Wednesday, August 4, 2021

Lady-Apostle Crindeyes

If the Apostle Paul was right, then single people should be the ones leading spiritual communities.  And by single, I do not mean celibate in a repressive way.  (Case in point: the Catholic Church).  

Being "pure, in body and in spirit" means so much more than abstinence from sex.  It means remaining free from entanglements that detract from the pursuit of service and spiritual growth.

Lady Crindeyes has friends who pined away for marriage during their single years, finding purpose mostly through meeting their mate and having their "ministry" fueled by their marital status.  That is well and good.  But judgement should be withheld from those who influenced the world for the better--alone in terms of marital status, but certainly in good company with fellow warriors for just peace.

And yet, how many churches are led by the married, who have no actual experience of Jesus satisfying all the needs of the Bride of Christ--and by "all the needs," I mean the sexual ones too.  Relationships take a lot of work, and most married ministers are so occupied by the "cares of the world" that their spirituality (and take on sexuality) is practical in a way that lacks imagination.

If sex symbolizes (among other things) transcendence, then those who have had intercourse with the Divine would understand it best.  (See examples from the Catholic Church, yet again).

"I am saying this for your own good, not to restrict you, but that you may live in a right way in undivided devotion to the Lord." (Paul, supposedly, in 1 Corinthians 7:35)


Sunday, August 1, 2021

Summer Lovin'

They call them the dog days of summer, the sultry span of time between July 3rd and August 11th.

Dear reader, we are still in them.  Time stands still, creativity brews but does not reveal itself.  

Last summer, one of you watched and rewatched Indian Summers on Amazon Prime, witnessing racial injustices on another continent, mixed in with an interracial love story, as a way to process the unrest and the quest for a match at home.  You longed for your own South Asian flame, who had gone MIA.

Phone calls were scheduled with friends across the country, everyone staying home to avoid virus and plague, whilst breathing the outdoor air, away from others, on staycation mode.  No one had any babies.

One of you met your match, a brilliant Ph.D teaching at an illustrious private school in Miami.  Sparks flew, and the sapiosexual side of you was stimulated enough through virtual FaceTime and conversation.

Others used local dating apps, now saturated with quality men, who were seeking true and earnest connections, and had no option but to do so virtually, as a first step towards meeting in person.

One of you had a masked date in the park, walking and talking and recognizing the lack of a spark.  

Another made it to the fifth FaceTime with someone you had decided not to reject, out of kindness.

This summer, one of you watches the Olympics and ponders career choices, wondering whether Simone Biles' decision to put her mental health above achievement is something of an anomaly, or a new norm.  You don't miss your slow burn from the previous year, who ultimately put his own ambition above you.

They don't call them the dog days of summer for nothing, for tensions build and rise, with no outlet.

Dear reader, we will make it through.  Breakthroughs will come, and a fresh wind will inspire, once again.

Friday, July 23, 2021

Is it Too Much to Ask

 Is it too much to ask for a work environment that does not only allow for self-care, but also encourages and rewards it?

I am a "woman with a career," not a career woman.  In my teen years, I decided that my health was not worth any achievement. 

Along the way, different work bosses have noted my "potential" and said phrases like, "One day, when you're in my position..."

And that would be the first time that possibility would cross my mind.  In other words, I never sought out achievement.

Except for two things: I wanted to go to Yale, and I wanted a Ph.D.  Not for any particular end goal, but for personal enrichment.

My life has been fully enriched by both the academic degrees I've pursued and the jobs that have pursued me.  I hope I'm wiser for it too.

Wisdom and intellectual insight are things that no one can ever take away from you, and they are gifts rather than accomplishments.

It is not too much to ask for what we need from our bosses.  It takes courage, and it takes a strong commitment to the gifts that wisdom has to offer.


Sunday, July 18, 2021

Younger Men and Age Differences

I had a conversation with three co-workers, all in their 50s, about terms like "cougar" and "puma."  Peter said his wife was six months older than he was, and that they had married at 40.  He had not heard of the term "puma" as a distinction of a class of "older woman--but not by as much as a cougar."  Having been both, I knew.

Amy nodded viciously as I spoke of how fulfilling it was to meet like-minded men who were younger than I was--the first one was 6 months younger, and then I went younger and younger as the years went on (3, 6, and 9 years)--who were somehow raised in more progressive mindsets than my same-aged male peers.

I found that the way my brain operated naturally fit better with younger men.  It was thrilling. 

"But what about the maturity?  Aren't guys not really men until they are 40?" Peter inquired.

"I suppose that's why I'm with a 40-year-old now," I quipped.  "But I scratched that itch."

"Won't you miss it?" Amy wondered.

"Nothing will ever take away the kind of affirmation I gained when with those younger men," I realized aloud.  "Plus, my 40-year-old also doesn't quite seem to fit with his generation, so that makes two of us."

It was Friday afternoon at 4 pm.  We had let down our guards and were finishing paperwork for the week.  

"This was almost like a Happy Hour conversation," I noted, as we all resumed our work.

"Yes it was!" exclaimed Peter.  "And thanks for chatting.  Have you ever thought about starting a blog?"

And that, dear reader, was confirmation for Lady Crindeyes to keep writing her posts, silly as they might seem.

Friday, July 9, 2021

Sources

💢

Where does Lady Crindeyes get her notions and sources, you may wonder.  She listens to relationship podcasts and has done so for the past three years, ever since rejecting marriage for a Ph.D.  And, being one in whom friends tend to confide, she has anecdotes from half her life from which to test her theories.

Esther Perel, Karin Anderson Abrell, Abraham Hicks, Katherine Woodward Thomas, and experts on personality theories such as the Enneagram have fed her appetite for understanding the human condition and its effects on love, life, and love lives.  Sources abound, but the truth is often still elusive.

💓

Casual Internet browsing yields interesting reads.  Here, dear reader, are two sources from last night: 

20 Subtle Signs Your Marriage Won't Last

and

10 Pillars of a Strong Relationship

Enjoy!

Lady Crindeyes

 👶

In cleaning out my desk drawer, I found an invitation to a baby shower from earlier in the spring.  Over the years, I have spent plenty of money on gift registries for my friends who were either getting married or having babies.  None of those friends have ever given me a gift--whether it be for Christmas, my birthday, or graduation (and I have had several graduations over the years).  I have gotten plenty of gifts over the years, but they were all from my single friends--or from men who loved, but did not marry--me.

Dear reader, what say you to this strange system our society has devised of acquiring a wishlist for gifts? First, one must announce the life stage that is dawning--marriage or motherhood--and then one goes onto the store or the internet to assemble a list of items that are required for this stage of marriage or motherhood.  Depending on their own financial situation, each friend contributes anywhere from $40-$100 towards the wishlist, ensuring one gets everything one wants.

Have you ever wondered why a new bride is not capable of purchasing her own lingerie?  After all, she will not be sharing the wedding night with her friends, nor will they ever speak of it again, after the shower.  New brides receive expensive kitchenware--and yet, I have never been invited to brunch or any other meal, nor even visited the new home of those who have had a wedding registry for household items.  

Lady Crindeyes is left both perplexed and put off by this rather self-celebrating and self-centered behavior.

👀

Dear reader,

When this author was in seminary, she noted that some men had kind eyes, and some had critical ones.  Her girlfriends would assess new friendships using the rubric of kind eyes and critical eyes.  And yet, there are times when being critical is a form of ultimate kindness, because it prevents blindness.  and that, dear reader, is what Lady Crindeyes seeks to do in her blog posts.  May her words ring true.

💘

In the olden days, love was about money and status.  Women married for protection and security, and their fathers and brothers paid a dowry to their new husbands, to ensure that they would be treated well.  Men married for a place in society, and sometimes for the money that a wife brought, acquired from her father.  

This, dear reader, is why we have inherited the custom of taking on a man's last name after marriage.  We transferred from being our father's property to becoming our husband's.  Going from Miss to Mrs. was a change in status, and more often than not, money, rather than actual love, was involved in the exchange.

Why then, must we continue to harp and hurry our single women over the notion of marriage as the next important milestone?  In colleges that have a "ring by spring" culture, is not the bachelor's degree the modern day equivalent of the accomplishments of sketching and sketching, from the olden days?

Although I could have had a Mrs. Degree by the time I was finished with college--as the first suitor came along my second week of freshman year, when I was but 17--this author went on to collect two Master's Degrees instead.  Her grandfather, rather than offering congratulations, warned her not to go further.

"Women with Ph.Ds will have trouble marrying!"

Interestingly, she eventually pursued a Ph.D, because marriage proved not to be worth the trouble.

Summer Satire

Inspired by Lady Whistledown from the Netflix series Bridgerton, I offer some musings.

💝

Am I the only one who sometimes thinks that married women should be the last people to offer relationship advice to the dating?  In the case of unhelpful advice, it seems that either they are blinded by relationships in which they settled, and offer advice out of their own unfulfillment, or they are happily married to the first lucky bloke to come along and know nothing of heartbreak and the loves that are not meant to last for a lifetime.  

I was once told by a woman struggling in her marriage, with regards to my boyfriend at the time: "You won't do any better than him.  Seize him now while you can."  

Perhaps her advice to me had more to do with her needs than mine, but I did wonder whether her words were more of a compliment to him or an insult to me.

Dear reader, that was 10 years ago, and that boyfriend has been settled with someone else, of whom perhaps it can be said, "You won't do any better than him."

So it turns out that my friend was right, in her own way--but only about him, and not about me.

😷

Rounds.  We finished them in 40 minutes today.  This is what happens when Dr. B runs the show.  Discharge, transfer, moving on.  Let's not mess with the flow.  After all, Friday is tomorrow and let's not fuck up our mood by getting bummed out by sick patients who may not get better.

In actuality, Dr. B is extremely personable and compassionate, and I have never met a physician with better bedside manner.  During a Code Blue, right after the patient passed away, she knelt in front of the newly widowed spouse, who had collapsed onto a chair, offering condolences.

People are simultaneously complex and simple, and people in healthcare are no different.  Dr. B is my age, and I have heard her speak with other nursing staff about the guy interested in hanging out on her days off, and her recognition that she also does not need him.

She does her job efficiently and well, the ICU staff respect her leadership.  As a short and young-looking Asian/Indian-American woman, her competency becomes her authority.  

During rounds, we speak of patients as if they are merely cases.  And when we visit them in person, we treat them as such--fully human.

So, dear reader, those 40 minutes are well-spent--and they help us know that we're doing just fine.

💟

A co-worker, married, told me today, that the order of happiest persons ranks thus:

1. Unmarried women

2. Married men

3. Unmarried men

4. Married women

This explains why times with my previous chaplain cohort and my group of seminary friends were the happiest in my life.  We consisted of unmarried women and married men--equal, safe, and unattached.

The relational dynamics in those groups were such that we accomplished what is usually impossible, given the society we have.  We were true teammates, and we touched the wider community deeply.

So, as I use this list to reflect on how things turned out for my ex-boyfriend and for myself, it seems that we have each found as much happiness as humans possible.  Unhelpful advice notwithstanding.

Saturday, June 26, 2021

I Never Want to Forget

 I never want to forget the feeling of uncertainty mixed with love.  It is thrilling, and it makes one sick to the stomach.  There have been times when you know this may not last, but this is yours to have and hold until it fades.  Each person who loves us gifts us with a life lesson worth remembering.  I believe I am a better friend and chaplain because of it, because I have been touched in some of life's deepest places.

There is also a wounding that occurs when those deep places connect with another human's heart.  And it does not have to occur within the context of romantic connections.  I have seen friends of mine--those who were undeservingly lucky to have married within 1, 2, or 3 tries of dating potential partners, and had relatively "smooth" love lives--get their hearts broken by their children.  Or by other family members.

My history includes deep disappointment in potential partners that my spirituality caused me to put a lot of faith, hope, and love in.  Those relationships affected my spirituality, and pushed me to seek out broader frontiers and more flexible frameworks.  I hope I am a better theologian because of the lessons that 17 1/2 years of dating--half of my life--have taught me.  Because what I believe has been altered by experience.

Esther Perel and other dating experts have noted that we often have up to 3 great loves in our lives.  Sometimes they occur with the same person, and because life alters us, the same relationship goes through different iterations.  Sometimes they occur with different people, because as life alters us, we change partners.  Either way, love comes in different phases and different forms, and love changes us.

I never want to forget what the journey was like, if one day I am ever settled.  I don't want to become one of those married women who doles out advice to someone who is single--whether happily or unhappily so--and I hope to always be on the side of the  relationally-disadvantaged and the unlucky-in-love.  So, because I never want to forget, I write this today, in case I ever need to remember.  


Saturday, June 12, 2021

Great Expectations

 Growing up, I dreamed of becoming a wife and a mom.

In my young adult years, I envisioned myself changing the world alongside my husband.  In my twenties, I looked for men who had leadership qualities I could support, only to find that mine were just as strong.  In my thirties, I bloomed into my own leadership, and I decided that he would have to support me too.  Together, we would partner in ways that would make us a power couple, each pulling our weight.  As a seminary graduate and practical theologian, I collaborated with plenty of men, harnessing my lifelong tomboy energy to foster a certain kind of camaraderie and chemistry that was very collegial.  What I discovered that the men who reached out to me--whether it for mentorship or partnership--often had wives at home or women in their lives who did not necessarily share their vocational passions.  I was their intellectual match, their spiritual equal.  But men like that still wanted to "lead" at home.

Outside of the "church," there were more options, it seemed.  

There was a professor who expressed interest, a person of color and Ph.D who was a musician, therapist, and non-profit founder.  On paper, and even in person, these qualifications matched my own--I was working on my doctorate, I was a board-certified music therapist, I taught music lessons, and I had extensive work experience in non-profits.  The only catch was--Mr. Professor wanted to run for office someday, and I knew (especially after reading Michelle Obama's autobiography) that his career would always come first.  Were it not for that, it might have worked.  But I know that for politicians, their dreams are everything.  There is no stopping them.  Another black Ph.D had spent years in Asia, spoke and read Chinese fluently, and had a mother who was a doctor and hyphenated her last name.  The long distance got to us, though, and our lack of compatibility in our habits of "self-preservation."

I have had several loves in my life.  Not every love is meant to last for a lifetime.

In college, I had several conversations about marriage with men--some hypothetical, and some theoretical.  After college, I continued to meet people from all sorts of backgrounds.  Each relationship refined and reformed the dreams I had cooked up in my childhood and teen years.  Many different personality types, romantic styles, and cultural backgrounds enriched my own sense of self and self-understanding.  And yes, heartbreak hit every few years, leaving me in a "power down" position when it came to society's valuation of my worth.  No matter how much education and job experience I had, what people seemed to care about most was my marital status.  There was no escaping this--in my own family, at church, and at work.  My friends who married in their younger years shared about their struggles--but often doled out advice as well, as if being married somehow made them more knowledgeable about relationships than I was--when I actually had more experience in that realm.

Marriage is not an accomplishment, nor is it earned.  It chooses the lucky, and that's all there is to it.

So I decided to change my luck.  I manifested, and I primed my vibrational energy.  Like attracts like, and I focused on this law of attraction more than the futility and frustration of prayer and fasting.  And then he came to me--an old flame who had always stayed in touch, and the first "I love you" I'd ever said, during my senior year of college.  Circumstances had prevented us from exploring our feelings for each other when we were part of the same circle of friends, and 14 years later, he was moving away.  We expressed our love and gave each other as much as we could, knowing that the move needed to happen, and that life was full of unexpected surprises.  As we grew closer, we recognized that we were indeed each other's person.  We wanted to have our happy ending, and we wanted to start a family together.  After more than a decade of dating other people, making sacrifices for our families, and paying the price for progressive values, it took a matter of weeks to know that this was it.

When you know, you know, and no amount of community discernment can substitute for that.

Saturday, June 5, 2021

When You Know, You Know

This post is written from the lens of one who understands people and relational dynamics through the lens of personality frameworks such as the Myers-Briggs and the Enneagram.  Several references made throughout will assume some understanding of core concepts of these frameworks.  Regardless of who the reader is, though, may it offer some food for thought.

For too much of my life, I have given my power away.  

Growing up in a Christian environment, the importance of discernment within community was always emphasized.  "In the multitude of counselors, there is safety," was the common word, and this was applied to life decisions around friendships, dating, career, and even school.  The ritual of presenting prayer requests during family time, small group gatherings, and even with friends, fostered a spirit of transparency that I still cherish and live out to this day.  But for an INFP--whose introverted intuition often knows the meaning of things before having the words to express them; whose perceiving way of intaking information leads to a strong tolerance for ambiguity and a willingness to wait for what is true to reveal itself; and whose belief in emotional process rather than logical outcome tends to make our Western-Enlightenment-colonized society feel uncomfortable--this also meant that many a decision I made in life took time to gain acceptance amongst my family and community.

At this point in life, I realize that those who instinctually understand me the most are not necessarily those who have known me the longest, or with whom I have had the most conversation.  Those who "get" me on a primal level share my core Myers-Briggs personality traits, as well as my "self-preservation" instinct (Enneagram).  Thus, I have felt more known by strangers, at times, than by those who know me well--including my own parents and brother.  My chaplain supervisor remarked during the winter, "Mutuality is hard to find, isn't it?"  Followed by a more facetious, "It sure is lonely at the top!"

What often exacerbates the feeling of being misunderstood is people's sincerest intentions.  I have often lamented that, in addition to the invisible, "I'm a safe person.  Tell me everything" written on my forehead, my youthful appearance and INFP personality have also seemed to elicit advice-giving and platitudes.  As a natural "Healer" type (per Myers-Briggs), and now as an experienced helping professional (between music therapy, social services, and chaplaincy), I know that the way people give advice often says more about their own needs and anxieties than about our situation and needs.  

Over the years, I learned how to make myself known, preemptively, by sharing with people that I'm an internal processor; that I never give (and prefer not to receive) advice unless it is asked for; and that I often will not consider someone to be a good friend until and unless we have known each other for 2 years.  I now understand that the "one-to-one" instinct is my most "repressed," according to my Enneagram subtypes "stack."  I was never one of those girls who needed a friend at her side in order to go to the bathroom, never designated another as my "best friend," and I genuinely wondered how one life partner would be able to be enough for me.  I often felt trapped by the energy of people who latched onto me in a very one-to-one fashion, and my self-preservation instinct would continue to wonder when I might leave to use the bathroom, drink some water, eat, or take a nap.  Those who wanted to get close to me sometimes commented that they felt that they needed me more than I needed them.

My secondary instinct is "social," which has served me well in my professional life, while still being balanced and regulated by my ability to self-preserve and maintain work-life balance.  My attention and sensitivity to the "bigger picture" of relational group dynamics has allowed me to take on leadership positions, even as an introvert, and to take multiple needs into account.  Whether it be on the floors as a chaplain, at parties during college, and sitting in class as a student, I never fully "zoomed in" to one person or one topic.  I would scan the scene for the multiple layers of what was going on.  In dating, I was never that person who became obsessed with their partner, and I always thought about who might be excluded by my participation in a heteronormative and monogamous relationship.  My uneasiness with so quickly "leaving" to "cleave" may have protected me from relationships that ultimately were not meant to be for the long haul, while still giving me the opportunity to learn whatever lessons they had to gift me.

Most of the life choices I am proudest of met with resistance from many--often those with hearts of ministry--who sought to help me "discern." There are too many to recount here, but it has been a pattern I have tracked for most of my adulthood.  I say his not out of arrogance, but out of a recognition of the few and far between individuals who actually "got it"--who helped me explore my feelings, my opinions, and my process, helping me eventually meet the Holy One with my desires...and who never brought their own "stuff" into the mix.  That is the kind of friend and helping professional I have always tried to be as well, and it is my passion to train others to do the same, as a chaplain educator down the road.

As a not-yet-educator-chaplain, I find the study of humans as "living human documents" to be fascinating, and I have gleaned so much wisdom from my patients.  "When you know, you know," is a phrase that happily married older couples use when young or single people ask, "What's your secret?"

I believe that this phrase applies not only to love, but also to life overall.  Do we trust ourselves and those we love to already have within them all the resources they need to access their best self?  Does our theology and psychological understanding allow for that?  

Mine does, after years of wandering in the wilderness of "Christian" "discernment"--particularly in Chraristmatic-and-Pentecostally-influenced Evengalical-type settings.  I now think very differently about "prayer" and "discernment," thanks to three years of studying under professors who are contemplative and holistic in their theology and intellectual bent.  And I have formed my own theology--in conversation with Process Thought and the Law of Attraction--that I am finding to be both practical and healing.  

In a way, I officially staked my claim on this theology yesterday, during my oral defense of Ph.D qualifying exams (based "officially" upon narrative pedagogies, critical auto ethnography, internal family systems, and virtue ethics, but "unofficially" also addresses themes of discernment and accessing our best Selves).  As I work out my dissertation research in this next phase of my degree, my aim as a practical theologian is to share these viewpoints with the lay community as well, because what is life-giving to me cannot be "hid under a bushel."  

Let us "quench not the Spirit" by disregarding our own intuitive wisdom, which comes from the presence of Christ within.  The more aligned we are to our own desires, gifts, and sense of security in Unconditional Love, the more we will begin to understand (as I am coming to see) the wisdom in "When you know, you know"--in all things, for all people.



Wednesday, April 7, 2021

A Time to Embrace, and the Shifting of Seasons

Easter has come and gone.  

My parents are finally vaccinated.

And I've started to hug friends again.

But the first embrace of 2021 came before the world began opening up, and before our hospital allowed visitors back onto the floors.  Except in the case of patients who were nearing end of life.

On March 14, I was called into the Critical Care unit where I had served for 6 months, on the evening of my last on-call shift of my second level of chaplaincy training.

A patient was actively dying, and her husband had come in to say goodbye, was at bedside, and could use some spiritual support.  She was Sicilian Catholic, and had already received Last Rites.

He was a thin man, perhaps approaching 70.  I have gotten used to the wide-eyed look of shock and sadness in family members' eyes, when they come to say goodbye.

I encouraged him to speak to his beloved, because hearing is the last sense to go, and because I believe that the human Spirit can receive all messages of love, no matter the physical state.

At one point, he stepped out of the room to tell me that, after seeing how much she was suffering, he was ready to make a decision to withdraw care.  This was a shift from his initial statement, when I arrived, that he needed more time.  Sometimes, seeing is believing.  Part of the grief is accepting that the patient will not make it, even if the actual letting go takes time.

The nurses put in the order to have a compassionate extubation.  I waited with the husband outside of the room as they did the work of taking the patient off her breathing tube.  He showed me pictures of her, looking healthy and happy.  He fielded texts from others--her sister in Big Bear, for example--giving them updates in real time.

After the extubation, we let the husband sit by the patient's bedside.  One never knows how quickly they will pass after an extubation.  Many of our nurses are Catholic, and they often feel helpless in times like this.  Often, they will want to do something to ease their own sense of helplessness, even if the family has not requested it.

The nurse initiated a group of us singing "Ave Maria" at the patient's bedside, with the husband's permission.  The music therapist part of me squirmed as it was done improperly, based on what I'd learned in my training.  But in sacred moments at the end of life, there is enough Grace for good intentions to transcend technique.

The husband left right after I offered a prayer of blessing.  I always end prayers for Catholics with the sign of the cross.  I escorted him out of the hospital, and at the lobby, he said, "I'm going to be a basket case when I get home" (to their two beloved cats--whose pictures I'd also seen) and suddenly wrapped me in a brief hug.

Ecclesiastes 3 reads:

There is a time for everything,

    and a season for every activity under the heavens:

2     a time to be born and a time to die,

    a time to plant and a time to uproot,

3     a time to kill and a time to heal,

    a time to tear down and a time to build,

4     a time to weep and a time to laugh,

    a time to mourn and a time to dance,

5     a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,

    a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,

6     a time to search and a time to give up,

    a time to keep and a time to throw away,

7     a time to tear and a time to mend,

    a time to be silent and a time to speak,

8     a time to love and a time to hate,

    a time for war and a time for peace.


Her fight for life was coming to an end.  His process of grief had just begun.

After the husband walked out of the hospital, the security guard at the front lobby asked, "Did she die?"

"She's about to, I think," I said.

"Fuck!" he exhaled.


Yes, in professions like ours, sometimes, there is a time to curse.


I quickly got back into the elevator, and stepped back onto the Critical Care unit.  I rejoined the nurses in the patient's room, where they were still singing.  Within about 2 minutes, the monitor indicated that she had passed away.  There was a 0 by the line that measured her heart rate.  More embracing, and both nurses broke town in tears.

The pandemic had taken its toll on all of us.  There had been so much death, and so many goodbyes.  I did not shed tears--I tend not to, and have always been that way in such times--but I felt their sadness.  I remembered the image of the husband taking off his mask for a brief moment, when he kissed his wife's forehead one last time.

When I got home, I told my parents (who were visiting) that, even though I started my career as a helping professional in hospice music therapy, I had never actually seen someone pass away, been there at the moment of death.  Even in my first summer of chaplaincy, I had been with patients right after or before their last breath.

This was the Universe's gift to me, on the eve of my last on-call shift in a season of COVID chaplaincy.


9 What do workers gain from their toil? 10 I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race. 11 He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet[a] no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end. 12 I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live. 13 That each of them may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all their toil—this is the gift of God. 14 I know that everything God does will endure forever; nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it. God does it so that people will fear him.

15 Whatever is has already been,

    and what will be has been before;

    and God will call the past to account.[b]

16 And I saw something else under the sun:

In the place of judgment—wickedness was there,

    in the place of justice—wickedness was there.

17 I said to myself,

“God will bring into judgment

    both the righteous and the wicked,

for there will be a time for every activity,

    a time to judge every deed.”

18 I also said to myself, “As for humans, God tests them so that they may see that they are like the animals. 19 Surely the fate of human beings is like that of the animals; the same fate awaits them both: As one dies, so dies the other. All have the same breath[c]; humans have no advantage over animals. Everything is meaningless. 20 All go to the same place; all come from dust, and to dust all return. 21 Who knows if the human spirit rises upward and if the spirit of the animal goes down into the earth?”

22 So I saw that there is nothing better for a person than to enjoy their work, because that is their lot. For who can bring them to see what will happen after them? 


Amen.

Sunday, February 21, 2021

Haiku III: Lament

 Lament


Laments are refrains

What patients repeat often

Notice when they do


Helping one feel heard

Is more healing than fixing

We hear their laments.

Haiku II: Grief

 Grief


Grief comes in cycles

New loss brings up memories

Of other losses


We hear of old loss

To help in current healing

It's all related

Haiku I: The ICU

 The ICU: A Haiku


Patient unconscious

Family cannot visit

COVID restrictions


I go to bedside

To convey their love

Passing messages


We are go-betweens

Believing they can hear us

And feel their loved ones

LENT: Poetic Reflections on Indescribable Moments

 So much of what we do as chaplains cannot be quantified.  We do our best to put into words the moments we share with patients and their families.  After each visit, we enter a chart note into the medical record, using clinical language to describe emotional and spiritual encounters.  Each week, we produce written reflections that our educator and peers read.  And each month, we detail one specific visit in a Verbatim, in order to revisit what was said, what could have been said or done better, and what we learned about our functioning as a chaplain.  During LENT, I will be attempting to capture my hospital experiences through poetry, which points to the sacredness of more inarticulable feelings.  May the Mystery be expressed and experienced through the smattering of sentences that I will attempt to share in the days to come.  Amen.

Friday, February 12, 2021

Chaplain Chronicles: Concluding Thoughts

The Chronicles are far from over, but as I write my 12th post on the 12th of February, the week of Lunar New Year, COVID has taken a backseat, and the hospital system is catching its breath, for now.

This week, I had my first Sunday away from patients since September, and I left Los Angeles County for the first time since before the Holidays, when I spent Thanksgiving in Orange County with my parents.

Santa Barbara was the perfect solo day trip destination for me, and I hit up several favorite spots from family vacations, rented a bike, journaled at a cafe patio, and visited the zoo.

It was only after soaking up the sunshine, and getting away from my work as a chaplain, that I was able to come back, and to revisit the stories I wanted to put into words.

I will write more, and in greater detail, about chaplaincy during the coronavirus in the days to come.  Perhaps my experiences will find their way into my Ph.D dissertation.

For now, though, I am finished.  Relieved, through the act of writing, of continuing to store these stories in my memory, afraid to release them because they are too special to be forgotten.

I honor the patients and families whose lives have touched mine, salute the brave medical staff who shouldered the brunt of the burden of care, and thank all who have taken time to read my thoughts.

This time of year, we hold hope for the future, while giving tribute to the past.  May this time of Reflection give rise to further Action, as I return to the hospital, ready to chaplain again.


Wednesday, February 10, 2021

Chapter 10: "You made a perfect Catholic today!"

Most of the time, I am careful about sharing stories from the hospital.  My chaplain peers have plenty of their own experiences and emotions to process, and family and friends may not always be "up for" the details of sad scenarios that I have seen.  But one story has certainly made the rounds, amongst both colleagues and friends, because it is heartwarming and hopeful.

In the middle of the winter surge, I spoke with the sister of a COVID patient, who was in Critical Care.  The patient was Catholic, but had not been baptized, and this concerned the sister.  Over the phone, I let the sister know that I would speak with the nurse about having the priest come and perform baptism from outside of the room, in some way, since COVID restrictions limited patient contact.

Half an hour later, I went onto the COVID unit to find the nurse.  He was a friendly travel nurse from Georgia, whom I had not met before.  When I arrived outside the patient's room, the patient's family was on Skype with her.  Although she was intubated and unable to respond, I could hear her family members speaking words of love, through the computer screen.

I introduced myself to the travel nurse, whose name was Cecil, and updated him: "So, I just spoke with the sister, and I'm going to see if a priest can come tomorrow, to do some form of baptism from outside the room, if that's okay?  Do you think she will last through the night?"

"Honestly, it's hard to tell these days.  You wanna do the baptism now?"

His enthusiasm bolstered my spirits.  That thought had not crossed my mind.  "Well, she's Catholic, and they have specific requirements about only the priest doing certain things.  But, why don't you check with the sister, since you have her on Skype."

A few minutes later, I found myself standing right outside the patient's room, face-to-face with the patient's family, through the computer screen.  As I opened my mouth, I trusted that all those years of visiting various mass services would help me to sound as Catholic as possible.

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit..." and the words flowed.  I asked that the Lord receive the patient--I used her full name--into His loving arms, when the time came for her to leave this earth.  I affirmed the water of baptism, "of eternal Life..." and handed it over to the nurse, who wheeled the screen back to where the family could see the patient.

Remaining outside the room, I had a small cup of water ready for the nurse.  "Do I just splash this over her face?" he asked in all sincerity.  And I just had to smile.  

This black Southern Baptist nurse was being as faithful as he could to his understanding of baptism--immersion was impossible, but he would use up every drop of water that he could!

"Let's do it the way the Catholics would.  You can just dip your finger in the cup, and make the sign of the cross on her forehead.  Can you do that?"

"Sure!" His eyes lit up, from behind 2 layers off masks and a COVID protection bubble helmet, which looked rather like a space helmet.

The water administered, Cecil wheeled the computer back to the doorway, where I finished off the prayer, ending once again "In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit" as tears streamed down the family members' faces, and I could see smiles amidst the sadness.

Not wanting to expose myself for too long, I quickly left the unit after sanitizing my face shield and washing my hands.  The whole thing had taken 15 minutes.

Later, I texted a group of seminary friends, spread out across the world.  One friend in particular is a German Catholic monastic living in Austria.  In response to my story, he wrote:

"According to Catholic canon, anyone, even atheists, can perform baptism in an emergency.  So, you probably made a perfect Catholic today!"

Chapter 9: 40 minutes to Say Goodbye

One of the duties we chaplains perform is to serve as liaison between our Catholic patients and the priests from the local parish.  When patients are sick, their family members usually request a Sacrament of the Sick (SOS), for healing.  SOS sometimes are referred to at the Last Rites.

We received such a request one Saturday early in February, from a family with Vietnamese origin.  The patient, the mother of the family, was going to be extubated the following morning.  Her two sons would come to say goodbye, and they wanted the priest to say a final blessing.

According to the patient's chart, the she had already received the Sacrament of the Sick.  I put in the request to the parish, providing the patient's room number and the time of the extubation.  But as a back-up plan, my chaplain peer, a Catholic Eucharistic minister, would also be available.

Sunday morning came, and I noticed how "normal" things felt.  The COVID cases were much lower than the month before--in fact, there were only 5 patients in the Emergency Room, which was shockingly low.  Now that we weren't in "crisis" mode, I felt more room to actually feel my feelings.

We greeted the patient's two sons at the entrance of the hospital and escorted them up to the ICU.  They told us that their father had passed away here, a few years prior.  One son was married and spoke fluent English.  The other son was single and had lived with the patient, prior to her hospitalization.  Although this was the older of the two sons, he deferred to his younger brother, who had better English.  This is often the case in immigrant families.

The priest did not show up.  My colleague led us in Catholic prayers appropriate to the occasion, and then we left the patient's sons in the room, to say their goodbyes.  That day, nursing staff on the ICUs were so overloaded that some had 3 patients to take care of (the norm is 1-2).  Because of this, the patient's sons got extra time with her.  Sometimes, the extubation requires a whole team, and it must occur whenever the doctor arrives.  Today, there would be no doctor, so the schedule was more flexible.  For that, I was grateful.

40 minutes passed by.  Finally, I escorted the sons out.  The older son carried a plastic bag, containing the patient's clothing, dentures, and Medicare card, among other things.  The younger son communicated with the nurse about mortuary arrangements.  "You'll let us know when she passes?"  "Yes, of course."

On the way out, the younger son visited the restroom, and I spoke with his brother about the adjustment it would be, not only to grieve his mother's passing, but also the loss of his role as her live-in caregiver.  He was a gentle soul, and he said the hospital made him afraid.  "But, I must walk the path that life gives me," he said, in his accented English.

When we reached the hospital lobby, I bid farewell to the two brothers.  As they walked out to the parking lot, they put an arm around the other's shoulder, heading back out into the world together, and having said goodbye to their mother for the last time.  Watching from inside the lobby, the thought came to me: "A life time of memories with their mom, and only 40 minutes to say goodbye."  

Our rule of thumb as chaplains is that we can show emotion, and we can cry--but never more than the patients or their families.  So far, in nearly 6 months of my chaplain residency, I had yet to cry at work.  My eyes had welled up a few times, but that was the extent of it.

This was one of those moments, and to stop myself from losing it in the hospital lobby, I quickly turned around to walk back to our chaplain office.  Within half an hour, I would be out seeing patients again, in the Emergency Room, with another one of my chaplain colleagues, for a peer shadowing assignment.  

Things move quickly on the job.  Mentally, I release each patient I have seen into the care of the Universe as I transition to the next one.  But certain moments leave a deeper impression, and live on in my heart.  The memory of this morning's extubation was one that would stay with me, along with the tenderness of goodbyes a lifetime in the making.



Monday, February 8, 2021

Chapter 8: What Not to Say

Chaplain humor helps us cope.  We always make a point to be respectful of patients and families, and often we are making fun of ourselves, or the way a situation plays out.  By the end of January, all of us had received the second shot of the vaccine.  The atmosphere in the shared office space was more relaxed, and we continued to find reasons to laugh together.

Our peer brought in a list of platitudes, from a book that gave examples of what not to say to those who are grieving.  We wrote some of our favorite platitudes on the board, and referred to them throughout the course of the week.  

A peer spoke about the challenges of parenting, in the midst of being a dedicated chaplain.  We echoed, true to form, "That sounds hard.  Do you want to share more about it?"  Our peer shared a bit more.  Then, we pointed to the board, signaling a turn from the serious to the sarcastic, which we knew could only be done in the safety of permission and trust to do so:

"Well, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger!"

There is a texting emoji which has a face that is laughing and crying at the same time.  That face captures so much of how we process life.  Often, we chaplains laugh so hard that we want to cry at the same time.  Laughing and crying both release stress, and are healing.

The art of providing platitude-free spiritual care does take practice.  Often, people ask me about my role: "So do you basically just comfort patients while they are dying?"  Well, yes--and also so much more.  

We hope to serve as cathartic presences, for those who need to access and express their feelings; catalysts for reflection, for those who need to reconnect with their sense of self, through their personal narrative; and as comfort for those for whom hope feels out of reach, simply by seeing and acknowledging how they feel.  We champion ways of providing care that require much more intentionality than simple platitudes.

To close, I will list a few more examples of what not to say:

"It's God's will."

"This is your Karma."

"You can always have another baby."

"This is why I always lock my car doors!"

"Oh, I know exactly how you feel, I went through the same thing."

"This is nothing compared to what the Hurricane survivors had to go through."




Chapter 7: "Then COVID-19 got me sick..."

We had made it to the end of January.  As I stepped onto my non-COVID floor for "routine, self-initiated" visits, I checked in with the unit secretary, as was my practice.  "How are things on the unit today?  Any patient who would benefit from a chaplain visit?"

When we are not on-call or responding to crisis situations, chaplains make "cold calls" to each patient on their assigned floors, who have not yet been visited by a chaplain.  We also visit patients who have been referred to us by other medical staff.

Today, the unit secretary told me about one particular patient, who was recovering from COVID, no longer contagious, but still psychologically scarred from her experience, seemingly.  She refused to speak, and only communicated through writing.

Having "done my homework" before coming onto the floor, I recalled that this patient had passed through 2 of our COVID ICUs.  As is my practice, I had written down basic information for each patient, while going through the eCharting system, and this case had stood out to me.

It took three tries over two days to be able to have a visit with this patient.  The first time, she was asleep, and the second time, she was being attended to by nursing staff.  I spoke with the nurse outside, and he encouraged me to keep trying.  

Third time was the charm.  The patient was resting with her eyes closed, but she opened her eyes in response to my greeting at the bedside.  Knowing she was tired, and unable to speak, I kept my introduction very brief.

She nodded to indicate that it was okay to stay for a bit, and also motioned for a pen and paper.  She wrote: "Then COVID-19 got me sick."  Simple, yet profound.  After all she had been through, there was so much behind that sentence.

The unit secretary had told me a bit about her vocational background (she was infected while working as a LVN in nursing homes during the most recent COVID surge); her family system (she had strong support from her adult children); and that she was Catholic.

Normally, these would be questions that chaplains ask of their patients in a visit.  However, for patients who are unable to speak, this information would be obtained through calling family members listed as their emergency contact, or through conversations with nursing staff.

When I visit patients on the ICU, who cannot speak, I refer to conversations I have had with their loved ones.  "Hi ___, I spoke with your daughter today.  She wishes she could be here, and she send her love.  She also wanted me to tell you not to worry about your cat.  She is taking care of her."

With this patient, I saw from her chart that she had already been seen by other chaplains while in the ICU. So, I said, "I am so glad you have been getting care from your team here at the hospital.  I also wanted to visit you today and see how you were doing."

I always ask Spirit to guide my words, to make my visit helpful to the patient, and free from my limitations.  "I can only imagine what you have gone through during this time, as you cared for others at your work, and then got the virus yourself.  You have come through a long fight, and you made it until today."  

I put on gloves and held the patient's hand, which was warm and strong.  The patient began to shake, and I wondered if she needed to cry and release her feelings.  I squeezed her hand and gave her empathetic eye contact until her shaking ceased.

Knowing from her chart that she had been open to receiving prayer in the past, I offered: "I don't know everything that you feel right now, and I'm sorry that it's still hard for you to speak.  But I see you now and I am with you.  You are not alone."

I saw nursing staff preparing to come in, and I nodded to them to signal that I would wrap up my visit.  "May I pray a blessing for you as you continue to recover?"  The patient nodded.  I prayed, the way I always do: from the heart, and allowing the words to flow intuitively.

We had seen so many patients pass away from COVID.  Here was a survivor, bearing the physical and psychological scars of a virus that kills and robs humans of life and quality of life.  I got chills as I walked away.  The fragility and resilience of life, embodied in those telling words:

"Then COVID-19 got me sick" -- but COVID did not have the final say, at least not yet.  What happened tomorrow was out of my control.  My job as a chaplain was simply to be present to what was.  If pandemic has taught me anything, it is that.  

Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own...(Matthew 6:34)

Chapter 6: "You're Either Batman, or You're Not!"

What is the role of chaplains in the larger process, in relating with staff?  How do short, unplanned conversations contribute to staff care?  These were questions that arose in the wake of the code blue I wrote about in the previous post.  I explored them further in my Verbatim:

Two days later, during my normal clinical hours in CCS, I was charting near a nurse whom I had met during my first unit, summer 2019, and had a conversation with.  I had run into her once before this unit, and it was clear to me she did not remember me, and I also did not have a chance to remind her of our previous connection.  

This nurse was talking with another nurse about getting called into management’s office due to low handwashing percentages, but she was saying that it was a problem with the sensor, since there was no way she was not protecting herself on the COVID units.  [All of us wear a sensor, which tracks whether we foam in and out of patients' rooms, and how often we wash our hands.]

At first, I was just overhearing their conversation, but at this point, got pulled in:

Nurse A: And the problem is, when you’re all gowned up, when you come out, you have to disrobe and take the gloves off first, and then by the time you’re washing your hands, the sensor doesn’t remember.  

Nurse B: I mean, if this was 2015, and they were harping about handwashing, fine.  But we’re in the middle of a pandemic, and this is what they choose to focus on?

Nurse A: (Turns to me).  You know, this pandemic has shown a lot of problems that already existed.  Like racism, poor management, and all of that.  This hospital was already being managed poorly before, but now, I don’t think they’ll be able to handle all this.  I think they are going to get bought out by another system, or they’ll fold.

Chaplain: Yes, for sure.  Those problems were there already, but this just made it more obvious.  I can see how being a part of a larger health system would help streamline some of the organizational issues.  That’s got to be so stressful (chaplain tries to show empathy through body language as well, shaking head, sighing…)

Nurse A: You can say that again.  This is not what I went to college for.  Not to decide who gets to receive care, who lives or dies.  We were taught to treat everybody.

Chaplain: (nods, holds space to see if she wants to say more).  That is so tough.  When resources are stretched so thin.

Nurse A: You know they call us frontline heroes, but then we are also the first to get blamed, when they need a scapegoat.  But you can’t be heroes and villains at the same time, you know?  You’re either batman, or you’re not!  (She starts to laugh, and chaplain joins in.)  I’ll be back. (Nurse goes into nutrition room.  Chaplain continues to chart.)

NurseA comes back out, and tells me that the ice cream sandwiches from the hospital cafeteria are better than those she found in grocery stores.  Apparently, the ice cream portion is thicker.  Another nurse had brought a bunch of ice cream sandwiches in earlier, for the unit.

Chaplain:  I guess that’s one tiny perk of working here?  (nurse nods, with her mouth full.  Chaplain says, as if on her behalf:)  Hey, I’ll take it?!

(Nurse B comes by to grab something.  Respiratory Therapist [RCP] also walks onto the unit.)

RCP: Hey (greets 2RN).  How’s it going up here?  I’m coming from the ED. (She seems very friendly, and as if coming up to the CCs makes her feel more relaxed, compared to being in the ED).

Nurse B: I want something more to do.  It’s so quiet in here.  You leave the COVID units and you’re like, wait, is this how it used to be all the time?

RCP:  I know, you’re like, huh?

Chaplain:  (starts replaying the code blue in her head, but and thinks, without saying aloud) It’s like a different universe on the COVID units.

(Nurse B leaves to go attend to a patient.)  

Nurse A: Dang, you know that patient in CCR 15, or was it 14?  The 34 year old, didn’t make it.  That was New Year’s Eve, or something?

Chaplain:  (Nods.)  Yeah, Thursday.  I was here for that. 

Nurse A: That patient was afraid of everything.  Needles, tubes, He was so sweet.

Chaplain:  Aw.. (nods, makes eye contact with both RN and RCP thinks):I am learning more about this patient, whom I never knew)

RCP:  Oh yeah, I had him in the beginning too.  I cried for an hour at his bed.  

Chaplain:  (Looks at RCP and gives eye contact/active listening body language, wondering): What exactly does she mean by that?  Is she going to share more? 

Patient:  Hey!

RCP:  I mean, down in the ER it’s like deaths all the time, but this one we knew, and I was with him from his first day.  

Nurse A:  Yeah, I was there in the beginning too. 

Patient: Hey!

1RN9:  Man, what does he want again?  (She had just turned him earlier, with the help of 2RN)

Chaplain:  (to Nurse A)  I can go in and talk to him.  I’ve spoken with his wife about visiting, so I know a bit about what he might like to talk about and his personality.  

RCP: He seems anxious, but at least he’s not the one (motions to another room on CCS) over there who kicked me in the head the other day.

Chaplain: Oh yes, that patient—I just got off the phone with his wife.  She told me he’s had dementia for a few years now and often thinks he’s fighting in the war.

RCP: I don’t blame them.  They must be so confused about where they are.

Patient:  Are you coming?

Chaplain: (puts on face shield):  I’m coming. 

***

Further reflections:

· The Care Receiver

I assessed that the RN mostly needed more support from management.  She was upset at being faulted over handwashing, when there were larger concerns (such as staffing) at play.  She felt like management personnel were “taking out” their stress on employees.  She also seemed aware of larger systemic issues in society, which the pandemic has made worse.  It also seemed that “actions speak louder than words” was very much at play, in her feeling like she was receiving support.  I felt that, for her, words were cheap if action was not there.

· The Chaplain

As the on-call chaplain, my role when on-call to respond to code blues and be available for staff and family, as needed.  Although I did touch base with the nurse about my availability, I did not proactively follow up with the family after the patient’s death, as it was near the end of the day.  Often after code blue deaths, the social worker or nurse will inform me that the family needs time to process what happened, and to make arrangements.   

While charting on the critical care unit 2 days later, I had processed my own experience of the code blue, and was open to being an empathetic presence for staff, while also not “fishing” for conversations, given how busy and overloaded they are.  I usually respect that they are working, and may not have the mental or emotional capacity to talk about their feelings, or really share about their experiences.  However, the way this conversation flowed, I was included quite naturally.

· The Spiritual Care Encounter

I encountered the conversation “randomly”—and it was a “follow-up” about a patient, but not necessarily with the staff who were at the code blue.  However, there was continuity in the story, since this patient was in Critical Care for quite a while and clearly made an impression on the staff.  I tried to respond in a “pastoral manner” by mostly holding space and was an active listener for this conversation, and I felt she felt safe sharing her honest feelings with me.  My identity as a chaplain was expressed by accompanying others in their process and bearing witness to others’ suffering and distress.  I learned from this encounter more of the sentiments of nurses about administration and the discrepancy between how society views them (frontline heroes) and how management treats them (villains, scapegoats).   Given my thoughts, from the nurse’s words earlier, about her preference for care to be “shown” rather than “said,” rather than staying in the conversation about the patient who expired, I offered to go talk to the patient, to give this nurse a break and a chance to catch up further with her colleagues.   Had I not gotten up to go see the patient, I would have wanted to verbally affirm the role of the Nurse and RCP.  

Theological/Philosophical Reflection

One of the themes I heard from the nurse was frustration in the discrepancy between how she was perceived—she knew she was important and indispensable, and yet she did not feel like she was treated according to her value.  I was very aware of my own helplessness in fixing the larger systemic situation.  This experience further brought to my awareness that my theme of Intention is multi-faceted and can equip me to discern more quickly how I “ought” to “be” in a given scenario.  

Peer/Educators Consultation

My educator gave me permission to do one verbatim that involved interactions with medical staff.  My main questions are: “should” I have “done” more during the code blue, or with so much going on, was it “enough” to simply be present, give empathetic eye contact, and be available as needed?

For the conversation in critical care two days later, I did not feel prepared to “go deeper” with the nursing staff, as they were still on the clock and constantly prepared to attend to patients.  I felt that it meant more for me to show that I was on their team, that I was doing my part to care for patients, at bedside.  

As the pandemic continues to heavily impact our hospital, I anticipate future situations similar to what I have described above.  Therefore, I wanted to bring it before my peers and educator to get perspective on how to navigate the balance between seeing patients and being present to staff.




Chapter 5: "I Thought For Sure This One Was Going to Make It"

Those of us on the interdisciplinary team reached a breaking point on the last day of 2020.  I saw a patient die of COVID who was my age.  This impacted me so much that I used it for my Verbatim assignment, which is a part of our CPE curriculum.  I have included portions of the Verbatim below:

Context of Visit: I responded to a Code Blue during the daytime of my New Year’s Eve on-call.  The patient was in the corner room in [the COVID ICU], and was already receiving chest compressions upon my arrival.  It was obvious that end-of-life concerns were at play.

I stood at the back of a cluster (about 6) of medical staff who were talking outside the room.  One of the staff members was gowning up, but was told that they had enough help.  I was wearing my N95, and other staff members also had face shields and helmets on.  Inside the room, another cluster (about 8) of medical staff were attending to the patient.  I made eye contact with the social worker, with whom I had already connected twice earlier in the day, over two other code blues.  She was busy speaking with other staff so we just nodded at each other, but to me it felt like we already had a “shorthand” established, from my on-call experiences.  

I listened as medical staff exchanged information about how COVID was impacting other parts of the world, and how diet might factor into it.  There were comments about people surviving COVID in Northern India, and importance of Olive Oil in Italy, and also Filipino diet and culture.  

I thought to myself that medical staff have such a calm nonchalance during these emergencies sometimes, but also how each code blue is different from the next.  For example, during an earlier code on [another COVID unit], medical staff seemed more concerned and stressed. 

I could barely see the patient, but I saw on my census that he was my age (34).  Another medical person showed up and stood next to me, carrying drugs that were labeled for code blue use.  We nodded at each other.  The sound of the code blue alarm continued on the unit, drowning everything out.

At one point, the doctor left the small talk and went to the glass door, opening it a crack to tell the medical staff to stop the chest compressions, reading off numerical medical data.  He then stepped back out to join the cluster, who had all stopped talking.  The doctor said, “That’s what I hate about this disease.  It makes us feel so helpless.”  The doctor left the scene.  As the medical staff inside the room began to remove tubes from the patient and clean up inside the room, one of the staff members in the cluster outside the room immediately began to cry.  This was a staff who, during last week’s code down in CDU, had said to me, in passing, “We need spiritual care.”

I realized that I had never seen medical staff cry immediately after a code blue death.  I had seen hard situations where they were upset but also seemed numb, but this release of emotions was very new to me.  I think everyone else felt it.  Even though it was hard to tell with masks and other PPE, it did seem that others had tears in their eyes.  I felt helpless, and I also felt like an outsider bearing witness to a close-knit team.  

The social worker stepped over to hug her and rub her shoulders.  The staff person who had been gowning up earlier also went over to comfort her.  I started looking around for a box of tissue, but then noticed that staff member going over to wash her face in the sink.  

The charge nurse arrived and was shocked the patient passed.  She said, “I thought for sure this one was going to make it.  Now I have to decide who gets the bed next, who to send up here.”  Meanwhile, one of the medical staff who had come out of the room said, “I’ll call the family, since I’ve been following this one.”  I told her, “Let me know if you need chaplain to follow up with the family later.”  She continued walking over to the sink to wash.  “What’s your extension?”  “3433.”  “Okay, thank you!”

The charge nurse and the social worker continued to talk, and the rest of us continued to disperse from the code.  I noticed another medical staff starting to shed tears, the first woman who had cried right after the death went over to hug her, and together they walked into the break room.  I was touched by staff members’ ability to be there for one another because they had already been working as a team.  I couldn’t keep track of who was saying what, but I could hear a few comments all around me, “He was so young.”  “If he couldn’t make it, then what about us?”

It felt surreal, like I was watching a movie scene.  I felt helpless, because now did not seem like the time to process with staff, who were either very busy, or already comforting one another.  I walked to the other side of the unit and looked at the COVID patients who were still alive, thinking to myself honestly that I didn’t really have it in me to send a blessing to them.  Instead, I bore witness to them as they hung onto life.  I walked over to another part of the ICU, to follow up with the nurse for a patient who had survived a code blue earlier in the day.  


Chapter 4: For Such a Time as This

The first thing I do when I get home is to take off my shoes, wash my hands, take off my mask, wash my hands again, wash my face, and then let my hair down.  The moment I let my hair down, my body knows it's time to relax, and my mind can start processing.  My holiday on-calls gave me plenty to process.

I thought about the phone call I had made to a woman who was preparing for discharge, after fighting through COVID.  She had come in together with her husband, and they had initially shared a room.  Then, his condition worsened, and he was transferred to the ICU.

One of my colleagues was there when they were parted.  That was the last time the woman saw her husband, in person.  My colleague spoke of how emotional that was, and how it was worth it for him to go inside the room to pray for the wife, and to hold her hand, wearing gloves and a gown.  

Another one of my colleagues had had a phone call with the wife, after the husband had coded in the ICU. According to the note my colleague wrote, the wife was very accepting of reality, and seemed calm in the face of such a terrible prognosis for her husband.

I was able to speak with the wife over the phone during my shift, and arrange for her to Skype with her husband, using hospital equipment, before her discharge the next day.  This, we all knew, would be the last time she could "see" him--their final goodbye.

This case struck a chord with the spiritual care department, because a total of 5 chaplains had gotten involved, over the course of several days.  Unfortunately, this heartbreaking situation was just one of many.  As a CPE cohort, we shared our stories with one another, facing the crisis as a team.

Although some of my peers will refer to patients on their floors as "my patient," I tend to think of each patient as "ours."  Especially in the cases of patients who transfer through several floors, spiritual care also transfers from one chaplain to another.

We had a married couple come in through the emergency room together, and the husband was immediately transferred to the COVID ICU, where one of my colleagues was assigned.  The wife was healthy enough to stay in the Emergency Department and receive enough care to be discharged, without being admitted to a hospital floor.  Knowing she already had COVID, she asked if she could be escorted up to the ICU, to say goodbye to her husband before going home, and my colleagues worked with hospital administration to see if they could make an exception to the visitor policy.  Ultimately, the request was denied, and the wife handled it with grace.

But we as a team really felt for this family--and for so many others whose trip to the Emergency Room meant goodbye forever.  How privileged we were to be granted access to the ICUs--even if all we could do was pray for patients outside the glass doors of a COVID isolation room--when family could not even have one final look, except over Skype.  The harshness of the pandemic saddened us, and it also angered us to see so many outside of the hospital still not taking it seriously.  If they had seen what we had seen, would they still put lives at risk with careless behavior?

I had some strong feelings of my own to process, as several of us had spoken with COVID patients who were members of churches who defied the governor's orders and continued worshipping in person.  One of my patients survived COVID, while her husband in the ICU did not.  And several of their other church friends were also infected.  This was another "case" that had passed through multiple hospital floors and several chaplains, and which we processed together as a team.  As professionals providing spiritual care, we chaplains showed compassion to all our patients.  At the same time, as humans, we were angered by church leaders who put their congregants at risk for this deadly virus.   

There was so much going on during the Holiday surge that our CPE model of action-reflection-new action was compressed into an ongoing process-as-we-go mentality.  Often, my peers would give a play-by-play of a situation they had just encountered, as soon as they came back into our shared office space.  Midway through their narrative, another page would come in, with further developments.  As we all tried to catch our breath, we knew we could count one the team to pull through together.  We had to, to survive.

Now that I have found some time to breath, recover, and write, I am grateful that through the most recent surge, we all managed to stay healthy, sane, and faith-filled.  Each of us has a very different temperament and background, but we have put our differences aside to learn together.  One day, we will look back and see how our call to ministry brought us to the front lines, "for such a time as this."

Chapter 3: "I'm Proud of You!"

The Holidays were upon us, and the post-Thanksgiving Surge was in full swing.  Our Emergency Department was overflowing, with every bed occupied, patients being put in the waiting room even after being admitted, and some patients' location listed as Ambulance 1, 2, etc.

Two other patient floors were now converted into COVID units, in addition to our three "regular" COVID floors.  For each patient that passed away from the virus, another 10-15 people were waiting use that bed in the ICU.  Our morgue was beyond capacity, and we had extra refrigeration in place.

The vaccine was on its way, and that gave us hope.  

I received my first dose of the Pfizer shot on December 19th.  In the weeks to come, I would feel slightly safer as I showed up on the COVID units, wearing an N95 mask, a surgical mask on top of it, and a plastic face shield.  I always put up my hair, too.

One of my Holiday on-calls was in the wake of a full moon.  If I did not believe in "superstition" before, the pandemic has given me full faith that human life cycles are closely connected with larger cosmic forces--full moons are linked with more deaths.  Our on-call numbers prove it.  

That day, there were 6 code blues.  A code blue is a medical emergency, broadcast throughout the hospital system, so that the team can show up with the proper medication and equipment to save a life.  Chaplains show up to offer support as well.

It is always a surreal experience to see up to 10 medical personnel inside a room, performing life-saving procedures.  During COVID times, this also involves wearing yellow gowns and gloves.  Another cluster of staff stands outside the room, ready to hand more supplies, or to relieve the staff inside.  Chest compressions are counted, and are physically taxing to the one performing them.  There is a strange blend of calm and tension during these times.  There is always one point person who informs the family of what is going on.  They also call the family to let them know when their loved one is stabilized--or, if their loved one has passed away.  

That day, 2 out of the 6 patients who coded passed away.  In between the code blues, I was visiting other patients on other floors, carefully compartmentalizing each experience into its own spot, to be processed after I got off my shift, and when I could let my hair down.

The phrase, "ignorance is bliss" really does apply to those patients who receive a chaplain visit, not knowing where we have just come from.  Right after one of the code blues, I had a long chat with a female patient who identified as Jehovah's Witness, during which time we discussed her love of the Bible, her conversion to the religion, and the important names of God.  As the visit progressed, I became aware that she was trying to proselytize, and to get me to join her church.  I kept the visit professional, steering the conversation back to identifying what was important to her, and what brought her strength during difficult times.  Even though she was not successful in getting me to join her church, she did say, at the end of the visit, "I'm proud of you!" (for being so familiar with Scripture, and able to follow along with her sharing).

As I charted about the visit afterwards, I just had to chuckle.  Even as I was putting our conversation into clinical terms--offering my assessment of the patient's spiritual needs and resources, and documenting the type of care I provided--she was perhaps patting herself on the back for reaching out to a potential convert.      That makes two of us who were sincerely doing our best to fulfill our spiritual roles!


Chapter 2: Bearing Witness, Being Present

In the previous post, I described a few examples of what we as chaplains do in the hospital, and how we function on the care team.  Chaplains' formation occurs through action (being put in clinical situations), followed by reflection (processing with their cohort and supervisor), and new action (trying out new ways of being, based on feedback).  In the first few weeks of CPE (this stands for Clinical Pastoral Education, and is the name of our chaplain training), as I was dipping my feet back into the waters of the hospital, I began to reflect on the experience of providing spiritual care during a pandemic.

I noticed that, without family or visitors inside the hospital, patient care seemed more straightforward.  While I often called family members over the phone to offer spiritual care and emotional support, I did not have to navigate the dynamics between patients and their families, the way I would if they were all in the same place (things sometimes got dicey).  Therefore, when I was with a patient, they had my full attention.  And when I was with family, over the phone, they had my full attention.  I was able to feel more focused during each visit.

Hospital staff seemed very appreciative of chaplains.  In the past, I sometimes felt "less" important than medical staff with years of clinical training.  Was my role really "necessary" in the hospital setting, or was it merely an "extra" service we provided to patients and their families, to support the medical care?  6 months into the pandemic, there seemed to be no question in anyone's mind that chaplains were a necessary part of care team for patients.  Even the head of hospital security appealed to us to help face and acknowledge families' anger and sadness at being denied entrance.  "We need you guys on our team," was a phrase I heard from nursing staff, security, and medical doctors on a weekly basis.  "Thank you for helping us support patients and their families."  When there was so much that "could not be done," our willingness to be still in the face of helplessness, and our ability to simply be present to other humans, was valued.

I spoke with a woman who had a hard time forgiving herself for what she had done to her sister, growing up.  She identified as an Italian Catholic, and was well into her 80s.  I asked her to share about the incident for which she held so much guilt--and learned about her family of origin by asking follow-up questions to her narrative.  Although her mother had died when she was but a girl, she still thought of her often.  "My mother was so beautiful," she repeated throughout our conversation.  I validated her mother's emotional presence with us in that room, as a guiding force for her present reminiscing.  Rather than telling her what to think, I explored her beliefs by asking how she thought of God, and God thought of her.  It seemed she had a difficult time actually believing in her heart what she knew in her head: God forgave her and loved her.  

Chaplains believe that helping patients name their feelings and their fears takes away the power that those emotions have.  Behind every feeling is a story, and part of our job is to facilitate patients' telling and discovering of those stories, and to listen with unconditional positive regard--no judgment, and no advice. 

I often find that, by simply being attentive to patients' stories, validating of their feelings, and willing to sit in unresolved situations with them, I will often witness patients coming to small breakthroughs, in the span of one visit.  They often access parts of their Best Self that "worst case scenarios"--being hospitalized, and feeling helpless--allow them to discover.  "Where two or three are gathered" is a sacred space that invites God's presence, and whether or not the patient (or chaplain, for that matter!) "believe" the "right" things does not matter.  What matters is that, when one human is truly seen and heard by another human, the healing begins to happen.  And when healing happens on any level--spiritual and emotional, "intangible"--it contributes to healing on other levels--physical and mental, "measurable."

As chaplains, we bear witness to difficult moments, and we hold space for patients and families facing life-and-death decisions.  Whenever I step out onto the hospital floors, "it is not I who live, but Christ lives in me"--I put on my Chaplain Hat, and I do not take any interaction or situation too personally.  My profession requires that I use my Full Self and show up to be present to others, but none of this is actually about me.  And yet, my recollection of what happens on the job is always filtered by my own belief system, personality type, and human limitations.  So what is about others, also affects me.  We cannot help but be interconnected.



  

Chapter 1: The First Few Weeks of Chaplaincy Residency

We started Orientation with masks on, and seated 6 feet apart.  What a strange thing to meet new colleagues for the first time and not know what their full face looked like until lunch time.  We learned about hospital policy during a pandemic: no visitors were allowed, except at time of death, for 15 minutes each, and no more than 2 at a time at the bedside.  The Viewing Room, which was normally used to allow grieving families to be with their deceased loved one, away from the hospital floors, had strict limitations as well.  Whereas families as large as 30 would come for a Viewing the past, the limit was 9 people now.  

Some of the hospital floors were dedicated to COVID cases, and would require phone visits.  On our "regular" floors, chaplains would only visit patients who had had 2 negative COVID tests.  In addition to our surgical masks, we would also wear goggle or a face shield when visiting patients.  And so it began.

My first few patient visits seemed "normal" enough.  One was with a lady with severe and chronic back pain, who was questioning whether God was angry with her, and who simultaneously felt guilty about her condition keeping her from making more of a difference in the world.  She requested that I bring her a Bible, and on my follow-up visit, I made sure to deliver one.  Another delivery was to a patient who wanted to fill out and sign an Advance Directive, in order to prepare for a time when she would be unable to make medical decisions for herself.  

We had our share of compassionate extubations, when "life support" (in laymen's terms) would be removed from a patient, and the family could come to say goodbye.  Those goodbyes are sad but meaningful.  As chaplains, we often meet the family in the hospital lobby and escort them up to the Critical Care Unit.  We are quiet enough to give the family space to process the situation, but also present enough to make conversation that might help diffuse the anticipatory anxiety.  While the family is at bedside, we stay outside and remain available to answer any questions about mortuary arrangements, bring in water or tissue for the family, and ultimately to escort the family out.  

I have noticed, from my experiences of Extubations and Viewings, that the release of emotions often has families feeling relieved, and is one step in the healing process.  Tears are a wonderful and necessary part of goodbyes.  I have seen grown men cry, and I have held back my own tears as I've seen families process grief.  

There are always humorous moments as well.  Many a grown man has flirted with me on the way out, which seems completely understandable, in the wake of such an emotional moment.  I call it the "testosterone boost" that helps them feel ready to step outside the hospital, ready to "face the world" outside again.  These were all situations I had encountered in my first unit of chaplaincy training, and which come to mind as I think of the first few weeks of my residency.


Chaplain Chronicles: Preface

This time of year brings back memories.  

It was 7 years ago, around Super Bowl Sunday, that I blogged about visiting an open house with my mom.  That was 1 month into my 1st try at this blogging thing, and little did I know I would keep it up.  Super Bowl Sundays during seminary in New Haven meant trekking across town, in the snow, to watch the Game at our friend Dax's house--a time for serious seminarians to devolve into cheering for sports.  And, of course, this time last year was when the world began to truly take the coronavirus pandemic seriously.  

What a year it has been.  2020 brought about economic hardship, devastating deaths, and a mental toll.  If we go by the Lunar Calendar, the year of the Rat is at its tail end, and I'm ready for the year of the Ox.  

But in many respects, 2020 was a restorative one for me.  As society shut down, I reconnected with parts of myself that "normal" life did not always allow me to embrace--my love of staying home, disconnecting from societal functions and expectations, and simply being, rather than doing.  Work remained steady, as I taught music lessons and organized ongoing projects--whether it be for the interfaith network I worked for, or social-justice-oriented collaborations with friends--over Zoom.  And I had several personal calls each week, with individuals and groups of friends from all over the world.  What I did not miss was the guilt of not attending church on Sundays--and the pressure of going out into society as a single person.

And when I did finally "go back to work," this past September, it was as a chaplain, and it was a dream come true.  In the early stages of the pandemic, I found myself dreaming about being on-call at least once a week.  So when the opportunity came to start a hospital residency, I rolled up my sleeves and dove in.

A year into the pandemic, and nearly 6 months into my residency, I have a few stories to tell, in honor of the patients and families who have been severely impacted by COVID-19, and on behalf of the other frontline workers, with whom I serve.  This next set of posts will focus on the some of my chaplain experiences, for anyone outside of the hospital who might be interested.  

As you cycle through them, may you bear witness to the sacred work that is ours to sustain together--whether in person, or in spirit.

Enjoy!