by Joanne Jacquart-Pyle W


ALKING DOWN the hospital corridor, I pushed through the swinging doors and checked in at the nurs-


es’ station. From there I was escorted to the psychiatric ward. The pungent odor of antiseptic permeated the air. Worn, sagging, gray, plastic-covered sofas and chairs sat randomly about the window- less room. Cold white light blazed from naked fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling and reflected on the green and gray tiled floor. My thoughts went back to the phone call I had received from a friend. “Joanne,” she said, “There’s a woman I used to work with who has had a ner- vous breakdown and is in the hospital. I’ve been praying for her. Other than her husband, she has no family at all. Would you consider visiting her?”


Me? But what would I say? How could I help? I had never even been to a psychi- atric ward before. But even as I objected, I felt that inner voice of the Spirit. Go in My name and I’ll give you the words to speak.


My thoughts were interrupted as the nurse at the desk explained that the patient I requested to visit was in isolation. “No visitors are allowed except for immediate family,” she said.


unlocked the door to a short hallway, and then marched to Ann’s room.


“You have 10 minutes.” She glared at me as she unlocked the door. As we entered the cubicle, my heart sank. The walls were painted a dull gray. There was only room for a single bed and a chair—nothing else.


Sitting on the bed, surrounded by twisted, sweat-stained sheets, Ann’s long dark hair looked dirty and matted. Her gaunt, pale face accented her dark eyes, which stared ahead expressionless. As we entered, she asked the matron in a tone- less voice if she could use the bathroom. “You got a weak bladder or some- thing?” the matron asked. “You’ve got a visitor. I think you can wait 10 minutes.” As she left the room, she reminded me, “Ten minutes. That’s all.”


I sat on the chair facing the cot and introduced myself, explaining that a friend of hers had asked me to come and visit. Ann sat staring at the floor, her hands twisting in her lap. I wondered what medication she was on and if she would even remember this visit. I slipped off the chair and knelt in front of her, taking her hands in mine.


“I came to tell you that you are loved,” I said softly. “You are a very spe- cial person, and God loves you.”


“I think it was because of the prob- lem I was having with Nancy and the baby.”


“Who is Nancy?”


“The girl my husband had an affair with while I was in the hospital recuper- ating from back surgery,” she said matter- of-factly. “Then she had his baby and he’s acting like the proud father, telling me he’s thinking of having her and the baby move into our home.” She bit down on her lower lip. “I told him no. He started yelling, telling me I was selfish . . . that since I never could have children of my own I should be willing to accept this baby like a member of the family.” I wanted to say what I thought about her husband, but kept silent. She needed to talk.


“Now I’m so confused,” she said. “Sometimes I think he’s right and I feel guilty. After all, it’s not the baby’s fault. And I have no other family.” Her voice drifted off and she sat staring into space. This time it was my tears that splashed onto my hands.


“Time’s up!” the matron barked from the doorway.


“Ann, would you mind if I pray for you before I leave?” I asked. The matron stood in the doorway sighing impatiently as I said a short


THE WOMAN IN THE


This was my chance to turn around and leave. Instead, I heard myself saying, “A close friend asked me to come because Ann has no family here. I drove quite a distance and I promise to stay only a short time. Please?”


She sighed and said, “I suppose I could make an exception.”


With that, she motioned to a matron and held out a set of keys. The matron was a stocky, grim-faced woman with her brown hair pulled back into a tight bun. Her eyes flashed with irritation as she snatched the keys. I followed her as she


She avoided my eyes and didn’t respond. I continued speaking words of God’s love. Then I felt some tears splash onto my hands. Slowly, she lifted her head and began to talk. I could feel the hurt in her voice.


“I . . . I don’t even remember being brought here.” Her voice trailed off and silence engulfed us for a moment. “My husband was shouting at me and some- thing inside me snapped. The next thing I remember is waking up here.” “Do you recall what the shouting was


about?”


prayer. I gave Ann a hug and promised I would keep in touch.


As I slipped into my car, hot tears spilled over. Why couldn’t she have been brought to a different place where she would be treated with love? Had I said the right things? Had I been any help at all? “O God, help her,” I breathed.


At home I began to write her short notes of encouragement and hope each day. Sometimes I’d write, “I just wanted to remind you today that God loves you.” Other times I wrote out a Bible verse or a short prayer.


8 EVANGEL • SEP 2010


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