Phil Winkelmans

   Recently I went through a couple of hospital procedures for a stay of nine days. I was in a room with two beds, bare walls and a minimum of furniture. The only wall adornment was a huge clock at the end of my bed. The clock’s hands moved at a slow ponderous pace. It became difficult at times to not be a clock watcher. I did have a couple of diversions, my cell phone and books to read. But my eyes after the first procedure, had difficulty focusing. It boiled down to my being forced into a time of little external stimulation. My world shrank to a minimum of thoughts and ideas.
   That which I previously thought important, now settled down to my feelings concerning the slow passage of time. My greatest diversion came when my family or friends came to visit. In reflection, it was amazing how quickly my connections with others became more important than my former goals, projects and ambitions.

   Recently I went through a couple of hospital procedures for a stay of nine days. I was in a room with two beds, bare walls and a minimum of furniture. The only wall adornment was a huge clock at the end of my bed. The clock’s hands moved at a slow ponderous pace. It became difficult at times to not be a clock watcher. I did have a couple of diversions, my cell phone and books to read. But my eyes after the first procedure, had difficulty focusing. It boiled down to my being forced into a time of little external stimulation. My world shrank to a minimum of thoughts and ideas.
   That which I previously thought important, now settled down to my feelings concerning the slow passage of time. My greatest diversion came when my family or friends came to visit. In reflection, it was amazing how quickly my connections with others became more important than my former goals, projects and ambitions.
   I valued every visit and phone call, and enjoyed their company even more than I could ever have imagined. I began to recognize the riches in my world were the connections I had with family and friends. Except for about three days when another patient arrived, I had the room to myself. His name was Mel and he had seven children, the same amount I have and the same amount of grandchildren. Because he and most of them lived in Victoria, many came to visit every day. One day, a son who was a minister, showed up with his sons and daughters. They ended their visit by praying with Mel, my roommate and praying with me.
   I realize now how important it is to visit the sick; their world shrinks down to very small amounts of external stimulation. I remember years ago my dad had a stroke in his mid-sixties and they placed him in the Veterans Hospital in Vancouver. He couldn’t talk and was partly paralyzed. The room he was in had about twenty male patients; it was bare of anything but their individual beds. Their groaning and moaning from their pain and discomfort was a constant noise. The place also smelled like  a urine factory. When I would visit him, he would start to cry. At the time, I didn’t fully understand why, or what more could be done for him. My mother decided to take him home and look after him herself. He lived for another ten years. My wife and I used to take them on trips around Vancouver and into the States. We would put a mattress in the back of my van and lay my father on that. He really enjoyed it and so did we.