Orientation was two days of data, vocabulary, maps, procedures, information and people. The people were and are wonderful. The information was overwhelming! I think most of us have had the experience of way too much information in concentrated form poured into us (and over us) for an extended period of time. With orientation to a new job, new place and new faces, my brain felt ready to detonate if I had to have one more new thing stuffed into my head. I went home both nights feeling exhausted from trying to absorb all this new information as I was also trying to create the filing system or overview to absorb and organize everything in my head.
Thursday morning as I walked into the chaplain’s office, proud that I hadn’t gotten lost driving from my brother Pat’s house, had managed metro traffic and freeway driving, and was 8 minutes early, the office phone rang. It was the on-call chaplain asking me to take a page for her. A woman had died in the hospital and the nurse had called her family. My job was to be there for the family, complete the ‘death packet’ which contains the paperwork the chaplains complete, and assist both staff and family. Orientation was over. The work that I am called to do in my internship was down three flights of stairs waiting for me. Could I do it? Deep breath. Quick prayer—God, don’t let me wreck this. Let your love for these people somehow come through me. Open my heart and mind so I can do the work you have for me to do. Thank you, God. Amen.
One of my new colleagues, Elizabeth, joined me. I’m pretty sure she was praying a similar prayer. The patient’s family had not arrived and the nurse led us through the first steps. Then we went to the patient’s room. The patient was dead. She didn’t look like she was sleeping. She didn’t look terrible but there wasn’t any question about whether she was dead or not. The nurses prepare the patient before the family arrives so she was lying under smooth covers, no tubes, her hands clasped, her hair smoothed. And very truly, really dead. While this was not my first time with a dead person, it was only my fourth. I realized that orientation did not include the question—how many dead people have you met. I was now counting up my experiences. As we waited for the family to arrive, I reviewed all the times I’ve had people I cared about in hospitals. I tried to remember what it had been like, although much was blurred by time and emotion. Gathering those scraps of thoughts, I imagined what I would want to have a chaplain do. I supposed I would want the chaplain to be there as a calm, warm presence and to guide me through the beginning of the burying and grieving process. So I began to pray as much as I could remember of the litany at the time of death from the Book of Common Prayer. I have a small edition of the BCP but had not brought it with me. I made a note to change that. I would have loved to pray the prayers from the Ministration at the Time of Death.
Still the family did not come. Our patient was in her 80’s so her husband would be also. We knew the son was picking dad up. We waited over an hour. I prayed, meditated, and felt my anxieties rise up. One of the gifts of this waiting was to have all those niggling anxieties rise up, examine them, and hand them over to God without the family present. It didn’t take long to become comfortable with our patient, call her by name, hold her hand, and pray for and with her. The room was dark and silent. It was, in fact, peaceful between the spikes of anxiety. I think this allowed me to be with my fears in the best possible way, in the midst of time with God and time out of my control. Often I let busyness and schedules cover over my fears with doing and I don’t take time to be fearful. It was a blessing to not be in charge of time and activity.
When the family did arrive, dad was hard of hearing and broken up. They had been married for over 60 years. The son and his wife had a similar loss of family recently. I felt some envy of what it might be like to have a mom and dad stay married for 60 years and to have these parents so long into one’s own life. My dad died when I was 30 and there is much in the years since then I would have liked to share with him. Then I remembered that not all long term marriages are a blessing to the children. And envy is hard to sustain in the face of death. I got over myself almost as quickly as the feeling came.
I struggled a bit to know what to do. Should I offer prayer? Should I stand by silently? Should I talk about what’s next? Should I touch them? I decided to be silent until I could detect some be restlessness or movement from the family. Then I would ask the family what they wanted and outline some options. That felt right at the time. One of my learning goals in this internship is to build skills of discernment so I can better gauge what the needs are in each situation.
Based on this experience I’ve put together a little kit for myself that includes real handkerchiefs, the Book of Common Prayer, pen, note cards, and change for Diet Pepsi from the vending machines. I also have a clip board so I can take notes. It’s comforting for me to have tools. These things are taking the place of a desk, calculator, and computer. What does remain the same is the connection to the people—tax clients and patients and their families are similar. Both sets have need for understanding, affirmation and knowledge. It is a privilege to be a part of the process with my clients of all types.
No comments:
Post a Comment