In my last blog, I promised to write more about my feelings about death during this CPE experience. And then to drive home the point a little, I attended another death on Saturday morning.
Last week, when I was called in for the family whose father/husband had just died, I had no idea what I was doing. I have not been present after a death at all this summer. Some of my friends who are doing CPE other places probably think I'm crazy, but that is just how the experience has gone here. Our ICU chaplain was present for at least two deaths in her first week, but the rest of us have been lacking in this experience. I was glad that it took six full weeks of CPE before I had to be the chaplain at a death. I think we've talked a lot about the theory of presence, of what can be done, and when it is our job to just BE with the family. All of this is stuff I may have been able to figure out in the moment, but it was nice to have that in my mind when I headed up to the room.
I did a case study on that visit, and I was able to say that I am pretty proud of how I did with the death. I do not think that my pain at seeing others in grief got in the way of their grieving process. I was able to sense changes in the room that helped me determine my next steps. For example, I could tell when the family was ready to receive a bereavement packet, and I even knew who would be the best family member to receive it. I am much less concerned about my ability to deal with death after that experience. I am sure that it contributed to my confidence on this Saturday when I was with another family whose loved one had died.
But what has truly affected me--beyond my surprise at my own ability to be a presence for those in grief--is how we view death. Our society has taken death and set it aside. No longer do most of us see death as a part of life. Rather, it is THE end, the thing we all try to avoid for as long as possible, whether for ourselves or for our loved ones. In fact, during one seminar we attended, we found out that religious people are actually more likely to seek agressive, sometimes futile treatments and life-sustaining treatments than other people. So our faith--faith that leads us to believe that death is absolutely not the end--is leading us to want to prolong life no matter what the physical, emotional, and fiscal cost.
I think this is the culture that I have become accustomed to. I have had very little death in my own life, and I have never seen the "messy" side of death before working here. I have seen nice, cleaned up bodies that look like they're just sleeping. No tubes, no vents, no nothing but a body that appears to still have life in it. Yet my theology demands that I recognize death as more than that. Death is not necessarily easy or clean. Death can be quite messy and scary. But, more importantly, death is not the end. There is something more. I cannot and will not speculate as to what this "something more" might be. Yet I truly believe that it exists, and that death is simply a part of the wider journey of life, not the end of it.
I think I'm getting more comfortable with death as this summer goes on. Death is not any less sad for me than before. Although I have always believed that something comes after our mortal life and death, I also know that this does not make the grieving process any different. It is still difficult to not be with our loved ones. It is still hard for me to think of my grandmother who never got to see me get married, who will never meet her great-grandchildren, whose family misses her dearly. I also know that some deaths are more traumatic and faith-challenging than others. Life is not fair, and neither is death.
Yet I can see that, especially as people get older, perhaps our goal should not always be to prolong life, especially taking into consideration the quality of said life. Medicine and science are amazing. But so is our God. So if we can do such great things here on earth, what more will we be able to do when we are with God? How much better would our lives be if we were able to see death as part of the process, rather than the end? If you don't remember, Jesus talks about this in John 12:24, "I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds." Let us all produce many seeds...throughout this life and the next.
25.7.12
21.7.12
A big week
I've been pretty remiss about writing my blog during CPE. Most of this is due to my lack of interest in thinking about the hospital when I'm not there. My experience has not been terrible, but that does not mean that I want to go home and write more about what I have been doing.
So, at this point, I have dealt quite a few new experiences. During July, we have really settled into a “normal” routine, and I pretty much know what to expect on any given week. I will have some patients who are appreciative of my visit but don’t want to talk or don’t want any help. I will have some patients who say they need nothing and then talk to me for half an hour. And I will have patients who break down or even call for a chaplain to visit. I don’t have many codes or alerts in my area, so that makes everything fairly routine.
Last Friday, I was on call and I got called into the hospital during the night for the first time—and then the second. The first was a sad case that is still working itself out here in the ICU. We’ll see what happens with that. The second was early on Saturday morning, when a patient died as his body just finally shut down from Parkinson’s. I spent about three hours with the family. I think I did a pretty good job of being a presence with them, and I was able to help them on a number of issues. This was my first experience with death in the hospital, and I was surprised by how well I handled it. Although tears for the family came to my eyes at several points during the meeting, I was able to be “helpful,” if that’s even the right word.
Between my on call shift last night and my 12-hour duty at the hospital today, I have been “in charge” of the pastoral care department for 24 straight hours. Last night proved fairly uneventful, and I got a lot more rest than I did last Friday. Today, however, has been one thing after another. I attended my first alert for a heart attack, and I was just amazed by how much pain someone can be in with no outward signs. I saw two stroke alerts, and what that can do to a family.
And I saw my second death in the hospital. I arrived to be with the family during a 20-minute attempt to resuscitate the patient, which was terrifying in a lot of ways. I could see the heart monitor the whole time (we were waiting a little way from the room, but I could see the main desk’s monitor), and it registered “0” beats per minute for most of that time. I felt like I knew where the situation was going, and maybe the family did too, but I could not tell them that and it was painful. They were actually pretty calm upon hearing the news, although they were obviously in grief. I think one of the things that has struck me most during my time here is people’s attitudes toward death. I will make sure to write more soon on that topic. Until then, we’ll pray that the hospital remains peaceful!
So, at this point, I have dealt quite a few new experiences. During July, we have really settled into a “normal” routine, and I pretty much know what to expect on any given week. I will have some patients who are appreciative of my visit but don’t want to talk or don’t want any help. I will have some patients who say they need nothing and then talk to me for half an hour. And I will have patients who break down or even call for a chaplain to visit. I don’t have many codes or alerts in my area, so that makes everything fairly routine.
Last Friday, I was on call and I got called into the hospital during the night for the first time—and then the second. The first was a sad case that is still working itself out here in the ICU. We’ll see what happens with that. The second was early on Saturday morning, when a patient died as his body just finally shut down from Parkinson’s. I spent about three hours with the family. I think I did a pretty good job of being a presence with them, and I was able to help them on a number of issues. This was my first experience with death in the hospital, and I was surprised by how well I handled it. Although tears for the family came to my eyes at several points during the meeting, I was able to be “helpful,” if that’s even the right word.
Between my on call shift last night and my 12-hour duty at the hospital today, I have been “in charge” of the pastoral care department for 24 straight hours. Last night proved fairly uneventful, and I got a lot more rest than I did last Friday. Today, however, has been one thing after another. I attended my first alert for a heart attack, and I was just amazed by how much pain someone can be in with no outward signs. I saw two stroke alerts, and what that can do to a family.
And I saw my second death in the hospital. I arrived to be with the family during a 20-minute attempt to resuscitate the patient, which was terrifying in a lot of ways. I could see the heart monitor the whole time (we were waiting a little way from the room, but I could see the main desk’s monitor), and it registered “0” beats per minute for most of that time. I felt like I knew where the situation was going, and maybe the family did too, but I could not tell them that and it was painful. They were actually pretty calm upon hearing the news, although they were obviously in grief. I think one of the things that has struck me most during my time here is people’s attitudes toward death. I will make sure to write more soon on that topic. Until then, we’ll pray that the hospital remains peaceful!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)