Compassion for the Sick

During the first year of our marriage, I remember Terry saying to me - as he lay sick in bed: "You're no Florence Nightingale." He had just discovered that - though he was ill - I didn't intend to pamper him. From time to time I would ask him if he needed anything - a glass of juice perhaps. Then I brought him what he asked for - and walked away, leaving him to be ill on his own.

In my family, being sick meant being left alone. In fact, I found comfort in being alone in a quiet house with nothing to do but think or sleep. With two parents who went to work, I spent sick days alone in my upstairs bedroom. My mother would ask me, as she was leaving, if I wanted anything. She would leave a glass of water or a glass of juice by my bed. Then she would go and the house would be empty. To me, it was "normal" not to have anybody about, hovering around, fluffing my pillows or sitting next to me.

I maintained that family tradition with my own children as well: I would look after immediate needs, then disappear. But if one of the children was extremely ill, Terry would take over, booking time off work, staying constantly at their side!

I confess I still don't know how to pamper people or how to care for them when they are sick. This is particularly apparent as I dutifully accompany my mother to all her medical appointments, acting as her memory when she is told something by doctors. Afterwards she may ask me what the doctor said, but she doesn't want me to do anything for her - unless she can't do it for herself. She still wants to be in total control of her life.

I think of all this as I read these words of Esther de Waal: Commenting on the healing ministry of Jesus, she writes that he "walked in constant awareness of the pain of the world... He never minimized the problems of suffering and of evil. He never offered an explanation which would trivialize human anguish. But by taking human suffering seriously he took human dignity seriously." (Living With Contradiction, p. 17)

Constantly aware - never trivializing or minimizing...

I may not be a Florence Nightingale. I may not know how to pamper people when they are sick. But perhaps I can make this attitude my goal.