Thursday, July 01, 2004
Broken...
I have to write about this now, while it is still so raw, so pardon any incoherencies. Today in CPE I was broken. I suppose there comes a time in our lives when we must all reach that point. Today was it for me. I'm in a "time-out" mode right now and am off in the student room. As I write this, I weep and I hurt. Ok, here's the story:
Over lunch, 2 code yellows come in, one right after the other. My clinical supervisor goes downstairs for the first one, and right as I'm finishing my lunch, the second comes in, so I go down, as the other Ryan was at a care conference. When I get to the ER, my clinical supervisor tells me that the second trauma is a suicide attempt: took a razor to the arm. The patient is wheeled in on the stretcher and I button up my coat and don some gloves. The docs and nurses are doing their thing and I stay out of the way. A social worker informs me that the parents are already in the waiting room and the paramedic, who knows the patient, says this is not the first time. I decide that while the docs and nurses are doing their medical stuff, I will go and sit with the parents. Instead of what I was expecting, I find two calm, rational, almost unemotional people. After chatting with them for a little while I learn a little bit about the medical/psychiatric history of this patient. I also learn that the father is so "fed up" that he doesn't care anymore. After that conversation, I go back to the ER room, get some new gloves, and go in to talk to the patient. The docs are busy sewing up the arm; it was a pretty good cut, though not immediately life-threatening. I move around to talk to the patient, who thanks me for coming because she has felt like God doesn't care about her anymore and that she hasn't been to church in a while and feels poorly about that.
We start getting into some pretty heavy conversation, some pretty serious stuff, both theological and psycological. I don't want to write about all that here, because of all kinds of confidentiality stuff, but suffice it to say it was pretty heavy. And in the back of my mind I keep seeing her father looking right into my eyes and telling me he doesn't care anymore. There was so much pain there. So much pain. I said to her, "Tell me about the pain." And she did. I felt assaulted by her pain and I entered into it with her, somehow, I don't know how, but all of a sudden I felt it and it was too much. Sweat beaded on my forehead and I felt really hot. I said, "I don't feel very good." Blackness. The next thing I hear is, "Chaplain down!" Now, awake and over my confusion, I laugh becuase the chaplain is not suppossed to do this! Good Lord! The poor patient is wondering if I am ok and asks me if I passed out because of what she said. I say up to her from the floor, "I'm ok. I just got really hot. It was nothing you did." I continue my ministry to her for a few seconds like that from the floor telling her I am ok and that it is not her fault before they put me in a wheelchair and roll me out. Outside, with my clinical supervisor, was when the gravity and reality of the situation really hit me and I was overwhelmed again. Tears flowed. I was broken.
This is gonna take some working through and I imagine I'm going to (whether I want to or not) have to talk about it. How to reconcile all that pain with the "I don't care" attitude? Yeah, it's frustrating, and yes it sucks, and yes it hurts, and yes it's not what anyone wants, but dammit it's what you were given sir! This is your daughter! Oh geez...I guess that's not a very chaplainy thing to say. Feeling? You want a feeling? I feel bad.
-R
I have to write about this now, while it is still so raw, so pardon any incoherencies. Today in CPE I was broken. I suppose there comes a time in our lives when we must all reach that point. Today was it for me. I'm in a "time-out" mode right now and am off in the student room. As I write this, I weep and I hurt. Ok, here's the story:
Over lunch, 2 code yellows come in, one right after the other. My clinical supervisor goes downstairs for the first one, and right as I'm finishing my lunch, the second comes in, so I go down, as the other Ryan was at a care conference. When I get to the ER, my clinical supervisor tells me that the second trauma is a suicide attempt: took a razor to the arm. The patient is wheeled in on the stretcher and I button up my coat and don some gloves. The docs and nurses are doing their thing and I stay out of the way. A social worker informs me that the parents are already in the waiting room and the paramedic, who knows the patient, says this is not the first time. I decide that while the docs and nurses are doing their medical stuff, I will go and sit with the parents. Instead of what I was expecting, I find two calm, rational, almost unemotional people. After chatting with them for a little while I learn a little bit about the medical/psychiatric history of this patient. I also learn that the father is so "fed up" that he doesn't care anymore. After that conversation, I go back to the ER room, get some new gloves, and go in to talk to the patient. The docs are busy sewing up the arm; it was a pretty good cut, though not immediately life-threatening. I move around to talk to the patient, who thanks me for coming because she has felt like God doesn't care about her anymore and that she hasn't been to church in a while and feels poorly about that.
We start getting into some pretty heavy conversation, some pretty serious stuff, both theological and psycological. I don't want to write about all that here, because of all kinds of confidentiality stuff, but suffice it to say it was pretty heavy. And in the back of my mind I keep seeing her father looking right into my eyes and telling me he doesn't care anymore. There was so much pain there. So much pain. I said to her, "Tell me about the pain." And she did. I felt assaulted by her pain and I entered into it with her, somehow, I don't know how, but all of a sudden I felt it and it was too much. Sweat beaded on my forehead and I felt really hot. I said, "I don't feel very good." Blackness. The next thing I hear is, "Chaplain down!" Now, awake and over my confusion, I laugh becuase the chaplain is not suppossed to do this! Good Lord! The poor patient is wondering if I am ok and asks me if I passed out because of what she said. I say up to her from the floor, "I'm ok. I just got really hot. It was nothing you did." I continue my ministry to her for a few seconds like that from the floor telling her I am ok and that it is not her fault before they put me in a wheelchair and roll me out. Outside, with my clinical supervisor, was when the gravity and reality of the situation really hit me and I was overwhelmed again. Tears flowed. I was broken.
This is gonna take some working through and I imagine I'm going to (whether I want to or not) have to talk about it. How to reconcile all that pain with the "I don't care" attitude? Yeah, it's frustrating, and yes it sucks, and yes it hurts, and yes it's not what anyone wants, but dammit it's what you were given sir! This is your daughter! Oh geez...I guess that's not a very chaplainy thing to say. Feeling? You want a feeling? I feel bad.
-R
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