not want him to panic. Besides, if there was no change in his condition overnight, chances of his not getting polio would be very high.

I had to take some pills to help me sleep. I was deep in sleep when I heard the phone ringing. I got out of bed. It was four o’clock. The person on the phone was a woman, obviously very agitated and anxious.

-‘Is that the doctor?’ she asked.

I heaved a sigh of relief as I understood that I was being called out to visit a patient. As the woman described her son’s condition, I realized that it was probably another case of polio. After taking a note of her name and address. I couldn’t help taking a minute to phone the hospital to find out about my son: luckily, there was no change.

I felt utterly alone as I drove through the streets of the silent, sleeping city to the woman’s home. After some time, I noticed that this was the poorest part of town. On reaching the address, I stopped the car and got out. The desperate woman had been waiting and ran out to me, holding a candle. She grabbed my hand and said urgently, almost shouting:

-‘Be quick doctor! Be quick!’

I looked at her face, which was wet with crying. I couldn’t tell in the dark if the woman was young or old. I was quite shocked when I stepped into the cold one-room house. Even though I saw lots of different kinds of patients in my job, I had not seen poverty such as this before. Three thin children with pale, bony faces were sitting around an empty table in the corner of the room dimly lit by the one candle the mother was holding. The rest of the room was quite dark. However, I could just make out a child doubled up in pain at the other end of the room, moaning under a very old, patched blanket. The boy was about five years old, very thin and very weak. I told the woman I must go out to call the hospital. I did so from a telephone box in the market near the house and asked them to send an ambulance at once.

I went back and examined the other children. They were very weak but not in danger of polio. Just then the sick boy started to cry. The mother held my hand pleadingly. She wanted to learn what the illness was and how serious it was. I did not have the courage to tell her the truth.

-‘Your child is very ill, but we will do whatever we can,’ I said.

After lovingly caressing her son’s hair, the woman turned to me and said:

-‘Let’s pray’.

Although I had been visiting patients for years, I had never met one who offered to pray. I felt this woman must know something that I did not, so I agreed. I joined the children and the mother in their prayer. As the woman prayed, her mild soft voice pleading so sincerely touched me to the heart.

For a moment the hospital corridor came to mind again, the worried face of the specialist, my own dear son’s lovely face. Though far from the hospital, I felt just as if I was at my son’s bedside. I saw him as if standing in front of me and smiling. I tried to clear my mind of this picture. I watched the woman and the children still praying, now silently. The sincerity of their faith moved me so much that I could not help saying out loud and with utmost sincerity:

-‘Our Lord, do please accept these prayers!’

The mother then went over to the bedside of her sick child. The boy was sleeping peacefully. She straight away turned towards me and said joyfully:

-‘Do you see? Allah, the Most Merciful and Compassionate, has accepted our prayer.’

I was totally lost for words. The boy did not even wake up while being carried to the ambulance. By the time we got to the hospital, his breathing and pulse had returned to normal. I drove back to the woman’s home with the good news and, before leaving again for my day’s work at hospital, I gave her what money I had.

-‘I’ll call back again tomorrow evening,’ I said.

As I walked to my car, I looked up at the sky. The sun was rising and everything was becoming lit up. I was not worried this time as I drove to the hospital. A voice inside me was saying that my son would meet me smiling when I next saw him.