Back to the Hospice house

At the end of the first round of chemo, I waited for the verdict: and it was good. My white cells did not get decimated. The oncologist made me swear I would be cautious and wash my hands at length and frequently. And she gave me the green light. I was allowed to go back to the hospice house and visit patients again. I was relieved – and apprehensive. I had spent three weeks away. With chemo, my most fundamental insights had been altered. Maybe my mind was too.

In March, I am scheduled to work from 6 to 10 PM. When I arrived that first night, I was feeling as vulnerable and exposed as I did on my very first day in September. I thought of the verse of the Bible, from Exodus (33:14) where the Lord promised to Moses, “My Presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.”

On this first night, I was talking with Felicia*, at the bedside of her mother who would pass on a few hours later. She shared about their lives and I realized that she was offering me, not only her trust, but also the opportunity for me to feel I was a chaplain again. She allowed me to walk with her through those essential and painful moments. 

Her sons went to pick up pizzas that we ate altogether. We talked about France and Germany where her family lived for a few years, of the grave illness that almost took her life the year before, and of the breast cancer that killed her aunt two years earlier. I mentioned the chemo. Felicia asked me many specific questions that maybe she never dared ask her aunt then. 
When I left, Felicia gave me a big hug, looking at me with warmth and compassion. She did not hug the chaplain. She hugged the sister who, just like her, was sailing in the midst of storms.

* not her real name.