{"id":434,"date":"2020-04-01T12:12:58","date_gmt":"2020-04-01T10:12:58","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/scribewalker.com\/?page_id=434"},"modified":"2020-04-02T13:24:45","modified_gmt":"2020-04-02T11:24:45","slug":"samples","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/scribewalker.com\/index.php\/samples\/","title":{"rendered":"Sample chapters"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Sample: God in the ICU<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

Chapter One<\/a><\/h4>\n\n\n\n

A SENSE of DESTINY<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hey God, can You hear me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The shrill, triumphant voice of a six-year-old boy pierced\nthe morning air from a treetop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I had climbed to the summit of the Jacaranda tree in our\ngarden and was savouring the victory. The ground was dizzyingly far below me\nand I felt sure that the top of the world could not be far off. And of course,\nI was close to heaven and therefore close to God.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I do not think that there was ever a time in my life when I\ndoubted the existence of God. I remember at the questioning age of adolescence,\nwhen one thinks about things more intently, and questions everything, I was at\na camp in the Zimbabwean bush. I had looked around at the \ufb02at-topped thorn\ntrees providing shade for our tents and the tall Bauhinias, whose leaves\n\ufb02uttered in the wind like butter\ufb02ies; I had listened to the ku-kurrrrrrrr of\nthe doves overhead and seen a timid bushbuck dart through our camp; I had\nobserved the sensitive, complex ecosystem – everything designed to harmonise\nand sustain life in a slow, purposeful rhythm of seasons and I had settled the\nquestion once and for all. This could not have happened by accident: God was\nthere.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This is the tale of how He took my hand and led me down the\npath appointed for me, to show me the way in which He responds to our prayers\nand demonstrates His love in all manner of situations.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The story starts in 1940 in a simply furnished pre-fabricated\nhouse, nestled, with four others like it, amongst Msasa trees and tawny grass\nin a remote part of Zimbabwe overlooking the Umniati River. It was home to the\nengineer who supervised the power station. His young wife was looking anxiously\nat their newborn baby. He had not been well for two days, but today he looked\nworse. Instead of crying fretfully he was drowsy and listless and could not\ntake the breast.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She glanced at her husband beside her. \u201cWe need to get him to the hospital, Jack. I\u2019m worried.\u201d <\/em>It was a\nthree-hour bumpy ride in their old truck along a bush track to Kwe Kwe, the\nnearest town, and to the anxious parents each minute crawled by as their child\nlay still and pale beside them. They rushed into the Casualty Department,\nanxiously presenting the little bundle to the staff. After his examination the\ndoctor was abrupt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy did you leave it\nso late? Your baby has malaria. There is no chance to save him now. He is going\nto die!\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Without even sterilising the skin, he plunged a needle into\nthe little buttock, administering a massive dose of quinine, more as a token of\ntreatment than with any true hope.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In anguish and guilt after the doctor\u2019s comment, the mother\nand father kept an anxious all-night vigil over their baby. Remarkably, the\nnext day he had improved, and although he developed an abscess from the quinine\ninjection and pneumonia as a complication, he survived.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That was my introduction into this world. When I was old\nenough to understand, and heard them recall the story, it engendered in me a\nsense of destiny. God had spared me for a purpose. From the age of seven I knew\nI wanted to ful\ufb01l that destiny in the \ufb01eld of medicine and everything was\nassessed in terms of how it would help me to become a doctor. I devoured\nstories of doctors of compassion such as Dr Paul Brand, a Christian surgeon who\nworked amongst lepers, transforming their lives by making groundbreaking\ndiscoveries of the cause of their deformities and devising operations to\ncounter their disabilities. I thrilled to tales of humanitarians such as Albert\nSchweitzer, a famous musician who then studied medicine and went on to found a\nmission station in Lambar\u00e9n\u00e9, in the former French Equatorial Africa (now Gabon).\nAnd Taylor Caldwell\u2019s Dear and Glorious\nPhysician, <\/em>a novel about St Luke, the doctor disciple of Jesus, set my\nheart a\ufb02ame as I dreamed, romantically, of the healing role I could play in\nsociety.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I somehow never doubted that I would be accepted for Medical\nSchool, but it was nevertheless a thrill as I set off on a three-day car\njourney from Zimbabwe to the University of Cape Town.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My time at Medical School came at a pivotal time in South\nAfrica\u2019s history. On 21 March 1960, one year after my enrolment, a group of 20\n000 unarmed people gathered at the police station in Sharpeville (a township\nnear Vereeniging), to protest against laws which required every Black person to\ncarry a \u2018pass\u2019. The handful of police, confronted with such a large number of\npeople, panicked and \ufb01red live ammunition into the crowd, massacring 69 people\nincluding women and children. Those were tense days in the history of the\ncountry and I have a vivid memory of an endless line of thousands upon\nthousands of Black people marching solemnly along De Waal Drive, the main\nhighway into Cape Town, led by a young lawyer named Nelson Mandela. They were\nprotesting against the Sharpeville massacre and demanding compensation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In response the South African Government passed a bill\nindemnifying the government retrospectively from responsibility for any such\ncompensation. So, in my third year at Medical School, the African National Congress <\/em>turned peaceful opposition into an armed\nstruggle and we lived in a declared State of Emergency.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In that atmosphere of secret government atrocities and acts\nof sabotage by Umkhonte we Sizwe<\/em>, the\nmilitary wing of the African National Congress, I was accumulating knowledge\nthat I hoped would set me on a different course of compassion and healing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At last the day arrived. The results of the \ufb01nal examination\nwere pinned up and, pushing through the crowd and craning my neck, I saw my\nname on the list. I rushed to my excited parents to be greeted by my dad, for\nthe \ufb01rst time, by my new title, \u201cHello,\nDoc!\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

It felt so good! I was ful\ufb01lling my destiny.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

During my time at Medical School I had fallen in love with a\nbeautiful nurse and Penny and I were married two days after I graduated. Our\nhoneymoon was spent travelling back to Zimbabwe so that I could commence my\ninternship at Harare Hospital.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My introduction to medical practice was dramatic. I waited\nnervously for the phone to ring on my \ufb01rst night on call and jumped\napprehensively at the shrill ring. I answered quickly, \u201cHello.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHello Dr Walker.\nCould you come to Casualty immediately: we have a child here whose arm has been\nbitten off by a crocodile!\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I raced to the Emergency Department to see a six-year-old\nboy lying on a trolley, the whites of his wide eyes shining against the black\nof his frightened little face. His right arm was missing, with the bone\nprotruding through putrid \ufb02esh bloated with gas gangrene. This was a prelude to\na hectic internship. With only four interns to manage a one thousand-bed\nhospital handling such dramatic cases, it was a baptism by \ufb01re. It was a time\nof busy days and gruelling nights, but we gained great experience very quickly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And yet there was\nmore\u2026<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

During my time at Medical School I had become very\ninterested in anaesthesia. To see someone close their eyes and drift into\nunconsciousness in response to an injection was fascinating. I learned that it\nwas the anaesthetist\u2019s responsibility to keep the body functioning as normally\nas possible while it was being assaulted by the strain of surgery and blood\nloss. The anaesthetic itself produces side effects and the anaesthetist must be\naware of these and be ready to counteract them in the best possible way.\nAnaesthesia requires dexterity in placing intravenous, arterial and epidural\nlines, a comprehensive knowledge of how the body functions normally and under\nsurgery and a thorough understanding of drugs and how they work. The idea of\nusing skill and knowledge to be the guardian of the patient, sheltering him\nthrough a major crisis in his life, had great appeal. Hence I enrolled as a\nregistrar in training in the Anaesthetic Department at Groote Schuur Hospital\nin Cape Town.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sample: Prayer, Medicine and Miracles<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

Chapter eight<\/a><\/h4>\n\n\n\n

Atheists and believer<\/strong>s<\/a><\/h4>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut God chose the foolish things of\nthe world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame\nthe strong.\u201d (1Cor. 1:27) NIV<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Although there were mockers at\nthe hospital, and friends who deserted me, my life was filled with joy and\nsheer inner exuberance as I experienced the reality that God is with us in all\nthat we do, ready to respond to our prayers. A few days after my radical\nexperience of God, I decided to buy a Bible. I parked my car in town and then\nrealized I had no clue where to find a Bible shop. I prayed “God, I’ve never done this before, but\nI’m asking You to show me where there is a Bible shop”.<\/em> Imagine my\ndelight when I walked down the street, took a right turn after a couple of\nblocks and there, before me was a Methodist Bookshop. It was my first\nexperience of directly answered prayer and from then on, no amount of\nskepticism could stop me. I prayed with my patients, I offered to pray with\ncolleagues, I prayed for the people in the car in front of me in traffic jams,\nI prayed for beggars who asked me for money and I prayed, of course, for my\nfamily. While I lost a few friends and endured some ridicule, I found new friends\nwho loved Jesus and I saw God respond to my prayers in wonderful ways.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On my preoperative round, my\nusual approach to my patients was to examine them and get the medical side of\nthings sorted out. Often the surgeon, in his round with the sister, was\nintimidating, and I would be the first person the patient felt safe enough to\nask about what would happen in the operating room. I tried to familiarize them\nwith the procedure and then said something like this:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\njust want to tell you that I am a committed Christian, and I have seen the way\nGod responds to us when we entrust these difficult times to Him. I\u2019d love to\nsay a prayer with you for tomorrow, if you\u2019d like me to.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sometimes, of course, I would\nfeel a nudge not to pray for a particular patient, but I usually prayed with\nthemunless there was a definite\nprompting not to.<\/em> It was not always\neasy to pray with my patients; there was always the fear of offending someone,\nalthough I tried not to be coercive in any way. I remember visiting a large\nman, built like a wrestler, with a Men\u2019s\nHealth and a hunting magazine beside his bed. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I held out my hand as I entered\nhis ward. \u201cHello, I\u2019m Dr. Walker and I\u2019ll be\ngiving you the anesthetic for your operation tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHrmph!\u201d\nHe gave my hand a quick shake.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then I went through my usual\nquestions. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAny\nprevious operations?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNa\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAny\nmedication? Allergies?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMmm-gmm\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

All my questions were answered in\na grunt or a monosyllable. I was not connecting. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

At the end of it, rather\nintimidated, I was tempted to just move on to my next patient. But I knew the\ncheck in my spirit was from fear of this macho man and what he might think, not\nfrom the Lord. I took a deep breath and offered to pray with him if he would\nlike.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c\u2019Kay.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I prayed. He gave no response and\nI left thinking I wonder if I should have\ndone that?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I visited him with a little\ntrepidation the day after his operation and was surprised to be greeted with a\nbig smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCome\nin, Dr. Walker. Come in.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow\nare you doing, Mr. Jacobs?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m\ndoing fine. A bit sore, of course, but fine.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He was friendly and ready to\ntalk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After some small talk, he said, \u201cThank you so much for praying for\nme, Doc. I can\u2019t tell you what it meant. I was terrified when I came in. Could\nhardly speak. But after you prayed a peace came over me and I went into the\noperation as calm as anything.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jesus breathes peace. Whenever He\nappeared to His disciples after His resurrection His first words were either, \u201cDon\u2019t be afraid\u201d or, \u201cPeace be with\nyou.\u201d He is the Prince of Peace.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I have found there is a big\ndifference between saying to someone, \u201cI\u2019ll\npray for you,\u201d and actually praying with<\/em> them.\nTime and again my patients expressed a calmness, allaying their fear before an\noperation, as I prayed with them and their hearts were opened for God to do His\nwork of peace.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I seldom had anyone refuse\nprayer. There was, however, one man who broke my heart. That was George. I\nentered his ward on my preoperative round and he greeted me with a friendly\nsmile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHello\nMr. Stafford. I\u2019m Dr. Walker and I\u2019m going to be putting you to sleep for your\noperation tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd\nwake me up afterward I hope.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was my turn to smile. \u201cThat\u2019s part of the deal.They\u2019re\ngoing to be opening your tummy. Have they told you what for?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He was perfectly at ease. \u201cI\u2019ve got something nasty in there\napparently.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDo\nyou mind if I have a feel?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

As I laid my hand on his stomach,\nI felt my heart recoil. It was as if I had seen a black hood placed over the\nhead of someone about to be executed. A hard, craggy lump extended from his\nribs down to his lower abdomen. There was no doubt, from its hardness and the\nrough uneven edge that this was cancer. I wondered if George knew the\nseriousness of his condition; he seemed so cheerful and unconcerned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I offered to pray with him before\nhis operation but he politely declined. \u201cSorry,\nI\u2019m an atheist. Don\u2019t believe God exists.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The operation confirmed what was\nobvious clinically. A wicked looking cancer had spread beyond the scope of any\nsurgery, other than a minor procedure to make sure the cancer did not obstruct\nhis bowel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I went to see him afterward. He\nlooked as cheerful as he had before his operation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe\nsurgeon has spoken to you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh\nyes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo\nyou know the prognosis?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes,\nnot good.\u201d He might have been talking about the weather.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019d\nlove to pray with you. I\u2019ve seen God do some wonderful things in the lives of\npeople with your kind of prognosis.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo\nthanks, I\u2019m an atheist\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I could not stay away from him,\nhowever. He was such a likable man who would soon be gone, but who did not seem\nto appreciate the dire straits he was in. I visited him daily. He was always\ncheerful and friendly. I longed to discuss the deeper issues of life, but the\nconversation was always superficial. It was bizarre. Here was a man who had\nbarely a few months to live and all we spoke about was the cricket score, the\nweather or the pretty nurses. Every day I offered to pray with him and every\nday his reply was the same. \u201cNo\nthanks. I\u2019m an atheist.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Finally George was discharged\nfrom hospital. He left a card for me which would have been funny if my heart\nwas not crying for him. It read:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dear\nDr. Walker<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thank\nyou very much for your kindness in visiting me each day while I was in\nhospital. I looked forward to your visits.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

God bless you.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

George\nStafford.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

God bless you?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As well as praying with my\npatients, I also made friends in surprising places with others in the hospital\nwho loved Jesus. Two of the porters who worked in the operating room were\npassionate about the Lord. They were uncomplicated folk with a simple outlook\non life, but I sometimes think that is an advantage. The gospel message is\nessentially a simple one — God loved the world so much that He was willing to\ndie for us so that we can be in a loving relationship with Him \u2014 and while we\ncan marvel at the depths of the wisdom and glory of Christmas and Calvary, we\ncan also get entangled in trying to reason out what is far beyond reason.\nAnthony and Brian had no such problem. They just loved Jesus because He had\nforgiven them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Anthony had suffered brain damage\nas a child. It left him with a speech impediment in which all his words ran\ntogether in rapid speech. \u201cWonderfulServiceonSunday.\nWonderfulWonderful. SpiritMovingDrWalker.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I loved talking to him and Brian\nbecause of their simple faith that put my intellectual, doubting colleagues to\nshame.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One day a thunderstorm was raging\noutside. The air was dark and ominous. Torrents of rain threw themselves\nangrily against the operating room windows and a split second blinding light\nwas followed almost immediately with the crackle and roar of thunder. Anthony\nwas standing at a window looking at the spectacle. One of my mocking partners\ndecided to have a little fun with him. Sidling up to him he said, \u201cJust think, Anthony, that lightning\ncould come right through the window and strike you dead.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Anthony tilted his head to one\nside, gave him a crooked smile and looked at him through shining blue eyes. \u201cDrChadwick.\nForMeInstantDeathIsInstantGlory!\u201d That silenced my partner and delighted me, as\nI chuckled inwardly at my simple friend\u2019s wisdom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I also discovered that many of\nthe nursing sisters I worked with were Christians, and it was a pleasure to be\nable to pray with them, either about their situation or about the patients in\ntheir care. Sometimes they were outspoken about their faith and not afraid to\ninclude me in their outspokenness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Celia was in charge of the ICU at\nGrey\u2019s Hospital. If we had prayed with a\npatient, she always included it in her daily report to the Matron\u2019s Office:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jeremy\nHosking: <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

An\nuneventful day. Still on the ventilator. Oxygenation good on 35% inspired\noxygen. Vital signs stable. Fluid balance good.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Prayed\nand laid hands by myself, and with Dr. Walker and Sisters Stewart and Goodall.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was greatly encouraged by these\nbelievers, especially in the early days of my walk with Jesus. Somehow, when I\nhad been mocked or was the object of a sarcastic remark, God always put a\nbeliever across my path to encourage me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As I grew in my walk with Jesus,\nhowever and saw Him work in wonderful ways in response to prayer, I became more\nconfident and had fewer disparaging remarks. When I prayed, I no longer hoped\nGod would work; I expected Him to work. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

On one occasion my senior\npartner, knowing my interest in ICU, asked me to take over a patient of his who\nwas steadily deteriorating. When I looked at the way my partner was managing\nhim, I could not see anything I could add to his treatment. I changed nothing\nin his management; I merely started praying with the patient and he improved\nand was discharged from ICU a week later.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The nursing staff, too,\nencouraged to pray with their patients, saw remarkable results. This is one of\nthem:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Marie was a young university\nstudent who was in love. Each day she looked forward to the end of lectures\nwhen John picked her up on his way home from work. Time with him was music and\nsong. The trees and flowers shone with the luminance of young, passionate love\nand the air was fragrant with deep conversations as she shared her heart\ncomfortably and freely with the man she loved. She did not notice that he was\nnot sharing his heart with her. Until he stopped coming. He had moved to the\nnext girl.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In a fit of depression, Marie\nswallowed a bottle-full of paracetamol.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As the paracetamol entered the\nliver, the cells there processed it by combining it with another molecule,\nready for excretion. But the paracetamol kept coming. Marie\u2019s liver, desperate to inactivate\nit, broke it down to smaller molecules. One of these, however is toxic and\nattacked the liver cells. If one could have looked at Marie\u2019s liver, it would\nhave been pale and swollen, filling with fat it could not process. The cells\nwere dead or dying. Her only hope was a liver transplant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Marie was admitted to the\nCoronary Care Unit while on the waiting list, because she was being cared for\nby a physician. I visited Coronary Care occasionally for fellowship with the\nChristian nursing staff and, one day, saw Marie and heard her story. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I looked at the young blond girl\nin the bed. She was semi-conscious and deeply yellow, sighing with each breath\nas the toxins which were unable to be excreted by the dead liver poured acid\ninto her system. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

How\ndeeply the young feel, <\/em>I thought. How world-shattering and overwhelming is rejected love. How close the\nhorizons of their lives that they cannot see anything beyond the immediate\ncrisis.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was a race against time for\nMarie. Many patients die before a liver is available. Would Marie be one of\nthem?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I did not visit the Coronary Care\nUnit for another fortnight. When I did, Marie\u2019s\nbed was empty.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\nhappened to Marie? Did they find a liver, or did she die?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The sisters smiled.\n“Neither. She got better.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat?\nShe was in a coma from liver failure.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes. We prayed for her and after three days she opened her eyes. By the end of the week her jaundice had gone and she was discharged. The doctor admitted that he\u2019d never seen that before. He said it was a miracle.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sample: Listen to the Music<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
\n MURMURS OF A\n GUILTY CONSCIENCE<\/strong><\/a><\/strong>\n <\/td><\/tr><\/tbody><\/table><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

I think I made a\nmistake. It’s not easy being a governor in a foreign land — especially one\nwith such crazy bigots. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I had the whole pack\nbaying for his life, because he didn’t toe their theological line! How do you\nkeep the balance between order and what you know in your heart is right? Things\nwere heading for a riot as they yapped at my heels like hunting dogs slavering\nfor his blood. I couldn’t let it go on. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

So, I killed an\ninnocent man. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I don’t usually care.\nI’ve done it before. Even enjoyed it, watching them writhe and seeing the\npeople cower at the power I can wield — or grow angry, depending on their\nmood. It’s never affected me this way before. What’s it to me as long as I can\nkeep law and order? That’s the priority.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But there’s something\nbothering me about this one. He was different. He wouldn’t cower and he\nwouldn’t talk, but his looks were eloquent enough and I didn’t like it. He\nseemed to look into my heart, and that’s a private place. I don’t even like\ngoing there myself, sometimes. For all the pleasure I get from seeing others\nsquirm under my power — especially those filthy Jews — sometimes the inner\ndoor opens a chink and there are longings……..and doubts…….I like to\nkeep that door shut.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was something\nelse in his eyes, too. What was it? That’s part of what’s bugging me. I’ve\nspotted fear in eyes a hundred times or more and enjoyed the smell of it. I’ve\nseen arrogance, too and I like that even more. It spurs me to greater cruelty\nwith no remorse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His eyes had neither.\nThe closest I can come to describe it is… let me see… pity? No, though\nthere was some of that. Love? Perhaps. Compassion!<\/em>\nThat’s it. It was as though he was looking at ME with compassion. I had the\npower of life and death in my hands — his life — and he’s looking at ME with\ncompassion. It was so absurd that it unnerved me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And that conversation\nabout truth! Everyone knows that truth is relative, changing with our\nexperience. Yet when I looked at him, he seemed so completely integrated, so\nsure — as if behind the man was a colossus, solid and unmoving — eternal,\nalmost. I had the weirdest feeling I was looking at Truth itself. I had to turn\naway and give a mocking, “What is truth?” But in a sense I was asking\nmyself the question…. and wondering if he could tell me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That’s when I decided\nto let him go. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I tried my hardest. I\ntried to flog and release, and when that didn’t work, I used the Jewish feast\nto release one prisoner, trying to persuade the Jews to accept him as the one.\nNothing worked with those unbending fanatics. Then the crowd started getting\nugly and it was order first, as always. I washed my hands of the case and let\nthem have their way. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

But no matter how\nmuch I wash my hands, they still feel smeared with his blood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I heard some of the\nthings he said from the cross — strange things to come from a dying man,\nespecially one unjustly tortured. When I heard of them, I had a flashback to\nthose eyes. I thought I saw that same compassionate look that unnerved me when\nI questioned him. How could a dying man plead for the forgiveness of those\nkilling him? And did that include me?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I heard he even had\nwords of encouragement to that scoundrel crucified next to him. He spoke as if\nthat wasn’t the end of him — that they’d meet again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And the eclipse that\nlasted so long (why hadn’t our astronomers predicted that?) at the same time as\nan earthquake. Was it coincidence that it all happened round about the time of\nhis death?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yes, I have a feeling\nthat for once I made a mistake. This was one man I should have let free.\nClaudia thinks so too. She’s not one to nag, but she told me on the day of the\ntrial, and I’ve never heard the end of it since! <\/p>\n\n\n\n

But why should I\nworry? No-one can touch me. I’m Pontius Pilate and I have all the power of Rome\nbehind me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yet, this one thought\nkeeps bugging me: <\/p>\n\n\n\n

“What if he wasn’t just a man?”<\/em>
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sample: Crisis in the Children’s Ward<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

Chapter one<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Trees reared up and flashed past in a disjointed blur. A\ngroup of children waving and flashing white from their black faces, was dimly\nseen. The round huts with domed tops of woven grass, the ploughed fields and\nstraggly crops of stunted maize, the far-off mountains, mysterious and majestic\nin the distant haze, went unnoticed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jason turned up the radio full blast until the music\nreverberated through his body. He shook his head vigorously and shouted to\nhimself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘Come on, Jason. Not long now. Keep going. You\u2019ve gotta keep\ngoing.’ He raised his eyebrows, but his lids were reluctant to follow.\nEverything momentarily disappeared. The crunch and bump of tires over dirt and\ngrass woke him as his car hurtled towards a tree.  With a wrench at the wheel the car rocked\nback onto the road. It was a losing battle. His pounding heart told him he\nshould have stopped long ago. As he headed over a blind rise, he hit the\nbrakes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Suddenly\nthere was furious hooting and the tearing sound of tyres skidding on dirt. A\ncar ripped through the bush beside him and came to a standstill. Coughing and\nsquinting through the dust, he rushed to the other car. Fully awake now, he\npulled at the door handle as the dust settled, and momentarily recoiled at the\nfire in the eyes of a flushed and glowering Snow White, whose hands still\ngripped the steering wheel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She started\nspeaking before he had opened the door fully, her voice shrill. ‘What were you\nthinking, stopping on a blind rise like that? Are you suicidal? You could have\nkilled us both!’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘So sorry.\nI … I just wasn’t thinking. I’m impulsive. I was … I was sleepy and just\nthought ….’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘Well, that\nimpulse could have been your last.’ <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Before his eyes\nthe colour drained from her face, the paleness contrasting with her pitch black\nhair. She started shaking, still gripping the steering wheel. Jason opened his\nmouth but no words came. He bit his lip, looked at the sky, at the car tyres\nhalf buried in sand, at the surrounding bush, back at her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Snow White\nsighed, relaxed, and with a weak smile, extended her hand. ‘Trish Breeze. I\nguess the Lord had His angels looking after us.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jason\nignored her remark and took her hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘Jason\nLangley. Can I help you get this car out of the bush? Of course, I\u2019ll pay \u2026.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She brushed\nthe air with her hand. ‘We can talk about that later. Let\u2019s see if it\u2019ll still\ngo. I need to get to the hospital.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘Oh. You a\nnurse?’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘No. Just\nvisit the patients. Encourage them. But there\u2019s a meeting I need to get to.\nChildren are dying unexpectedly. We\u2019re discussing it.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jason let\nher alight and took the driving seat. ‘I\u2019m also going to the hospital. I\u2019m the\nnew doctor. Driven up through the night from Cape Town. Was falling asleep at\nthe wheel.’ The engine gunned into a roar. Trish stood back as the car lurched\nforward, bouncing over grass tufts until it was on the verge.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jason\nnoticed Snow White \u2013 er \u2013 Trish looking at the large scratch down the side and\ndecided not to say anything now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘Well, I\u2019ll\nsee you at the hospital.’ With the tyres kicking stones and dust she was back\non the road and disappearing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wide awake\nnow, Jason focused on the road ahead. ‘Great start, Jason.’ He shouted over the\nblaring radio, then reached to turn it down. ‘You\u2019re not even there and you\u2019re\nmaking enemies.’ He paused.  ‘Great\nlittle figure, though,’ He replayed the incident in his mind. ‘Didn\u2019t think\nsuch blue eyes could carry such fire \u2026.’ His mind replayed the scene. ‘Pity.\nShe looks like some<\/em> chick.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His body\nfelt like lead as the tension eased. Dodging potholes and stray cattle on the 1\n700 kilometre journey from Cape Town was tiring enough without a near accident\nas well. But with the weariness was a vague knot in the pit of his stomach. He\nhad no qualms about his ability to tackle the medical problems \u2014 his academic\nrecord was testimony to that. Yet this rural hospital in the foothills of the\nDrakensberg \u2026 it was so different from the shiny, hi-tech teaching hospital in\nCape Town. What challenges would there be there that he could not anticipate\nbefore they were upon him?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nevertheless,\nwhen the post had been advertised for a Medical Officer at Livingstone Hospital\nin Yesigodi, Natal, he had jumped at the opportunity. His mind went back to\nthat day ….<\/p>\n\n\n\n

——————– o ———————<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Without\nknocking, Paul came bouncing into Jason’s room, flicked on the light and sat on\nhis bed. ‘Hey, buddy. I’ve found just the job for you. I know the place \u2014 used\nto live there \u2014 and Dr Blythe is a great guy! A bit eccentric, but great.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jason\nsquinted against the light. ‘Paul. Uhh …. What time is it?’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Paul\nglanced at his watch. ‘One.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘It’s one\no’ clock in the morning, Paul. I’m on duty at six. Can’t it wait?’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘No, Jason,\nmy mate. The guys will be queuing for this post. And I’m on night duty and\nyou’re on days. I had to tell you soon. You need to apply.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He opened\nhis laptop. Jason rubbed his eyes and looked at the screen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Livingstone\nHospital in Yesigodi, Natal was looking for a new Medical Officer to work alongside\nthe senior doctor. It was a 70-bed establishment with paediatric and obstetric\nfacilities and a small theatre for minor surgery. He scrolled to the pictures.\nCorridors of polished concrete with green painted walls led to large general\nwards with iron beds made neatly with wine-red blankets.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Children’s\nWard seemed to be an annexe, with wooden floors and walls. Little black faces\nwith wide imploring eyes gazed at Jason from one picture. Jason, all sleep\ngone, looked intently at each face, aware of a vague excitement. Children were\nso vulnerable and yet so uninhibited in their spontaneity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He moved to\npictures of Yesigodi. The main street, in common with many South African towns,\nled up to the church, in this case along an avenue of russet plane trees. The\nhouses on either side, indistinct in the pictures, seemed typical colonial\nhouses; brick or stone structures, with corrugated iron roofs and spacious\nporches on more than one side. Another picture showed the village a kilometre\nor two away from the town. No doubt most of the patients would come from there.\nMany of the inhabitants of the town would be wealthy enough to seek private\nmedical care.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The\nhospital was in a different street. It had an unimposing entrance half hidden,\nin the picture, by a large plane tree. A utilitarian sign at the gate announced\nits name.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Paul was\nright. He could postpone his compulsory year of community service no longer.\nMany of his friends had been posted to hopelessly under-equipped clinics, with\nno supervision, returning broken in spirit, frustrated and insecure. With that\nas an alternative, Livingstone would be heaven. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Two weeks\nlater the post was his.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

————— o ——————-<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He braked\nviolently as a mongoose hurried across the road.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘Focus,\nJason, focus.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The clatter\nand rattling abated as the dirt road became tarred, Victorian houses made their\nappearance and he slid behind a truck that was persuading all to ‘share a life,\nshare a Coke’. He turned the radio down further as his eyes scanned the side of\nthe road. Ah, there is was. HOSPITAL. The signpost pointed to the right. This is it. Just like the picture.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jason\nhesitated, took a deep breath and knocked just below the large letters\nannouncing MEDICAL SUPERINTENDENT.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was\nopened almost immediately. ‘Come in. Come in. Been expecting you. Must be the\nnew doctor.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jason\nopened his mouth to answer but the man kept going. Was he talking to Jason or\nto himself? ‘Difficult time. Difficult time. Come in. Come in.’ He was wiping a\ngrey, bushy moustache distractedly and Jason thought how perfectly it matched\nhis wild eyebrows. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then he\nseemed to collect himself. He extended his hand, grasping Jason’s arm with his\nother hand as he did and looked up into his eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘Blythe.\nGeoffrey Blythe. Glad you made it. Roads are bone shakers. And the cattle!\nJason Langley, I take it. Take a seat.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jason chose\nthe chair not quite opposite the large mahogany desk while the voice continued.\n‘Yes, difficult time. Number of deaths in the Children’s Ward. Having a meeting\nabout it. Think you should come. In fact, come to the ward. Get some\nbackground. Paperwork can wait.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jason\njumped up, hurrying to follow the stocky form disappearing through the open\ndoor, and caught up with him in the corridor that led from the Admin block to\nthe wards. They turned away from the passageway that led to the adult wards and\ninto a covered walkway. As Jason had suspected from the pictures, the Children’s\nWard was a wooden annexe, separate from the main hospital.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was an\neffort to keep beside Dr Blythe to catch what he was saying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘Children\nover their illness, almost ready for discharge. Suddenly found dead. No reason\nfound. Post mortem, nothing. Just nothing. Very worrying. New sangoma in the\nvillage. Villagers blaming him. Putting a spell on them so they\u2019ll go to him\ninstead of hospital.’ He was still murmuring, ‘Very worrying. Very worrying.’\nwhen they arrived at the ward.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jason ran\nhis eye professionally around those in bed. The emaciated child with tell-tale\nginger hair and a pot belly; kwashiorkor<\/em>,\nmalnutrition from a protein-deficient diet. In the next bed a little girl on an\nIV infusion; dry lips, sunken eyes,\nturgid skin<\/em>; dehydration \u2014 probably\nfrom gastro-enteritis<\/em> \u2014 a major killer of children in Africa. So preventable with a little education on\nbasic hygiene.<\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n

One of the\nrooms was a playroom where those who were on the mend could play. Jason bent\nhis long body to level his eyes with a little boy colouring in at the play\ntable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘Hello,\nwhat\u2019s your name?’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He put his\nhand under the boy\u2019s chin and looked him in the eye. The little voice was just\naudible. ‘Mpile.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘Mpile.\nThat\u2019s a nice name. How old are you?’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He didn’t\nanswer. The whites of his eyes shone starkly from his black face as Jason held\nhis gaze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘Let me\nguess. I think you must be three.’ He deliberately underestimated his age, and\nMpile shook his head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘Oh, you\nmust be two.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mpile shook\nhis head vigorously.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘Are you\nfour?’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For the\nfirst time Mpile gave a little smile and nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dr Blythe\nwas at the door of the playroom. ‘Come, Dr Langley. Meeting due to start. Must\ngo.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jason\nstraightened up, giving Mpile’s hand a squeeze. ‘My name’s Jason. I’m a new\ndoctor. I’ll see you later.’ Mpile nodded solemnly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As the\npeople came in one by one to sit around the boardroom table, Dr Blythe\nintroduced them to Jason. Philip, the pharmacist; Dr Khumalo, radiologist;\nSimon, orderly (‘Official title orderly, but much more. Knows about everything.\nWant anything done \u2014 want to know anything, ask Simon.’) <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Trish came\nin and Jason\u2019s face felt hot. He avoided her eyes. ‘We’ve met!’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He moved\nhis attention to others still coming in as Dr Blythe looked at his watch and\ncleared his throat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘Must get\nstarted. Thank you for coming. As you know, four deaths in the childre ….’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Suddenly,\nhis pager went off at the same time as the door burst open and an enormous fat\nlady, the buttons of whose uniform seemed about to burst, rushed into the room.\nShe was sweating profusely and stammering for words.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘What,\nSister Bongani? What?’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘Come,\ndoctor. Come quickly. Mpile. Come.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

An\ninsistent voice from the pager filled the air, ‘Cardiac arrest in Paediatric\nWard. Cardiac Arrest in Paediatric Ward<\/em><\/strong>.‘<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jason was\nout of the boardroom quicker than Dr Blythe and raced for the annexe. ‘Wait,\nlet me have a look.’ He pushed aside the nurses who were trying to put an\noxygen mask on the lolling head of the little child and pushing feebly on his\nchest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His heart\ndid a somersault as he saw the grey, lifeless body. Those wide, shy eyes from a\nmoment ago were half closed, unseeing and unresponsive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He watched\nthe chest carefully – there was no movement. He put his ear against the child\u2019s\nnostrils — no breath. He felt his neck in vain for a pulse and immediately\nissued orders, as Dr Blythe came hurrying in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘Quickly,\nget me an Ambu bag. And the defibrillator. Get ready to intubate.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jason put\nhis mouth over the mouth and nose of the lifeless boy and blew into his lungs.\nThen he took his mouth away and allowed the breath to come out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘One.’ He\nrepeated the procedure. ‘Two.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He started\nchest compressions, counting as he did.  ‘One.\nTwo. Three. Four. Five.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘Nurse,\nwhere is that Ambu bag?’  <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘Here,\ndoctor.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jason\nlooked up at Dr Blythe apologetically.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘Sorry to\nbarge in, sir. Would you like to take over?’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dr Blythe\nshook his head. ‘Good job. I\u2019ll ventilate. Keep going.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jason\nhanded him the Ambu bag and he started pumping oxygen into Mpile’s lungs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘One.’\nBreathe out. ‘Two.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chest\ncompressions. ‘One. Two. Three. Four. Five.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘One.’\nBreathe out. ‘Two.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Come on Mpile, come on …. He’s not\nresponding!<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Simon\narrived. ‘Simon, we need an IV line.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Simon moved\nquickly, a nurse at his side.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘One. Two.\nThree. Four. Five.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘One.’\nBreathe out. ‘Two.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The\ndefibrillator arrived and Jason applied the monitor leads. A flat line.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘Epinephrine.\nSimon, give him epinephrine.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘Epinephrine\nin.’ Simon’s voice came clearly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The monitor\nbleeped and the flat green line jumped. It wiggled erratically across the screen\nbefore flatlining.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

From the\ncorner of his eye he saw Trish there. Her lips were moving silently; her head\nwas bowed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He was\ngrateful. God, if You’re there, just for\nonce, help this child.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘More\nepinephrine, Simon.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘One. Two.\nThree. Four. Five.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘One.’ Breathe\nout. ‘Two.’<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘Come on,\ndammit. Kick in.’ How long before we got\nhere? I hope his brain’s OK.<\/em> \nSuddenly, the trace on the monitor was racing, 140\/minute, 180. Down to\n130. Up to 200.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

‘Slow down,\nlittle heart. Slow down. But please don’t stop.’ Down to 130 again, and holding\nthere. Then up to 160.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What was\ngoing on? There was some kind of a trace on the monitor, but Jason knew from\nhis time in ER that not all heart monitor activity translates into a proper\nheartbeat. It doesn\u2019t always mean a return to life. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Once again,\nJason put his fingers on Mpile’s neck to check for a pulse, willing the limp\nbody to respond … the room was thick with anticipation.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Sample: God in the ICU Chapter One A SENSE of DESTINY Hey God, can You hear me?\u201d The shrill, triumphant voice of a six-year-old boy pierced the morning air from a treetop. I had climbed to the summit of the Jacaranda tree in our garden and was savouring the victory. The ground was dizzyingly far … <\/p>\n

Read More Read More<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/scribewalker.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/434"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/scribewalker.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/scribewalker.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/scribewalker.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/scribewalker.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=434"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/scribewalker.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/434\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":488,"href":"https:\/\/scribewalker.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/434\/revisions\/488"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/scribewalker.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=434"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}