A Shock at a London Hotel

At last! A getaway after months of pandemic lockdown. And this includes staying overnight at a London hotel before boarding the mainline train that will depart for North Wales at mid-morning of the following day. The idea of staying at a hotel overnight within the vicinity of the London terminus was borrowed from one of our church elders, who did just that before boarding the Eurostar train to Marseille a few years ago. It saves a lot of stress in having to first travel to London to catch our train. After all, a red light on our own railway line from our hometown of Bracknell to London Waterloo could miss our mainline train out of Euston.

However, pushing a wheelchair with my partially disabled wife and a stack of overloaded luggage has made travel on the London Underground impractical. Therefore, we walked all the way across London from Waterloo Station to the Premier Inn Euston Hotel, about an hour's walk covering 2.5 miles - that is, on our known shortest route via Westminster Bridge, Whitehall, Charing Cross Road, and Tottenham Court Road. But this time we had to divert to protect ourselves.

This was due to the massive crowd of noisy England supporters, just a few hours before the England/Italy European Championship final kick-off. The crowd blocked off St Martins Place simply by sheer numbers, so we had to divert through Pall Mall East, then up Haymarket. But as we turned towards Leicester Square to join Charing Cross Road, someone approached and strongly advised us to continue through Chinatown instead, as there was trouble at Leicester Square, with bottles being thrown by the rioting England fans. It was rather scary, coming to think of it. We managed to rejoin Charing Cross Road via Lisle Street and Little Newport Street - the backstreets of the city which were free of marauding football fans.

The massive crowd of fanatics was very daunting! I dared not mention or even hint about my preference for Italy to win - after all, I grew up in an Italian family, and I'm a full-blood Italian - just a  right kind of target for a lynching, maybe. But I was intrigued by the way they behaved - as if the game was already over and the Cup was firmly in their hands. The air was filled with English optimism and certainty.

We arrived at our pre-booked hotel and checked in. The tariff included room and breakfast. Soon afterwards, my beloved and I celebrated the start of our holiday with a slap-up meal at an in-house restaurant. After this, we returned to our room to watch the match on TV. The kick-off seemed to have coincided with the sidewalks of Euston Road becoming a lot quieter and the busy traffic had stopped tooting their horns.

And the street remained quiet throughout the rest of the night. Could this be that, instead of England thrashing Italy, as the fans were expecting, Italy won the European Championships through a penalty shootout after a 1-1 draw?

It wasn't long after the end of the match before Police sirens wailed past our hotel window. Yes, as expected, scuffles broke out among disappointed fans in the central heart of the city. As we snuggled up to each other in bed, I was glad that the potentially dangerous walk from Waterloo to Euston was long completed, and we were away and protected from any ugly scenes. 

As thoughts crossed my mind, I have pondered on what the percentage ratio between Brexiteers and Remainers were at that wild crowd. Indeed, as we approached Trafalgar Square earlier that day, two songs were chanted at different locations. One was Sweet Caroline, a sixties hit by Neil Diamond, and the other was the National Anthem. It was the latter song glorifying the Queen that made me ponder that the majority of these England football fans - almost entirely consisting of white males ranging between 18-35 years of age - were mainly Brexiteers. Ah! Their love of Royalty and their long-enduring spirit of Empire oozing optimism for national glory, thus raising their certainty that the European Trophy is already in their hands.

Another worry arose when considering the spreading of the virus. Among the commotion, hardly a facemask was seen among them. And that despite a YouGov poll indicating that more than 60% of the UK population will carry and wear a mask in shops, public transport, and other enclosed spaces after "Freedom Day" of July 19th. Perhaps, will the remaining 40% or less, who will refuse to wear a mask - be England football fans? 

The following morning, while I was still bathing in the glory of the previous evening's Italian win, I asked Alex to take out my morning medicine container. Living with heart failure means taking a horde of prescribed drugs every day for life. The morning meds consist of Bisoprolol, Bumetanide, Spironolactone, and Statins. Then the evening dosages consist of Warfarin and Losartan. Having left my beloved to deal with all the packing before we left our home, I left all my medicine in her care. Therefore, it shouldn't have been a problem to dig one of the cases out from the rucksack. 

All my meds are stored in these versatile plastic nesting storage cases, each with a seal-easy lid. They were a gift to us from our PhD friend Andrew, and they proved to be very useful for medicine storage. One container held the morning meds, a second held the evening meds, and a third contained further stocks of Warfarin and Losartan for future use. To my horror and hers's too, we had discovered that she had accidentally packed the third tub instead of the first one. I was without my morning dosages of Bisoprolol, Spironolactone and Bumetanide, that is, my beta-blockers and essential diuretics, a must-have for normal day-to-day living. They were left back at home while we were about to board our train at Euston.

It was Alex who thought on the solution to this serious problem while my own mind remained dumb as if paralysed with shock. Having already paid for breakfast, the restaurant was where I wanted to go, assuming that I can cope for a few days without the beta-blockers. With tears in her eyes, she pleaded with me to visit a nearby hospital for emergency restocks of the medicines. To me, this carried the risk of missing our train. Therefore, I was hesitant as we made our way to the hotel restaurant.

Due to Covid, a queue had formed at the restaurant door. It remained stationary, as only one or two people were allowed in whenever a table became free. It would take a long while before being seated. There were several people in front of us, including other couples and families. Suddenly, I came to my senses. 

Let's go to the hospital. If we miss the train, there's always another one. Our tickets are valid.

About 400 metres from the hotel, give or take, stands the University College Hospital, which was almost directly opposite the station. From the instructions given at Main Reception, I was directed to the Accident & Emergency, and there, I explained the dire situation I found myself in. Much to my surprise, I was taken seriously, and I was amazed that my name, DoB, my home address, and prescription list, all appearing on their computer screen, so far away from home. After registration, I was told to wait at the cubicle section for the doctor to arrive.

UCH, Euston Road, London. Stock Photo.

While I was waiting, my worries about whether we would catch our train or not were mentally blocked out by quoting aloud Romans 8:28:-

For we know that all things work for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose.

I repeated the verse to Alex over and over again, emphasising all things rather than just good things.

And it was here when things took a turn. There was a single cubicle to my left with frosted glass doors both closed, thus blocking any view from outside. But from those doors came the sound of a young woman screaming. She screamed and screamed, and I began to imagine what Hell must be like. I quickly began to lay aside any concerns about my own medicine, the train, and the rest of the holiday, as her shrill screaming continued, and I felt my emotions rise. Whatever treatment she was receiving must have had an effect of some kind, as her screaming eventually subsided, as if given a strong sedative to make her fall asleep.

With my heart feeling distressed over such a scenario, I began to pray for her. With all my heart, I pleaded on her behalf to bring her to full healing and wholeness, and also to touch her heart with His love and mercy, as He did to us.

Eventually, I was moved to the A&E waiting room, and not long after, the doctor called my name. As he was leading me to his office, I became frustrated as one fellow member of staff after another, stopping him to ask for or to discuss something, thus delaying the process further.

At last, he signed off for the replacement medicine, and he then instructed me to go to the Pharmacy to collect my meds. Using the number system at the Pharmacy, I was given a ticket. But as time went on, other patients with higher numbers were served their prescriptions whilst I just sat and waited - and waited. Meanwhile, the clock was telling me that it wasn't long before our train departed.

Eventually, I rose and asked what's going on and why I was apparently overlooked. I received an apology from the staff member responsible. He explained that one of the ordered prescriptions wasn't in stock and he had to wait for its arrival. At last, after a prolonged wait, we walked out of the hospital, wheeling Alex's wheelchair, back to the hotel to vacate our room, both of us leaving the hotel with empty stomachs.

We made our way to the station platform. At last, we hastily boarded the train just moments before it pulled out! Through our haste in boarding, (Alex was able to climb out of her wheelchair and into the train unaided and we loaded everything on board without further assistance) we found ourselves in First Class, whilst holding Standard tickets.

The female conductor was amazed how we managed to board the train with a wheelchair without assistance. After giving further thought, she allowed us to remain in the First Class carriage without further payment for upgrading.

The train flew through one station after another on the LWCR mainline service to Manchester, with the first stop at Crewe, where we would change trains for Chester and the North Coast of Wales, where our journey would end at Llundudno. While we were sitting so comfortably in the First Class compartment, my thoughts kept returning to that poor woman left behind at the UCH. Why, oh why, must such a person, with much of her life still in front of her, suffer in such manner - whilst Alex and I were sitting in a luxury coach of a train?

Why her, when everyone around was getting on with their business? Those screams! I bet she would be more than keen to swap her place with ours. Those screams played on my mind, and I kept on pleading to God for her and on her behalf. That is, having never actually seen her, let alone holding her hand in compassionate reassurance.

Then I began to ponder: Was this all coincidence? Or rather, the whole plan working for good for those who love God and are called according to His purpose? Did God allow my beloved to err in packing? Yet, I never felt any anger or annoyance for her mistake. Instead, as I saw a tear run down her cheek, All I felt was reassurance for her that everything will work out. Alex's mistake was an easy one to make. It could have been made by anyone.

I have come to believe that God wanted me to be at the hospital at that particular moment to intercede on behalf of someone in distress. Personally, I feel that was a privilege - to be used by God when actually, He didn't need me, yet He used me anyway. Whether that's true or not, I'll let the reader decide. But I don't believe in blind chance. The only way to get me into the hospital was through not having the appropriate medicine to meet my needs. 

I'm aware that any unbeliever, atheist, or sceptic, reading this will think all this is nonsense. But for one whose rush to catch a train was drowned out by a stronger desire to intercede for someone in awful distress - surely, this must be a work of God, for it overcomes human nature. 

Whatever outcome all this is, I hope that this poor female will recover quickly from whatever ailment is causing such suffering.

Meanwhile, let me say that Alex and I had a wonderful holiday at Llandudno, on the north coast of wales. The resort is on a narrow peninsula, therefore it boasts two beaches. The sea rolling onto the rather ugly and uninviting North Beach had jellyfish, loads of them! Therefore I was put off swimming there, but nevertheless, enjoyed our romantic evening strolls along the bay, with the Great Orme set in a dramatic sunset. The sandy West Beach, backed by a quiet residential estate, was in my opinion, the better of the two, with a dramatic view of the Snowdonia Mountains on the far side of the Conway River estuary. Despite the far fewer jellyfish swimming here and there, I had a good swim in the sea whilst minding the jellyfish.

Llandudno North Beach at high tide, stock photo.

I'm also very pleased to announce that Alex's health remained stable throughout the whole holiday, especially whilst we were on the train in both directions. I feel that all this was a blessing from God.