Alison and the Assessment Test

I met Alison during my Clinical Pastoral Education. We have stayed in touch now and again, like you do when you live in different neighborhoods and run busy lives - yet have been through life transforming experiences together.

Recently, Alison let me know about postings for a chaplaincy position in a nearby hospital. She was going to apply – was I interested too? I appreciated her generous spirit; after all if I applied, we would become competitors. But I declined – God led me to another path and I now work in this awesome church, UPPC.

Alison contacted me again after she applied. She was troubled.

“They sent me this link and that led me to a test, she said. There were at least 50 questions and they were all the kind of problems we had to solve at school. You know, Jane lives in A, and Bob lives in B, and John lives near Jane, what is the distance between Bob and John… Rhetorical questions of logic. I was bewildered. None of the questions were related to chaplaincy or even human relations!”

Alison was concerned. She was so taken aback by the test (which took her about an hour to take) that she was pretty sure she had not done very well. She wondered how it would impact her application.

I tried to reassure her. Her application was strong, with very positive evaluations and her previous supervisor, a noted senior chaplain, as a reference.

A few days ago, late in the evening, I heard from Alison again. I could tell she had been crying. “I just received an email from Human Relations, she said. My application has been rejected. And they asked me not to apply again for any chaplain position for a year.”

I could not believe it. I was so stunned that I thought she had misunderstood. I had her read me the email she received. An unsuccessful application is always a possibility, but a one-year ban? What was that? Did a chaplain even look at her application? Who decided that her resume and experience were so unworthy that she was vetoed out for a year?

Alison told me she felt humiliated when she read this email. She did not say anything to her husband, who was in the same room and looking at his own lap top. She went upstairs and cried. “Worthless”. “That’s the word that kept flashing through my mind, she said. That I was worthless. That they had to get rid of me for a year because I was so bad.” 

She breathed in silence for a while. “Then I called you.” I was feeling bad for her. My guess is that I would have received the same email if I had applied myself.  “You must feel awful, I said. I feel awful too actually – and mad ! Where does this come from? I never heard of such a reply to an application.”

“I guess I need to know, said Alison with a sigh. Of course, I know in my mind that I am not worthless. I am not going to let anyone define me – especially anyone who does not even know me. I just don’t understand. Why would you want to humiliate applicants? I wonder if this comes from this test…"

Well, it came from this test, Alison found out. Human Resources had created this “assessment tool” a month before. About half of the chaplains who applied for the position failed the test – probably due to the same state of disbelief she was in. Their applications were then simply discarded and never sent to the manager of the hiring department. A one-year prohibition to apply was emailed to them.

“I heard there are talks in process to review ‘this assessment tool’ for the Pastoral care department, she said. Because it does not assess anything chaplains need… But that will be too late for me.”

Fortunately, this was not the end of the story. Another position opened up, and Alison was offered the possibility to appeal the ban. The appeal was received, and Alison has applied for the new position. Her new application is being processed. She allowed me to share her story – as long as I did not use her real name.

I thought I had seen lots of bizarre situations through my chaplaincy education. This one is definitely off the chart. 

Apprehension and Holy Spirit

How will that day go? Who will I meet ? Will a patient die? Which one? Will I be up to it? When I drive to the Hospice house, those questions turn in my mind. On the first days, they were like upset bees, fast and restless. After three months, the bees have slowed down. It is winter time; they go from one place to another, chilled and quiet. In other words I am calmer.

Apprehension is still here but only as a feature in the landscape of my mind, not an overwhelming emotion. I cannot foresee the meetings to come, or get ready for difficult question or unexpected situations. Serenity comes with accepting myself and trusting that I will face whatever is on my way – and that I will not be alone.  

In the heavy binder that we received during orientation, I found this before-visit prayer, written by Chaplain Ray Kelleher:

“Something  important is about to happen to me. Somebody important is waiting for me. I am walking onto Holy Ground, stepping into Sacred Space, going to meet, in a vulnerable human being, the beloved of God. I will be receptive. I do not know what words to say, what thoughts to think, or what actions might be necessary, so I trust in the Holy Spirit, who will guide me from the inside. In that mood of confidence I open the door, to offer my truest and best self in the time that I have.”

There is no other way. I notice that I find myself regularly at the right place at the right moment. I see a patient’s loved one in tears in the hallway just when I come up so I am able to suggest we talk in the little chapel. Another day, I sit down with a husband by the patient’s bedside and he suddenly realizes with a scream that she just passed. Later on, he will tell me “Fortunately, I was not alone in the room when she died…”

I recommend a blanket to a patient whose sadness is perceptible. His cancer is spreading and at any time so this older emaciated gentleman can fall and get hurt. He would like to go home. His wife and doctors have a hard time explaining this can’t happen. He is sitting in an armchair in the semidarkness of the room – he refuses to lay down in the bed – and he can’t get warm. He is pleased to receive the blanket which was heated in a special oven. He does not like to talk about his feelings nor religion. I lay the blanket on his laps and put my hands on his – they are so cold. We spend long minutes that way, without talking. He is the beloved of God. 

A bridge to the unknown.

The hospice house is a homey place that receives patients whose life expectancy does not exceed 6 months.

Usually patients are close to their last days when they are admitted. They need intensive care so they can be as comfortable as possible: getting their pain under control, helping with their breathing… Most patients expire in the days following their admission.

There are many things I cannot accomplish here – and realizing it has been instrumental to lighten the initial apprehension.  

What I cannot do: I cannot cure those patients. I cannot dissipate the sorrow of their loved ones. What I can do: be with them. Listen to their stories, if they want to share it. Reflect with them on the meaning of their journey. Pray with them if they so wish. And be there for those two most important moments there is, two moments mentioned in the “Hail Mary” prayer that I learned as a Catholic child: “pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death”.  This is not much – and yet it is essential.

Sometimes, I am reminded of an airport when I think of the hospice house. “the passenger for the destination to beyond is expected for immediate departure…”

Sometimes, I think of a bridge. A bridge toward a place so often imagined and yet totally unfamiliar. We help the travelers to cross the bridge, we support their families.   

One afternoon, I was helping the son of a patient who had passed in our presence a few hours earlier – we were carrying his belonging to his car. He had slept in his father’s room for the few last nights. While walking by him, I suddenly realized that this was like the work I was doing here: accompany the patients and their loved ones and help them carry their baggage.

This is not much – and yet essential. 

Thanksgiving – already ??

The fourth Thursday of November is a special day in the US : a day where everyone traditionally gather with family around a turkey meal. I had the opportunity to mention this unparalleled tradition before.

This break in the middle of the very rainy Fall season happens right at the end of the first unit of the residency. The whole residency will actually be 4 units back to back. It is time to evaluate the weeks that went by with such disconcerting speed. Yesterday it seems, I was being oriented like any new employee of Franciscan Health. And here we are, November is here.

Weeks went by fast : 24 hours of the week take place at the Hospice house. I also have classes (“didactics” actually) at St Joe. I am also on call at St Joe one night every 10 days.

I was apprehensive when I got to the Hospice house on that first Monday. I was thinking of the hours to come. One of patients was probably going to die… Would I be able to face those situations?

I parked on the employees parking lot, on the side and under the trees. I was not alone: a deer was standing by the cars. She allowed me to look at her and even take pictures, before jumping out of sight. On that first day, this welcoming deer uplifted my spirit…

AC gets oriented

Once my identity and my non-addiction established, I received a badge that will prove who I am when I will be going from one place to another in the hospital and the hospice house.

The security person who took my (very unflattering) picture stumbled when she tried to say my name. This happens often – my name is not very easy to pronounce (Annacicill? Anncelice?) and I suggested to only list my initials. Many friends and my in-laws already call me AC.

AC, pronounced by French people sounds like “assez” which means “enough”. Not very welcoming. But the American way is much more opened.

The next step was the orientation day. I was with Su, my Korean friend, also selected for this residency, as well as 60 others new employees from all departments.

The orientation was taking place from 8 to 4. Most of those hours were dedicated to describe the values of the new employer. I confess I sometimes dozed off… Some of the new employees had to try some isolating suits, which suddenly created an impression of science-fiction. This energized me.

On the afternoon, it was all about patients safety. We were taught to handle a fire extinguisher and to carry out patients in emergency situations. In an earthquake prone area shadowed by a volcano, this can be handy.

Good, I am not a felon!

Not a single drop of rain fell the month of August! It’s a record beaten and in our region, known for it’s humidity, everyone tends to look up at the sky, disoriented and almost worried.

If the change is in the air, it is not the weather, but in the work department. It’s time for me to get ready and begin my residency— for one year,  in the department of Pastoral Care of the Franciscans Group Health Hospital . I will be Chaplain Resident from September 2012 until August, 2013.

As the internship is a paid position, I follow the requirements of any new employee. At the beginning of the week, I was called to St. Joseph Hospital of Tacoma by the Department of Human Resources to show my identity papers, which  they copied, and give my consent to verify my background.

The hospital resembles a beehive, a large while building with windows like ovals, and the view of Puget Sound is beautiful.

I also promised that I do not smoke cigarettes. I was surprised to learn that my new employer won’t hire any smoker anymore. If you smoke, they offer you a class to help you stop. If you are not ready, resubmit your application when you are.

Next stop the same day, a drug test. Producing urine in a narrow plastic cup is anatomically acrobatic. “Above all, do not flush .” said the technician. “Why?” I asked with the innocence of never having undertaken the Tour de France. “We do not want anyone to use the water from the toilet to dilute the contents of the cup.”

Some days later, the results reached me. Good! I am not a felon. I do not smoke. Nicotine is absent from my system.

And what relief that caffeine and chocolate do not appear on the list of illegal substances...

(thank you, Phyllis Smith, for the great translation! J)

The Frog Had the Answer

The answer finally came last Wednesday, on Leap Year Day. I was not on leaping mood that day - I had spent most of it getting more pessimistic by the hour.

Then the long expected email arrived at 5:34 PM and its title was an answer in itself “Acceptance to our Residency position…”

Before I fully realized it, an appeasing wave of relief was sweeping over me.

The residency will start next September and will last one year, which will allow me to achieve the chaplain training I still need. I will work mostly at the Hospice house but will have one night on call at the hospital every week. And I found out later that night that my Korean friend was also accepted!

It was snowing that night. As I spent some time in the dark yard with the puppies, enjoying the crisp air, I felt like screaming actor Jean Dujardin’s exact words when he received his Oscar last Sunday “Putain c’est génial thank you merci!!!”

Leaping day indeed!

Interview at the Hospice House

Today, I met with Rev. Susan, the chaplain coordinator of the Hospice House in Tacoma. Two of the chaplain residents – out of three- will be working there. Susan is a petite woman with short white hair, brilliant blue eyes and a warm smile ; I immediately felt comfortable with her.

We talked for a long time – she had some specific questions for me, my interest in this type of chaplaincy, the grief and mourning I experienced in my life, the way I connect with people that have different views and religious traditions but mostly she listened to me.

As I mentioned before, an interview with a chaplain is different: imagine a conversation with an amazing and compassionate listener. I had a great time with Susan who also showed me the facility. She will not make the final decision but her input will certainly be significant.

As I was driving home under the sun, in this bright cold afternoon, I was trying to anticipate what decision would come my way. This morning Susan had met with another applicant that I know well, a wonderful talented Korean woman, certainly worthy of this resident spot. Her knowledge of the Korean language and culture is a great asset in our area. So many good applicants, so few places…

I noticed in the sky a dozens of tiny parachutes – military training above McChord Air Force base. This could be a living metaphor of my situation. Now that I am certified “ready to be ordained”, I am the parachutist wondering where I will land, wondering where God’s wind will direct me… (To be followed… )

The "Textured Tapestry of Existence"

I will meet with Susan, the chaplain coordinator of the Hospice House on February 27^th and the finale decision for the residency will take place later that week.

If it works, the residency will start in September and will last one year. I remain serene but my thoughts have been gravitating a lot  toward this possibility…  

What kind of help and care is a chaplain able to bring to a hospice patient? Judith Leipzig wrote a beautiful article on her experience in a hospice service at the Calvary Hospital in the Bronx. It can be found at this link.

http://blog.onbeing.org/post/11176428414/hope-at-the-end-of-life                   

I translated parts of it in my French blog – I found out Judith’s rich writing was much more difficult to translate than I had thought!  

Judith Leipzig shares what she learned as a hospice chaplain and her discovery of what she can bring to patients at the very end of life: not a service, but a presence and a profound listening that provides the patient with a sense of meaning and a renewed and deep connection to what Judith calls the “textured tapestry of existence”.

Residency – a new twist

After the interviews in January at St Joseph hospital in Tacoma, the answer is still to come. I have some hope to be accepted as a resident for a yearlong internship (the residency) starting in September although the spots are very limited. I should hear back some time in February. Of course, I remain totally zen and serene while being deeply aware of the passing days.

This morning, I got some news. I received an email from the supervisor, wondering if I would be interested in the Hospice House Residency, an “intense but dynamite learning environment with a lot of death, as well as healing and grace”. If so, I could meet with the chaplain coordinator.

It took me some time to reflect on this – at least 30 seconds. My heartbeat quickened. Yes, I am very interested. The two crucial moments of our lives are “now and at the hour of death” as we read in the “Hail Mary” prayer I learned as a Catholic child. I hope to get an interview with the chaplain coordinator in the coming days. To be followed…

Those Essential Questions

Still waiting to hear from the residency… I was told I would hear back some time in February, so it is coming up. Although I have (repeatedly) told myself that ultimately everything is in God’s hands, my mind turns toward chaplaincy a lot.

My internship this summer at the hospital was therapeutic. I learned to let go of fears and anxiety. At first, I would be apprehensive not be up to facing tragic circumstances. I worried about being awkward and adding to the pain of a mourning family.  

Ironically, the true issue turned out to be about finding available patients who were willing to chat. Once the contact was established, even in a critical context, it would be fluid, essential, natural. Being a chaplain, I realized, was not about acting in a certain way, or saying some specific words, rather about… being there.

- what do people who are sick and dying talk to the student chaplain about?"asked one day a professor of theology to one of his students, a 26 year old chaplain intern. I am quoting here from her wonderful article, written years later. [1]

- Mostly we talk about their families.”

“Do you talk about God?

“Umm, not usually.”

“Or their religion?”

“Not so much.”

“The meaning of their lives?”

“Sometimes.”

“And prayer?  Do you lead them in prayer?  Or ritual?”

“Well…Sometimes.  But not usually, not really.”

Kerry Egan, the student, felt derision creeping into the professor's voice.  “So you just visit people and talk about their families?”

“Well, they talk.  I mostly listen.”

“Huh.”  He leaned back in his chair.

One week later, recalled Kerry, in the middle of a lecture in this professor's packed class, he started to tell a story about a student he once met who was a chaplain intern at a hospital.

“And I asked her, 'What exactly do you do as a chaplain?'  And she replied, 'Well, I talk to people about their families.'” He paused for effect. “And that was this student's understanding of  faith!  That was as deep as this person's spiritual life went!  Talking about other people's families!”

The students laughed at the shallowness of the silly student.  The professor was on a roll.

“And I thought to myself,” he continued, “that if I was ever sick in the hospital, if I was ever dying, that the last person I would ever want to see is some Harvard Divinity School student chaplain wanting to talk to me about my family.”(…)

Today, 13 years later, I am a hospice chaplain, Kerry goes on.  I visit people who are dying...   And if you were to ask me the same question - I would give you the same answer. Mostly, they talk about their families. They talk about the love they felt, and the love they gave…  Or did not gave… And sometimes, when they are actively dying, they call out to their parents:  Mama, Daddy, Mother.

…What I would explain to that professor now, is that people talk to the chaplain about their families because that is how we talk about God.  That is how we talk about the meaning of our lives.  That is how we talk about the big spiritual questions of human existence.

We don't live our lives in our heads, in theology and theories.  We live our lives in our families:  the families we are born into, the families we create. This is where we create our lives, this is where we find meaning, this is where our purpose becomes clear.

Family is where we first experience love and where we first give it.  It's probably the first place we've been hurt by someone we love, and hopefully the place we learn that love can overcome even the most painful rejection.

This crucible of love is where we start to ask those big spiritual questions, and ultimately where they end…If God is love, and we believe that to be true, then we learn about God when we learn about love. The first, and usually the last, classroom of love is the family.

Sometimes that love is not only imperfect, it seems to be missing entirely.  Monstrous things can happen in families….Even in these cases, I am amazed at the strength of the human soul.  People who did not know love in their families know that they should have been loved.  They somehow know what was missing, and what they deserved as children and adults.

When the love is imperfect, or a family is destructive, something else can be learned:  forgiveness.  The spiritual work of being human is learning how to love and how to forgive.

We don’t have to use words of theology to talk about God; people who are close to death almost never do. We should learn from those who are dying that the best way to teach our children about God is by loving each other wholly and forgiving each other fully - just as each of us longs to be loved and forgiven by our mothers and fathers, sons and daughters.

Who is your neighbor ? This is a question we read in the Gospels. My neighbor is the one I may walk along in the midst of those oceanic moments where life deeply changes and sometimes ends. My neighbor is the one that leads me to the answers of those essential questions life throws at me.

[1] http://religion.blogs.cnn.com/2012/01/28/my-faith-what-people-talk-about-before-they-die/

Three Chaplains, One Coyote

An interview with a chaplain is an odd place. Of course, it looks like a job interview – after all, this is about being hired for a paid internship, the very desirable residency starting in September I applied for. But the conversation also comes close to the dialogue one would have with a therapist. The chaplain tries to find out what self-knowledge you have and if you are willing to explore and discern more. When you get into a patient’s room, you should be aware of your own baggage and deep motivation.

On Monday afternoon, I had long conversations with three chaplains of Saint Joseph hospital. Three consecutive interviews later, I was feeling good as I was walking back to my car on the hilltop of Tacoma – almost euphoric. It went well, in a warm, relax atmosphere, I felt appreciated… I was experiencing a prudent sense of optimism. Then I found out that there were only 3 or 4 spots and that St Jo’s students from previous internships would be picked first.

In other words, this is not a done deal. But let’s not get discouraged. Early on the next morning, as I was going to work, a coyote crossed right in front of the car. I did not have time to take a picture but that was a young beautiful animal, with a fluffy tail, just like the picture below. It turned around several times before vanishing in the wood – puzzled maybe (“what, a human around here?”) Irvin smiled when I told him about it. He was taught to respect coyotes. “It’s a good omen” he said. We will see… I will know about the internship sometime in February.

2012 – Resolution Day!

My first resolution, in this brand new 2012 year, is to… reconnect with my blog. I was thinking I posted my last message a couple of weeks ago. What, it was three months ago??? Where did Fall 2011 go?

In any case, 2012 is indeed here, and here I am, facing the immense perplexity of a future that can take so many different shapes. On November 2, the committee in preparation for ministry certified me “ready to receive a call”. That means that I went through all the steps to be a pastor, from the theological degree (both from the Institut Protestant de Theologie of Paris, France and Dubuque seminary – an eclectic pairing) to the internships in a church,  (Puyallup First Pres last year) then in a hospital chaplaincy this summer. There was also the psychological evaluation – where I found out I was an extravert – me, an emblematic introvert! And of course I had to pass those ordination exams.

So I am “certified ready”. But the ordination can only take place when I receive a call, either from a church or from a hospital if I become a chaplain. I feel pulled in both directions, which is eventually a good thing: opportunities in the Tacoma area are not that many, so I should get ready for both.

On the pastor side, I will go through the interim pastor training, a weeklong education. In the Presbyterian denomination, an interim pastor always steps in between pastors. The churches in our area have all ministers right now, but they will need an interim pastor one day or another.

And on the chaplain side, I applied for a residency (a yearlong paid internship) that would allow me to complete my training. This residency would start next September. An interview is scheduled in a week.

So here it is. I can’t help wondering if the doors in both directions might actually close before me, while our church situation stays precarious, and our denomination tears itself apart. More than ever, this is the time to keep in mind that we are in God’s hand. God will make the calls and lead in new directions…

To be followed… Meanwile, Happy New Year!

Not two Codes Blue are alike

Greg, my CPE supervisor, was right. The on-call nights were never as dramatic and stressful than that very first night. One night, I was called to support the family whose aunt was slowly passing.

«Her window on the world is getting smaller…» commented the nurse when I asked him his prognosis in a whisper. Still, she survived through the night while a code blue was happening in the cancer unit – I ran over there. This patient could not be revived.

As I joined the group of nurses and technicians gathered by the patient’s room as they always do in those moments of crisis, they looked at me suspiciously. My badge only mentioned I was a volunteer and they were wondering what was bringing me up here – some sort of morbid voyeurism? “«I am a chaplain intern – on call tonight » I explained and immediately their attitudes changed. “Oh good! Her husband is on his way… He does not know yet his wife passed away. Would you welcome him ?»

Later that same night, a 91 year old woman expired by her daughter and son-in-law. The nurses had called me as her death was becoming imminent. As we were waiting for the people from the University of Washington (the patient had donated her body to science) the daughter told me about her mother, who had come to live with her in Tacoma a few months earlier. “I know she was 91 but still, she is leaving too early, she said. I threw a “welcome to the Northwest Party” for her when she moved in with us. She was still doing fine last week… This summer, I wanted to take her to the Pacific coast for a day trip. She was such a good Mom..." She left two hours later with her husband. I told her as I hugged her “I did not get to meet your mom but I won’t forget her”.
All those on-call referrals were not always that dramatic. One night, I was called by a patient who was unconscious in the critical care unit. His daughter was here, a small jar of oil in her hand. “I would like you to baptize my dad” she said. “I am a Catholic. My Dad does not belong to any church. I don’t want him to die without baptism. I am afraid he would get lost… I know for a fact he believes in God.”

However, when her mom and sister joined us in the room, they disagreed. They did not want him to be baptized while in a coma. “He must choose for himself, we should not impose that on him when he is not aware of what is going on” said the mom. Her daughter accepted their decision. I prayed with them then left.

The next day, I went back to the room of the patient. I was hoping to see again the daughter and be able to explore with her the fear she expressed that her father would be lost without baptism. She was not there but I had the good surprise to see the patient, awake and sitting in his chair, talking with the nurses.

The last code blue of my internship took place during the day. A patient passed out during his dialysis and was able to be revived fast. His daughter, overwhelmed with relief and retrospective fear went out in the hallway and started crying. I had just arrived. I introduced myself and asked permission to hug her. She was a foot taller than me and she sobbed in my arms for several minutes before she was able to talk again.

“ You are a chaplain?”
“I am. A chaplain intern.”
“You are the prettiest chaplain I have ever seen.”

I guess not two Cold Blue are alike…

Code Blue

20 minutes after I wrote the previous message, the pager (clipped on my T-shirt) made a screeching sound. I pressed the button with a shaky hand and the words “code Blue, room 616” appeared. Code blue: a heart stopped. Nurses and doctors trying to revive a patient. Looming death. I was supposed to call back the number on the pager, but no number showed , just the room number. What should I do? Reluctantly (it was almost midnight) I called Greg, my supervisor. He always said we could call him at any time. Indeed, Greg answered – though I could tell I woke him up. “Call the nurse supervisor” he said. At this station, a nurse that knows everything that happens in this huge hospital. “Yes, come in, she said. I am calling the family right now.”  

I jumped in my car. I prayed as I could, broken words through the many fears I was experiencing. Above all, I was afraid of not being able to face whatever was over there. When I arrived at the room of the patient, I found out that he had been revived and he was being transferred in critical care unit. His family was on their way. I look at the nurses and doctors busy around the unconscious young man. I was impressed. One of the nurses approached me. «There is another one» she said, pointing to another room. “He just died. The family is coming».

A few minutes later, the mother of the patient and his girlfriend arrived in tears. The nurses introduced them into his room and I followed them, hoping to be useful, maybe pray with them. “Get out please!” the girlfriend shouted. I left the room, realizing my mistake. This moment was theirs. I should have not been there without being invited. A few minutes later, a nurse went in and told them about the circumstances of the death. He died peacefully – they were supposed to make a decision the next day about taking him off life support. “They would like a prayer now” the nurse told me.

I came in – the patient’s room was large, filled with silent machines. I noticed in a corner colored balloons with “Happy Father’s Day” written on them. I sat down by the mother who was crying silently. I suddenly started crying too – I did not see that coming. I needed several minutes before being able to speak. Then I started praying. I talked about the presence of God standing by people in sorrow. I talked about Patrick in the light of the Kingdom. I prayed for the comfort of those left behind, who loved him. I say that their memories, the shared experiences with Patrick would remain theirs forever – nobody would take them away. I quoted King David, after the death of his son, who said “he will not come back to us – we will go to him”. Finally, I stopped talking. The mother told me kindly “that was beautiful”. We stayed silent for a while. I was looking for a way to invite her to tell me about her son but I did not find the words. Why did not I say simply “tell me about him”? Eventually, I left to check on the other patient and promised I would be back.

The mother had arrived by Larry bedside, the first patient. His heart was getting weaker. I just had time to introduce myself when another code blue took place. More nurses and medical technicians arrived. This time, the patient could not be brought back. Larry’s mother was in tears. The doctor hugged her. I stayed with her in the room after everybody left. I hold her hand and we prayed together. Then she asked to stay alone with him for a while.

I spent some time waiting in the hallway. This was a welcomed pause. I was still shaking. I went back and visited with the other family, who had some questions about the upcoming formalities. I gave them information and the phone number of the nurse supervisor – she would need to know the name of the funeral home that would be coming. The two women were getting ready to leave. Patrick’s mother hugged me. I watched them walk away – the girlfriend had taken the «Happy Father’s Day» balloons with her…

Another code blue took place at 6 :00 AM – a woman who was revived. I came and prayed with her daughters.

«The on-call nights are not always that busy» said Greg, my supervisor later that morning. Greg assured me I probably would not have another night of that intensity during the rest of this CPE.

But next Wednesday, that will be my turn again to have the pager back, a long unpredictable night ahead of me.

It is right here

It is right here - the pager that will ring up if there is need for a chaplain tonight. It is in front of me, still and silent for now like a big sleeping beetle. But this fragile condition can be broken at any time.

For the first time tonight, and until 8 AM tomorrow morning, I am on call. If there is need for a chaplain tonight at Good Sam hospital, I will be the one being called. As I promised I could be at the hospital in 30 minutes, I don’t need to sleep over there. I am at home, and the pager follows me everywhere I go.

This internship is fascinating. Not only do we learn to listen and walk with patients and their families, in the midst of their pain, questions and emotions. But we are also led to observe our own way to provide this support. So many things to discover about ourselves through this time: what moves me to help others? How can I provide this help without projecting my own fears and beliefs? The most enlightening exercise is the verbatim. As we recollect the words shared during an interaction with a patient, we write down the emotions and thoughts we experienced. We share the verbatim with the others interns and our supervisor and we comment it together. Why were you uncomfortable at this point of the conversation? What would you do differently? We are scrutinized like never before – without feeling under attack. We are all in the same boat, trying to become better chaplains.

All this is still very new and while I am looking at the silent pager and the night outside, I can’t help hoping… stay calm tonight, Puyallup, stay calm.

Facing the Good Samaritan

Tomorrow morning, at 7 :45 AM, I am scheduled to be in the little chapel of Good Samaritan hospital in Puyallup. This will be the beginning of two months and a half of Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE) in other words, an internship in the chaplaincy department of the hospital, as I mentioned it last November. During those weeks, I will be serving in specific units of the hospital, I will have classes, I will have the opportunity to write down “verbatim” (the account, word by word, of a conversation with a patient and how I explore this interaction). Those verbatim will be later on discussed on weekly classes and during one-on-one supervision.

Good Sam is a huge place – a maze really – which doubled its size last winter: an 8 stories building was added to the existing hospital. This internship is the last step of my process to become a pastor. «it is a life-changing experience, said a friend who is now a pastor in Wyoming.  Very hard, very demanding, I learnt so much about me. The whole thing was a gift”.

One of my Hebrew students had a similar comment after doing a unit of CPE in Seattle. “that feels like your personality is scrutinized and analyzed, a fascinating time”, she explained.

So there will be the maze of the hospital hallways and the meandering of my psyche – summer should be interesting in Puyallup. To be followed…

CPE : becoming «Zen» and a chaplain in training.

Instead of pushing that pain away, just let it be. You are not the pain. That pain is something that doesn’t have to be who you are. Just let your breath take that pain away from you. Beautiful

An American Buddhist monk is speaking to Audrey, who has multiple diseases of the spinal cord and is in constant pain. If I was Audrey, I am not sure how I would feel about someone teaching me to «let the pain be». Unless I acknowledged a special authority from this man in his black kimono who belongs to Zen Buddhism and allow him to teach my mind some discipline?

This episode of Religions& Ethics Newsweekly titled “Zen hospital chaplains”[1]
caught my eye probably because I am finally filling the forms for CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education) in other words the internship in a hospital as a chaplain. This should take place next winter or spring depending on availability. It lasts three months if you do it full time.

Those forms ask you a little bit more than your address and your email address. They require you write down “a reasonably full account of your life” where you should include the important persons and events especially as they have impacted or continue to impact your personal growth and development.

And also «a description of your spiritual growth and development» describing your faith heritage and any subsequent personal conversion and religious experience.

And a description of your work history with a statement about your current employment and work relationships.

And also the account of a «helping incident» in which you were the person who provided the help. You should include your assessment of the issues at hand, and a commentary on what you did and how you believe you were able to help.

So I am in the process of composing a “reasonably full” account of my life on those various aspects – with a “Zen” and focused mind of course. This is so me.


[1] http://www.pbs.org/wnet/religionandethics/episodes/november-12-2010/zen-hospital-chaplains/7471/