I had such a severe gastro-intestinal attack earlier this week (at the time not knowing what was wrong) I thought I would pass out, so I quick hailed a cab to nearby Bellevue Hospital, where I was admitted to their Emergency Room around 9:30 p.m. and stationed on a gurney alongside a woman whose left foot and lower leg was extremely swollen and red and had open ulcers seeping fluid. Her other foot had a growing infection of the same kind.

In talking to the woman, I learned she suffered from a disease called Cellulitis and was homeless. She told me she spends her days in and around Times Square while her husband, who she says is a "street preacher," holds forth about salvation from a sidewalk spot at the southeast corner of 42^nd and Seventh Avenue, currently under construction scaffolding. She said the two of them slept each night inside the subways.

When I asked her if she believed in Jesus Christ as her Savior, she said she believed in God but in no way held the same strong convictions of her husband, who she said has tried to coach her by advising her it's an issue of faith.

I told her I agreed with him and that the faith comes from believing God's Word in the Bible about who Jesus Christ is. Out of having that faith, a person's faith grows as they continue to study the Bible, internalizing what it says with a mind and heart that's trusting in the Book as being from God.

We didn't get to talk on this for long before a doctor came and gave her some potent painkillers and a medicinal drink to lower her potassium level.

The young internist warned her that the drink would cause her to have a bowel movement within an hour, but when it suddenly arrived there was no one on staff to help her in any way.

She told me what was happening so I got up out of my gurney, wrapped my sheet around my waist (since I only had on one of those back-tying hospital gowns), and pulled off a yellow plastic bed pan from a stack that was sitting on a shelf behind us.

To help her clean herself afterward, I yanked some brown paper towels from a dispenser and wet them using a plastic container of sterile water that I found on a shelf.

I even removed the filled bedpan from underneath her (she couldn't put any pressure on her feet and could barely lift herself from the gurney) and placed it on the floor, laying some paper towels over it.

The whole thing was unbelievable to me. When I said to a nurse standing at the communication desk nearby, "This woman needs help," she simply responded, "This isn't my floor."

A few hours later, when my gas symptoms had subsided and they had run several tests on me and taken x-rays, I was ready to be released.

In saying goodbye to the homeless woman, I assured her I'd be certain to look up her husband soon.

She was in pain and under the painkillers, but we looked each other in the eyes for several seconds, both expressing our gratitude that we had the unexpected blessing of being placed together on a difficult night we knew we wouldn't soon forget.

I remember saying something like, "I don't know what I'd do without Jesus Christ."

She looked at me fondly, saying, "Really?", and then thanked me again for helping her. I told her she was as much a help to me as I was for her.