'Guess Who'

This is where it gets difficult. Following the MRI scan I was visited by family and my church leader, Tony Wastall.

On reflection, I recognise that this was heartbreaking for all involved. At the time I can't say I felt heartbroken, I didn't recognise any of the people that this instalment will refer to, so any connection or sense of sentiment had been nullified.

All I was told was that a worldwide community were praying for me. That didn't register at the time. My life had intertwined with so many lives and I'd impacted so many people, but I couldn't recall any of it.

Little did I know it at the time, but these 'meetings' were the beginning of something beautiful, a journey into the depths of the Father's heart.

The 'old people' stared at me in amazement; my 'HELP ME' plea had caught them all off guard. I'm not actually sure what I was asking for help for.

Every conceivable emotion had risen within me and the only logical way that I could express that emotion was to scream and shout.I didn't understand I couldn't fathom anything; everything I tried to think about drew a blank. Nothing, I tore at my hospital robe and my hair, my mental state was deteriorating, I could 'feel' it.

A group of nurses came bounding into the ward. I must have looked a sight. The two female nurses had brought back up in the form of two male nurses.

They managed to calm me down and order was restored. Moments later I was in a wheelchair, assisted by a friendly hospital porter named Graham. Delightful chap he was, middle aged, thinning hair with glasses, talked about Wolves all the way to the MRI room. I didn't know it at the time, but he was talking about a football team.

The route to the MRI room seemed to take hours, with Graham and I navigating the maze of hospital corridors. They were still cold, still dull and somewhat lifeless, absent of colour or inspiration. However, Graham brought a sense of warmth and colour to my surroundings in a different way. He was a very genuine and likeable fellow.

We rolled up at the MRI ward. Graham left me sat at the reception desk whilst he had a conversation with the desk clerk. Even though the surroundings were not too dissimilar to the ward I was on, at least it was somewhere different; I was out of bed and felt like I was doing something at least.

The scanner operator soon appeared at the reception desk. She was dressed in traditional hospital scrubs and looked very young. She was not what I was expecting, but then again, I didn't know what to expect.

Graham wheeled me into the MRI room, where I was greeted by the sight of this gargantuan machine. The scanner operator introduced herself as Julie and her two assistants, Michelle and Malcolm, were also introduced to me.

Michelle and Malcolm helped me to stand and they then asked me to lie on a sliding platform connected to the MRI scanner. Before I knew it my head had been strapped into the restraint at the top of the platform (closest to the entrance of the machine).

Julie then came and stood over me and explained what was about to happen. I didn't catch much of what she said, I was so tired and I felt myself drifting in and out of sleep.

As I lay on the platform, I closed my eyes and tried to 'disconnect' from the world. In this room I felt a real sense of peace and tranquillity. A stillness bewitched me, all went silent.

Suddenly the platform began to move. I passed through the opening of this gargantuan machine. The platform came to a standstill, then a series of loud clicks indicated that the machine was about to do its thing. It was then that I had realised I had been fitted with headphones, quietly playing Take That's 'You can Rule the World', ironic given my condition.

However, even the wailing of Gary Barlow couldn't stifle the noise of this machine.
The whirring was loud. I can only liken the sound to a drill being held next to my ear and the trigger being held down.

Weirdly though, the constant whirring sent me to sleep. As I slept, the dream of three trees returned, only this time all the trees were on fire. The sapling, the tree of life and even the dead tree were ablaze. But amid the fury of the fire, a voice offered comfort. So vivid was the dream, I felt like my physical being was in it. The voice seemed so close, a mere whisper yet very audible. "Do not fear the fire, for you are being refined. Up from the embers you will rise, equipped, and transformed to lead a people to paradise."

In the dream I watched the trees burn; I exhaled and smiled, confident that what the voice spoke was the truth. As I stood transfixed by the blaze, the parting words of the voice said "patience".

I awoke, the whirring of the machine had stopped, the platform had emerged from the machine. I opened my eyes to the sight of Julie shaking me desperately trying to wake me up.

"You had us worried for a moment", she said. "Where am I?" I asked. A look of concern spread across Julie's face and her two support staff wore the same expression.
My memory of the rest of the day was hazy. I remember coming back to the ward and getting back into my bed. I fell into a deep sleep. I was at rest, no drama.

Hours passed, I awoke to the sound of many voices. I glanced up at the clock 2.15pm. As everything came into focus, a sea of faces stood at the end of my bed. I didn't recognise any of them apart from the woman and the man who'd been there the night before.

They were whispering between themselves and all looked sombre. Startled by the number of people, I found myself on 'high alert'. "Who are you people?" I asked. "Where's my son?" "Where's Jake?" "I want him, give him back to me."

A look of sadness told its own story. The man 'claiming' to be my dad spoke: "Hi son, how are you today? Don't you recognise any of these people?" I turned towards the woman (my wife), "That's the nurse from last night", I said. "You're the man from the ambulance, the rest of the people, I don't know who they are", I said in bewilderment.

They whispered among themselves: "He's out of it, he's not himself", they said. Then a phrase emerged that would be a feature of this entire trial: "It's in his eyes, there's nothing there, no recognition at all."

It was literally a live version of 'Guess Who'. I was peppered with questions, which I couldn't answer. I was at the point of exhaustion again. I surveyed the room. There were lots of people sat at bed sides. I determined that it must have been visiting hours.

I wasn't prepared for this! I felt a deep sense of sorrow as I gazed into the eyes of those surrounding me. A sense of despair gripped the group, little was said and the silence was more telling than anything else.

At that point I must have succumbed to exhaustion or the fresh dose of morphine that had been administered into my veins. I simply kept drifting in and out of consciousness, no recollection of time or events. I remember the gentle touch of many lips on my cheeks and my forehead. I didn't awake again until 7pm that night.

When I awoke the light of the ward hurt my eyes. I squinted until I managed to regain my focus. A woman trundled into the ward with a trolley and left some food on my table. I didn't eat it, I didn't have the appetite.

I lay, gazing upwards at the ceiling, muttering to myself, trying to recall my life. Hours passed, another slot of visiting hours came and went, nobody came to see me. That was until after visiting hours were over.

It was around 9pm, when a solitary man strolled onto the ward dressed in a check shirt and jeans. I assumed he was a doctor doing his night rounds. However, he glanced in my direction, he smiled. I looked at him and just dropped my head into my chest, I didn't even acknowledge him. I didn't know him.

I had earlier been told that a Tony Wastall would be visiting during visiting hours, but when he didn't show at the allotted time I assumed he wasn't coming or that he was coming on another day.

Imagine my surprise then when I saw him heading in my direction. He came round to the right hand side of my bed (my left) and he presented a hand. "Hello Dan, I'm Tony", he said. I looked at his hand nervously, before grasping it and shaking it.

"Hi", I said. "Do I know you?" I asked. His eyes filled with sadness, it's as though he’d heard everything that had happened to me but couldn't quite believe it was real until he saw me.

"Yes you know me, we've been friends for many years now", he said. "Are you the church guy?" I asked. This is pretty much how the conversation went for the next 40 minutes or so. I will never forget it. 

Tony told me about the church, my role as a worship leader and the time we had been to India together where I'd led worship in front of hundreds of people. It all seemed so surreal; I didn't know if it hurt Tony to see me like this, but me, I felt so emotional.

I couldn't recall any of it; I had no clue as to my identity. A deep sense of sadness hit me as he described all the people that loved me. In particular he referred to people from the worship team.

I recall making notes the whole time he was talking. This is what I noted down.
LifeSpring Church Worship team leader. Some of the members of the team:

Steve McGregor
Andy Herbert (also my best friend)
Trish Keady
Tamie Forrester
Dawn Pinches
Brenda, Hughie, Dan and Ashlee Ricketts
Frances Heather

Tony said there were many more, but he couldn't remember them all.

He described how I had encouraged, led and built this wonderful team, how I'd led the people of God into intimate times of worship and how I'd encouraged the youth of the church to get involved in the worship team.

I couldn't believe this was my life, had I done all that?

My time with Tony elapsed quickly. He said his goodbyes, not before praying for me, and he left.

The ward was once again quiet. I sat reading my notes, recollecting what had just transpired. It was all so bizarre, unreal even.

As I pondered my discussion with Tony, I spoke, in a dull whisper, and I said "God, if you are here, why can't I feel you anymore?"

The realisation of everything that had happened suddenly began to sink in now more than ever. I felt a massive sense of loss, friends, family and my life had all disappeared. What I was was a shell, a body devoid of spirit. It's almost as if the spirit of Daniel Waldron had left. What remained was a complex combination of confusion and fear.

As I sat on my hospital bed I recalled all the names Tony had mentioned. I tried to picture faces and for hours I played 'Guess Who' in my head. My efforts yielded no results. I slipped under the covers of my bed, curled up in 'comfort mode' and for the first time I wept like I knew what I was weeping for. For the first time I felt the emotional pain of my situation and for the second night in a row I cried myself to sleep and dreamed of a life before all this.