Day 1:
Let this blest assurance control
"Peace I leave with you; My peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid" (John 14:27).
She sat on the bench in Casualty (the Hospital Emergency Department) muttering to herself. I perceived her distress, more from the instinctive empathy of a child—only much later in life would I cognitively process the events of that day.
I had broken my wrist in a fall at school, and I sat with my mother in the small hospital hallway, waiting to be called into surgery to have the bone set. She was across from us, her face pale and drawn, her hands clasping and unclasping in the folds of her dark print dress.
The young man restlessly pacing the small space was obviously connected to her, a fact later confirmed when my mother, who had never met a stranger in her life, entered into conversation with him. They hailed from Chateaubelair, a town tucked away under the shadow of the volcano, on the Leeward coast of the island.
She was his grandmother, he told my mother, and she was waiting for an X-Ray, although I’m not sure if we ever learned what initially brought them to the hospital. They were still there when the nurse came to take me into theatre (the operating room)—she still muttering and showing signs of deep agitation, he, continuing his restless pacing.
It was several hours before I was fully awake, and yet a little while longer before our second encounter with the young man. This time, he was sobbing hysterically. His grandmother had unfortunately died as the X-ray was being done. From what I gathered then, and pieced together later, she had suffered a massive heart attack as she underwent the diagnostic procedure.
I am not sure how much her initial condition contributed to the sad outcome, but the young man was convinced that it was his grandmother’s deep fear of the procedure that had ultimately caused her heart to fail. Apparently, she did not know what an X-ray was, or what to expect during the procedure.
She had had little, if any, exposure to hospital settings and processes. She was from a time and generation that had always relied on the comforting familiarity of folk medicine—the simple, trusted remedies that had been handed down for generations. And even her grandson had not known enough to set her mind at rest.
I have often told this story as I trained patient empathy classes in hospital settings, trying to impress on hospital staff the importance of explanation, the importance of reassurance, the importance of anticipation in the patient experience.
Some healthcare experiences are inevitably difficult, uncomfortable, or downright painful. But studies show that preparing the patient by providing information, setting expectations, and providing reassurance can decrease anxiety and ultimately accelerate healing.
Sometimes our comfort in and knowledge of our own world can cause us to forget the anxiety others may have in what is to them unfamiliar territory. Especially in stressful environments like healthcare and air travel!
Jesus understood so well the anxiety we feel from “not knowing”, from being unprepared, from being caught off-guard. He understood the importance of expecting, of anticipating, of making ready. For this reason, throughout His entire ministry, He patiently explained what was to come—the good, the inconceivable, the bad, the terrible.
Every step of the way, He informed, prepared, reassured: “I have told you these things, so that in Me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 16:33).
It is sometimes easy, in the turmoil swirling around us, to focus on the unraveling, the uncertainty, the unease. But we have been given the story, assured of the outcome. And with each step forward, we hear, above the roar of the storm, “Peace I leave with you; My peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid" (John 14:27).
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