Our bodies and minds are dodgy pieces of hardware

This week’s Mediahuis/INM Irish regional newspapers’ column.

Michael Commane

Two weeks ago in this column I wrote about my encounter with a pregnant woman begging at the Luas stop at Heuston Station. To my shame I gave the woman nothing. Radio Kerry picked up the story and interviewed me about it. The interview compounded my belief that I had done the wrong thing not giving the woman anything. 

I have no idea about her background, know nothing at all about her. Is she a drug addict? I don’t know. But if she is, then the poor woman suffers from a horrible illness. And I’m intentionally using that word illness. Just think of the damage that any addiction causes, the pain too, and  how it destroys body and mind.

In my seven years working as a hospital chaplain I have come to learn how fragile our bodies are. One moment we think we are indestructible and at the flip of a coin we can be struck down with illness.

Last week there was a story in the national press about how the number of children on a waiting list for key spinal surgery has nearly doubled since 2019. 

I read the story but no sooner had I read it than I forgot about the seriousness of the topic.

 

Three weeks ago I got an infection. The previous day I had been swimming in the sea, cycling, and running about like a goat, carefree and not for a second thinking about health or how my body was working. And then suddenly, I’m feeling out of sorts, lethargic and really all I want to do is go back to bed. Nothing serious at all, nothing that a visit to the GP can’t fix. 

But it set me thinking what must it be like for people who are really sick, people struck down with  serious illness. What must it be like for parents who discover their young child has an illness that is going to be with them for the rest of their lives?

We are all fragile and if we are not currently fragile the day will arrive when we will realise that our bodies and minds too are dodgy pieces of hardware, that is unless we are suddenly knocked down by the proverbial bus. 

I lost a close friend when he was 57. He was found dead sitting at his desk. We could argue until the cows come home if sudden death is a good way to go. In the meantime it’s surely a good idea for all of us to offer a helping hand to the sick and frail.

 

During my few days of illness I was greatly impressed with those who went to the shop for me, dropped me down a litre of milk or a few oranges. I keep saying it’s the little things that always matter.

And on a more global level, you can measure the worth of a society by how it cares for its sick and old, those marginalised and unable to care for themselves. And yes, drug addicts too.

 

I know we do a lot of giving out about our health service but there are many positives about it. It’s healthy to criticise what’s wrong but it’s also important that we appreciate what works.  No harm to quote the wise words of the 18th century French writer and philosopher, Voltaire, ‘Appreciation is a wonderful thing: It makes what is excellent in others belong to us as well.’