This post is yet another attempt to demonstrate just how one-of-a-kind this job can be. As I visited a number patients throughout my day, the fact that today is Valentine's Day was brought up more than once. I encountered a number of couples in the hospital. A husband in the patient bed with his wife by his side looking a little brighter than usual as she did her best to be festive in an unusual place. I met a patient with her husband at the bedside, both looking a little dull as their V-day plans had been cancelled due to a midnight run to the ER and subsequent stay in Cardiovascular Recovery Unit.
These kinds of visits are within the bounds of what I might call normal, even though each room I step into contains a different person with a whole new life story. But on to the reason for this post. I had a very interesting hour this evening, during which I had three very different encounters.
5:45pm - I was called to the ER to speak with a lady who had requested the chaplain. Upon arrival, I notice she's wearing the hospital gown as a shirt, regular pants and huge black combat-like snow boots. I greet her gently and inquire as to what is on her mind. She looks at me suspiciously. "I just can't....and..th....these people....," she mutters to me or to nobody. She's lying on the bed, I sit next to her and ask what happened that she wound up in the ER. Silence. I maintain eye contact. Nothing. She looks away and then back at me. This time she has a suspiciously defensive and apprehensive look on her face. I am perplexed.
All of the sudden she convulses. Her arms and feet jet into the air, and I braced for impact as I expected her boot to connect with my face. My adrenaline kicked in, and I remember getting that hair raising defensive feeling like my dog when the fur on her back and tail suddenly stand up. She blurts out, "Oh, hell, you know what's wrong and cain't do sh#* 'bout it! I don't think so!"As she's talking she's quickly getting to her feet, as am I, and begins pacing around the room. Her words become hostile, and more explicit, toward my inability to solve her problem, and I don't even know what it is yet. "I can't get it out," she says through her grinding teeth and she shoots me warning glances with her head down and squinted eyes looking past raised eyebrows. "It feels like my insides are gonna just burst out," she says again, this time walking out of the room and into the hallway. I keep my distance as I half expected her to slap me one of the times she paced back and forth past me.
It turns out, she had taken methamphetamines which induced psychosis in her. And this isn't her first trip to the ER for this. She felt possessed (though she didn't use that word) and wanted me, a minister (she thought I was a priest), to exorcise (also not her word) it out of her. In the mean time, I'll be honest, I was scared. Eventually, she became almost livid with me and wanted me gone; however, she did kindly ask that I get a real priest. I said I would and got the h#!! out of there.
6:05 - "The family in room 928 wants to speak with you," said the nurse on the phone. I make my way to the palliative care (where people prepare to die) wing and enter a room with dimmed lights and three large people in tears. The patient is unconscious on the bed and slowly breathing. Three adult children were gathered around their mother's death bed (literally) holding vigil, counting her inhales and exhales until the ceased.
One son, holding he hand tightly looked up at me, "Was wondering if you could say a prayer for us? Sometimes it's hard to us to..." Before praying we talked a bit about their mom, the kind of ornery lady, tender-hearted and goal oriented person she was. It was very sweet. I prayed, doing my best to voice to God what I'd heard them say and what I witnessed in the room. (For some reason, when I sense that people are crying more during my prayers, I want to pray longer, to make them cry more. But it feels like I'm hitting the right spot when I make them cry. Is that wrong?)
Afterwards (or should I say, afterwords), I quietly exited, thanking them for letting me be there and share in their grief. They seemed appreciative and heartfelt as they greeted me goodbye.
6:30pm - My wife sends me a txt msg of one word, "Here." I walked up to the front entrance of the hospital to greet her as she carried in a bag of food from TGI Friday's (recommended as one of Anchorage's best restaurants). Dinner time. Today, she worked the day shift, and I am working the night. No time for V-day celebrating, so she was bringing me dinner. What a nice surprise. We walked down the stairs to the cafeteria (a most romantic setting) and she asked, "Where would you like to sit?" I gestured toward a single table standing out as the only one with two pink roses set up in a vase and suggested we sit there. She found a small note in the flowers written to her from her valentine (who purchased roses in the hospital gift shop). We had a lovely dinner date together, talking about our days and how lovely they'd been.
It was during dinner that I realized what a weird last hour I'd had. It began with a psychotic woman angry with me for not exorcising the bad stuff out of her. I spent time with a broken family saddened over the immanent passing of their momma. And I ended it sharing a delightful meal with the love of my life sitting at a dirty table and walking on grease covered flooring. I couldn't have been happier.
Happy Valentine's Day!
No comments:
Post a Comment