Difficult Seasons

From the moment I walk in from the garage, I start working on my smile, trying to make eye contact with everyone I meet, to connect, so that when I walk into a patient’s room, they are able to sense that I like them.

As I listened to these words come out of my mouth while teaching a section on closing the interpersonal gap with folks we are visiting, I was a little surprised.

I’m used to things coming out of my mouth that are new thoughts.  I understand that with my personality type that I tend to process thoughts by saying them out loud.  So that was not surprising.

And I was not surprised that I was telling the class that I was intentional in practicing my smile and my eye contact on people that I met in the halls of the hospital.  I’ve talked out loud about that before, even written about it.  And it’s not just for the practice — it’s a genuine attempt to make a difference as I walk the halls.

But I was somewhat surprised that I’d verbally connected it with another very important purpose — helping patients’ first impression of me be that I like them.

Trying to have patients sense immediately that I like them — when they are not at their best physically and emotionally and perhaps spiritually — is a way to show my love for them, to validate them as people.  And if I can be successful in doing that, then there’s a chance that I can have the opportunity to meet some of their other needs.

Last Monday as I walked into the hospital from the garage, my friend Lacy was standing at one of the parking pay stations, obviously having trouble with the machine.  I stopped and watched from a distance for a few minutes, really just wanting to say hello before heading on down to start chaplaincy rounds.

Turns out his card wouldn’t work for whatever reason.  He had decided to head back to an ATM to get some cash, but instead I was able to loan him the needed money, and after a brief conversation he was able to get on his way.

Now just exactly what do you think the odds are that:

1. I would enter the hospital just as Lacy, one of thousands of patients coming and going from the hospital that day was leaving.
2. That I would notice him standing there, behind a mask, having trouble with the unfriendly machine?  (Okay, he is taller than average.)
3. That I would actually have $10 in my wallet to bail him out (that’s actually pretty rare of itself!).

You see, to add to the complexity, I was running late.  I had planned to be there earlier, and things just kept getting in the way.  And I was hurrying (for me) from the garage to get my list.  And Lacy had been having tests that morning, and testing schedules are notoriously fluid.

Anyway, my point is simply this.  The odds of my connecting with Lacy at just the right moment to be able to help him and to get to have a friendly conversation that blessed both of us are huge.

Yet, it happened.  Against the odds.

But I’m not at all surprised.  Things like this seem to happen all the time when I just show up with the hope that God will use me.  You see, He’s already been there, and everywhere, doing His thing.  And I get to enjoy seeing the results of His work.

Today I saw pain.

Not the pain that powerful chemicals can dull.

But the pain that so often we hide from others.  The pain that comes from having our normal lives ruthlessly interrupted.  The pain that comes from not being able to do those important things that we often take for granted.  The pain that hurts all over, yet whose source can’t be seen on a PET scan.

For one person, it was pain from not being able to provide care for her husband and her 94-year old mother, instead having to focus everything on her one hope to add years to her life in a battle with an unrelenting disease.

For another, it was a still two-week-fresh devastating diagnosis, and the fight of his life, for his life.

And for another, it was recurrance of a nasty cancer that had been gone for 13 months, that remission itself against huge odds.

They allowed me the special privilege of seeing what they hide most of the time from most people.  They allowed me to connect with them in a special way, in a special place.  And I’m honored by their trust.

We talked about how precious hope is, how important the opportunity to fight is.  We prayed to the One who has the power to heal for healing.  And I prayed to the One who has the power to remove their non-physical pain to do so for each of them.

Tuesdays are different because of where I spent Monday.

My heart is still engaged by the patients I visited on Monday. I replay our conversations. I continue to pray for them. I am still rejoicing in their victories, groaning over their setbacks.

I’m remembering holding the hand of the patient in excruciating pain. I am remembering the words of the patient who prayed for relief and got it.

My Tuesdays are different because of where I spent Monday.

Originally published in my personal blog.

In Part 1 and Part 2 I provided general information about making an ICU visit and the preparations I usually go through prior to walking into the ICU area.  In this post, I’ll talk some about the actual visit.

At M.D. Anderson, where I regularly make chaplaincy visits, the ICU units are organized as Pods, with rooms enclosed by glass sliding doors arranged around the stations where the medical staff works when not in a room.  That allows a visitor to see into the room before entering, and get some idea of what’s going on and who’s in the room.  After washing my hands, and sometimes putting on required protective gear such as gloves, a mask, and a gown, I gently knock on the door to let those inside know that I’m present.  I open the door and walk in, at the same time trying to get a picture of what’s going on.

I’ve learned to introduce myself clearly and slowly to give the patient and family members a chance to figure out who this new person is and why he’s there.  They’re used to people coming in and out frequently, but it gets confusing to figure out who’s who and why they’ve entered the room.  I also hand the patient or family member one of my business cards, as that also helps them process who I am.  The words I usually say are, “Hi, I’m Jim Hughes from Lifeline Chaplaincy.  We’re the church of Christ chaplaincy here in the Texas Medical Center, and I just wanted to come by and see how you’re doing today.”  Most of the folks I visit have identified themselves as members of the church of Christ, so that provides an immediate connection, even if they’re not familiar with Lifeline Chaplaincy.  Sometimes I add a little more information, especially if they’ve been referred to us asking that we visit.  I’ll tell them that, and mention the name of the person that asked us to come by.

Sometimes just that introduction is enough to start a conversation.  But most of the time, I ask a couple of questions to stimulate the conversation.  One that nearly always works well is, “So, what’s going on today?”  That gives them an option to say as little or as much as they want to, and I just listen, and try to respond in a way that they know I’ve heard them.  I find that I use words like, “Wow!” or “Oh My” a lot.  Sometimes my response may be, “Sounds like things are getting better, right?”  Other times I may respond, “Sounds like you’re having a tough time right now.”  Again, those are not only words to let them know I’m hearing what they’re saying, they’re also invitations to say more if they want to.  If they don’t bring it up in their conversation, which is maybe half the time, I’ll inquire about how they’re doing emotionally and spiritually.  Sometimes I’ll just ask using those words.  Other times, depending on how the conversation has gone to that point, I’ll use a phrase that’s a little different, like “How are you and God getting along these days?”  That’s a different question to many folks than “How’s your relationship with God?”

The conversation may be quite short, depending on circumstances.  Or it may go for a lengthy period.  We may talk about a lot of other things, and they may be important.  It’s not uncommon that the patient has a question that they’ve been thinking about, and want to have a discussion around that.  I’m there to go where they want to go — they lead, I follow.

At then end of the visit, I usually say something like, “I’d love to pray with you if that would be okay.”  Most of the time, the answer is “Please.”  But sometimes it’s not, and that’s okay.  If they want to pray, I also like to ask them, “What would you like to pray about today besides the medical issues going on?” or simply, “What would you like to pray for today.”  I’m surprised by how often there are other issues that are weighing on them that need prayer as well.

Then we pray, and what we pray about is what we’ve talked about during our visit.  In addition to carrying their needs and concerns to God, I want my wording of the prayer to convey to the patient and family that I’ve heard what they’ve shared with me, and that I am also concerned.  We generally then visit for another minute or so to close out the visit.

Sometimes, I’ll also have a visit with a family member in the waiting room.  That conversation usually follows the same general path, but with some additional conversation about how things are for them in the role of caregiver.  That gives an opportunity to talk about issues that the family member might not want to talk about in front of the patient.

No two situations are ever the same.  I remember one patient I visited weekly for a couple of months.  He couldn’t talk, but was awake.  I’d reintroduce myself, say a few words of encouragement, and pray with him. Sometimes the patients are delirious.  Sometimes they are alert and feeling good.  Sometimes their church experience has been good, sometimes it hasn’t.  Sometimes they’re getting better, sometimes they’re in the process of dying, or anywhere in between.  But what they all have in common is that they’re going through difficult days, they’re anxious, and they’re glad to have someone stop by and for a few moments share their life.

So what’s it like to make an ICU visit?  Seeing the pain, seeing people in such critical situations, seeing the effects of cancer up close and personal is not fun, sometimes even shocking even though I’ve been doing this for a while.  But making a deep connection with someone, even for a few minutes, is an amazing feeling.  And the more of life I experience, the more certain I am that making deep connections with others is what this life is all about.  Learning to love, as God is love.

Originally published in my personal blog.