I had lower back surgery a few years ago. I remember waking up from the operation and realising, to my great consternation, that I could not move any part of my body. I was in a complete state of immobility. It felt as if my body was no longer mine. I could not move a muscle, my body being unresponsive to even the smallest command.
I could not see clearly either, but as my eyes began to focus more intently on my surroundings, I began to see blurred shapes of people, looking like “trees walking around,” to borrow the words of the blind man of Bethsaida whom Jesus healed in Saint Mark’s gospel (Mk 8:22-25). As they became more visible, I saw two nurses, wearing broad smiles, standing over my bed and talking to me. Whatever they were saying produced only a hollow sound in my ears. I tried to speak, but my voice was weak, barely audible.
When I could finally speak more audibly, I asked where my wife was. They told me it was still too early for her to be let in. Visitors were only allowed from 11 o’clock. I remember trying to nod my head, but it refused to move. Then I asked for my rosary in a bag near my bedside. One of the nurses exclaimed, “Oh, you’re a Catholic! So am I!” The warmth in her voice as she handed me my rosary and the recognition in her eyes were unexpected but deeply comforting. It was a moment of connection that went beyond the physical barriers between us. Here I was, immobilised and vulnerable, yet in that instant, that nurse and I shared something more profound—an unspoken bond of faith and mutual understanding.
Not only did she hand me the rosary, but she also offered me a moment of solace and companionship that touched my heart in a way words cannot fully capture. In that exchange, I found inspiration—an uplifting reminder that even in the darkest and most challenging moments, connections can bring light. Her smile, her kindness, and the simple acknowledgment of our shared faith gave me the strength to face the uncertainty of my condition with renewed hope.
Isn’t it amazing how, sometimes, the smallest gestures—like a smile or a shared belief—can make all the difference in one’s life? They provide the comfort we need when everything else seems uncertain. In that vulnerable moment, the nurse’s response reminded me of the power of human connection and how faith can lift us, even when our bodies feel incapable of doing so. Not only did I feel the physical comfort of my rosary, but I also felt a renewed sense of gratitude for the unexpected sources of strength we find in each other, irrespective of race, gender, or nationality.
