a Seems Like God Reflection
by David Keating

Community

January 5, 2008

This week's column was originally going to be a slightly delayed New Year's piece. It's going to be delayed a little longer.

On Boxing Day (that's the day after Christmas for those readers in places that don't have a day designated for post-Christmas shopping orgies), my daughter woke up feeling nauseous and with stomach pain.

We had thought that her first official act as a sixteen year old was going to be to get her drivers license. As it turned out, it was to sign the consent form for an emergency appendectomy.

That was four days ago. I'm writing this column from a chair at the foot of Meaghan's bed. I'll be here several more days. Which has given me ample time to reflect on just exactly what community looks like.

Of course, we think of family in times of crisis. A family is a community formed by birth or marriage or some other association. When need arises, we set aside other priorities, other tasks. We overlook family differences and we bend our energies to supporting and nurturing.

My cousins made sure that Mom, who had been visiting, got home safely when it became obvious that Meaghan wasn't just getting some pills and bed rest. An impromptu communications network sprung up to pass along updates when I stepped out of the hospital long enough to turn on my cell phone.

And the community grew. Our landlord offered to walk the dog so Mom wouldn't have to take a chance on an icy sidewalk. Friends and neighbours offered to buy coffee, sit a spell, and let us know that we are in their thoughts and prayers. Meaghan's friends have called, visited, exchanged email.

As each day has passed, I've seen this community recreated in a dozen ways. Each hospital patient, isolated by their individual health issues, nevertheless becomes the focus of a network of humanity. A community of care.

Of course, there's a formal community of care and this article would not be complete without including them. The men and women who make hospitals work form a unique community. I have come to know, appreciate, and admire each and every person whom I have come into contact with.

From the triage nurse who first saw Meaghan, and in spite of having no doubt seen dozens of people that day, still had a warm smile and reassuring words.

To the doctor and nurses who examined and cared for her while tests were run, offering a gentle touch and encouragement.

To the surgeon and operating team who explained every step, calming the fears of dad and daughter who were enduring a great deal of pre-op anxiety.

To the surgeon who offered a warm silent smile of compassion when coming upon a teary-eyed father in the O.R. waiting room.

To the recovery room nurse (man that place was chilly) who attentively checked monitors and medicines, assuring me that the beeps and blips were positive signs.

To the nurses and staff of the floor Meaghan is on, who always have time to answer her call, explain procedures and processes, and who manage to give their undivided attention to each person under their care.

An efficient, professional and compassionate community.

As I sit here looking out the window at the darkness, I reflect on community. Family. Friends. Neighbours. Acquaintances. Strangers. Professionals.

And I realize that there is only one sacred text that I need to tell me about the nature of God, to confirm beyond doubt that God not only exists but is with us always.

Community.

David Keating