| | It's summer again.
Sometimes it takes a while for something to sink in and my internship last summer is going to be a slow, and heavy one of those. It's somewhat odd considering that even as it was occurring, we were all mindful of its significance and recorded the pieces we could articulate. Often, things that make us think later simply arise because we didn't note them when they were current. The chaplaincy internship is different, though. We, the interns, noticed it...but it continues to re-surface in my thoughts, unwilling to go dormant, and endures as one of the most poignant seasons I've experienced.
Last summer, working at Methodist Hospital of Southern California in Arcadia was one of the most draining things I've done. The bus ride just about killed me, and Ryan. It was tough having completely different physical, emotional and social experiences throughout the day than Ryan after working in the same area, with the same purposes, with the same people, the entirety of our marriage. I hated looking very professional every day and how much of the weekend I spent ironing. Towards the end of the internship I felt extraordinarily tired and a little sick and soon came to find out I was pregnant... unexpectedly. It was a hectic time.
At the hospital, I was challenged. We were made to reflect; we were forced to disclose. And we were expected to care. Care for the demanding patient who latched on like a leech and became irrate when we would not do everything they wanted. Care for the morbidly obese man who required a special bed, followed none of the dr's orders, left regularly to smoke, and treated the staff terribly. We were expected to care for the dead. I became almost comfortable around dead bodies and knew how to present them in a way that would be most helpful to the family's mourning. We were to respect and communicate to other staff their cultural and religious customs. We were expected to care for the people we recognized in the hospital beds--the ones that reminded us of those who had hurt us in the past.
I hope I always remember the transvestite in her sixties who told me her rock star dreams and the AIDS patient whose family had given up. I will remember the bony back I spread lotion on as I silently prayed for healing. It belonged to the woman I spent the most time with, who was buried before my internship was over. I will pray for the patient who had lost his wife and kids to another guy and believed that if he overcame his drug addiction, everything else would fall into place. I will pray for the family whose daughter I already knew, who was beginning the well traveled, yet lonely road of cancer treatment. And I will remember many others.
Chaplaincy is an interesting role because to most patients, you are safe. You are the visitor who will not do painful things to them, who offers no medical advice or news, and who they do not care about being brave or pitiful in front of. They might ask you big questions or dump all their spiritual, historical baggage at your feet, but this is a privilege. You could be a chaplain and perfect a balance of warmth and distance so that your patients feel decently cared for and open without you losing too much of your emotional energy. You could go home at the end of the day, knowing you had gone to "work" just like everyone else, and you could resist the impact of another's life on your own. But you wouldn't be a very good chaplain. The thing about the internship - clinical pastoral education is its official name - is that you spend as much time reflecting on yourself as the patient, as the one who is incomplete and growing, as the patients themselves. And this helps you. It helps you not become numb and it helps you not become overloaded. It's a reciprocal thing... like all things that affirm and stimulate our humanity as it was created. I'd like to think that if I ever were a chaplain, I would discipline myself to reflect... why did I say that to that person, what makes me visit this person over and over, what is the meaning and what would be good news to that patient? The internship sustained our ability to care and, thus, our vulnerability, by expecting our hearts to engage the actual tasks. It was crazy and it was good and I continue to learn what it means to me.
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| | Posted 6/25/2009 11:01 PM - 14 Views - 0 eProps - 0 comments
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