An unlikely pairing

Leading on from my last blog one patient that I did get to know and journey with for quite a long time was a man who had fallen down some stairs and broken his neck. This man was in his early 70’s. He was still working as a verger and his religious beliefs were really important to him. He had a traditional Anglo-catholic faith.

He liked me to read to him from the King James version of the Bible. He would smile as I struggled to get my tongue around the old English prose. I took to saying my daily office with him wherever possible. We were an unlikely pairing but I think we both got something from our months together.

I can’t imagine what it must be like to be in his words “A dapper gentleman” and be very particular about what you wear and how you present yourself and then end up quadriplegic and unable to wipe your own nose. I think before his accident he would probably have looked down on those beneath him. He was a bit of a snob. The experience of being totally helpless made him see things differently.

I could tell the changes going on in him internally by the prayer requests he would give me. At first he always wanted me to pray for the Queen, the Church and the Bishops etc by the time he was preparing to leave to go to a spinal rehab centre he was asking me to pray for those affected by cancer, poverty and even the plight of Palestinian children. These were subjects we’d often debate as I would talk to him about current affairs.

I wonder where he is now and how he is coping?

Could you wake him up for me?

It's amazing how many awful things happen very late at night. One night after midnight I was called in by the A&E staff. A man in his late 40’s had suddenly died after a suspected heart attack. When I arrived I found his wife was in a state of denial and her only support was from a neighbour. The neighbour was doing a sterling job but I gently probed about other family members. She said she had no-one. I asked her what she wanted me to do and she said “could you wake him up for me?” Initially I felt a bit stumped. I’d never been faced with such outright denial. I took my courage in my hands and gently told her that I couldn’t wake him up because he had died. She just said “Oh yes, I’d forgotten” I tried to engage her in a goodbye ritual but felt it was going over her head. I said some formal words nonetheless so at least she could hear them even if it wasn’t going in. I sat with her for a while. I felt totally inadequate. I just didn’t seem to be making any connection. After about an hour she decided she was going home for a cup of tea. I spoke briefly to the neighbour who assured me he would look after her.

Driving home I had to struggle with my feelings of inadequacy. As I got back into bed I “handed” the situation over to God. I felt better for that.

I later found out, through a colleague, that the woman was the same at the funeral visit and subsequent funeral. I wonder where she’s at now in her life?

That’s sometimes the difficulty with chaplaincy. In a parish situation you get the opportunity to continue the journey for longer with people. In the hospital I only get to accompany people for a short while and I often never get to know the end of the story.

Taking a risk or a healing touch?

One night I was called to the labour ward. The patient’s water had broken at 29 weeks gestation. She was very scared for the future of her unborn child. She was devout in her brand of Christianity which was very bible based. She wanted me to pray that her baby would be safely delivered and healthy and strong.

I find these kind of prayers quite difficult because what will be will be. I don’t believe in a God who saves some babies and lets others die. That turns God into an ogre. I did pray for God’s transforming light and love to come into the situation and for the parents and the baby to be accompanied and held by God during these difficult days and also for wisdom from the medical staff in their handling of the delivery. Mum and dad were very appreciative and wanted me to lay my hands on mum’s tummy while I prayed. I did this because touch is a very healing and comforting thing to do in it's own right.

Fortunately the baby was delivered safely. I did a naming and blessing ceremony for them once she was out of danger. They brought a big cake and champagne for all on the NICU. It was a nice thing to do.

I was left wondering how they would have coped if it had gone wrong and the baby had died. How would their fundamental faith support them in that situation? I was very glad we didn’t have to find out and that everything went well this time.

A stupid remark but a good conversation

One day while I was in the office catching up on some paperwork I had a phone call from someone I trained with. She told me that one of her neighbours had just been transferred the hospital where I worked after having a brain tumour removed. The operation had left her totally blind and she was struggling to adjust to this.

When I went to meet the woman she was a real character, very down to earth and she had a great sense of humour. She liked regular visits so that she could be taken downstairs to have a fag. On one of these occasions we were sitting under a tree in the nice weather. She was talking about a particular nurse and I couldn’t get who she was talking about. She kept telling me I did know her. In the end I just said “what did she look like?” At that point we both burst out laughing and she quite rightly called me a “Silly cow” The strange thing was it lead on to a good conversation. She asked me if she looked blind and I was able to tell her what she needed to know. She also asked what I looked like and I gave her permission to feel me after I had given her a description. She then got tearful about all that she had lost with her sight like not seeing her children as adults, never seeing her grand children, needing to move into adapted accommodation. I sat with her until the tears dried up and then we talked about the fact that she was experiencing a bereavement and what she was grieving was her sight.

She phoned me a few times after leaving the hospital. She told me that she felt that day was a turning point for her and the day she started to accept what had happened. It’s so good to know that positive things can come out of even the most inappropriate comments.

The last taboo. We are all terminal

The same night as the awful situation of non acceptance of the teenagers impending death, I was also called to a family whose elderly mother was dying. The daughter wanted me to pray for her mum but wanted me to wait until her mum was asleep in case seeing me worried her. I did as the family asked but I must confess it made me feel a little awkward.

While I’m in the hospital I never wear all black. I often have a brightly coloured jumper on, or a different coloured clerical shirt or trousers. The reason for this is so I don’t look like the “grim reaper” I do think it’s my job to put people at their ease and break down any barriers they may have. People will always make assumptions and have stereotypes about priests. Once people get to know me I know I challenge those misconceptions.

Getting back to this family I think the issue was more that they didn’t want their mum to know she was dying. She probably knew anyway and may have wanted some comfort for what she was facing. I had to abide by the families wishes but promised I would also look in the next day.

I did pop back several times before mum died. Mum’s impending death was never openly discussed. I think that is so sad. We need to get better about talking about death. We are all terminal. It will happen to all of us so why don’t we embrace it? I have planned my funeral and made my wishes known. It always helps families if the person dying has said whether they want burial or cremation and what kind of service. It’s much better to have a personal send off than one that could be for anyone, for example one where only the name is familiar.

Live your life so that when you die the world cries and you rejoice

Another teenage girl had an impact on me shortly after the last encounter. She had been suffering from bone cancer for many years. Her family had taken her home to die but at the last minute had panicked and called an ambulance. The crew found the situation difficult, as did the A&E staff. The resus attempt was futile and the young woman was allowed to die with her family around her.

I was wandering through the department late that evening, as there had been a staff BBQ. A member of staff called me over and said they had just been trying to contact the chaplain and filled me in on the family situation. I went in and chatted with the mum and dad and the other siblings. They were all very upset. Dad told me he wasn’t religious and wouldn’t take part, I told him that wasn’t a problem, that as a Church of England chaplain I was there for people of all faiths and none. Mum told me she was Roman Catholic. I asked if she wanted a RC priest and she told me she had asked for that. I double checked with staff and they apologised for shoving me in with the family and that they had called for the RC chaplain. I went back in and explained to the family that the priest was on his way. Dad asked me to stay and mum said she’d like me to say some

prayers. I did a little ceremony with them getting them all to anoint their daughter/sister in their own way. They all participated. I was talking to dad afterwards. I gave him this Native American quote:

“When you were born you cried and the world rejoiced. Live your life so that when you die the world cries and you rejoice”

I said I could tell his daughter had lived her life well by the tears flowing for her and that was a good thing.

The RC priest arrived shortly after this and I left them to it. I wrote to the family and invited them back to the “Remember Me” event. This is a non-religious service to remember all those who have died in the previous year. They all came. The dad spoke to me and said he had found our chat helpful and that he had used the quote I gave him during his eulogy to his daughter at her funeral. To me that showed me, what I already hold as a deep conviction, all people have a spirituality and need to be embraced at those awful moments in their lives. That father found a meaningful encounter with me because I allowed him to express his spirituality how he wanted and didn’t make him fit into a prescribed religious formula.

A fiesty young imp bargains with God

The heat of the summer was upon us as well as the excitement of the football world cup. I was called out one night during an England match. I wasn’t too happy about that but that’s the problem of being on call. The young woman I was called to suffers from cystic fibrosis. An awful disease which limits life expectancy to around 30 years. This young woman was a teenager and had just found out that her mum may have cancer. She was completely overwhelmed with emotion and fear. What I found interesting about that encounter is the reason for the young woman’s distress. Most of us expect our parents to die before us. It’s the “natural order” of things. In this situation the patient expected she would die before her parents. She wanted me to bargain with God on her behalf. She said she was prepared to die sooner in order for her mum to survive. It was a very tricky situation. The young woman needed me to be honest with her and yet give her some hope.

She wanted to go to the chapel. Once there I placed 3 chairs around a little table. We sat down and I lit a candle as I prayed for her mum and her life energy represented by the flame. I gave the patient a candle and asked her to say her own prayer but also to imagine what her mum might be praying if she was here and that I wanted her to imagine her mum sitting in the empty chair. She became tearful. I said her mum wouldn’t want to take away any of her precious life in a bargain ‘cause loving parents didn’t do that. I then prayed that darkness can’t overwhelm the light of even one small candle and that this darkness wouldn’t overwhelm her. Other prayers were said and candles lit for other family members.

The patient said she felt better and went back to the ward.

A year later I’m still in regular contact with the young woman. Her mum did have cancer and has been successfully treated. Not dismissing that teenager that night has lead to a long and fruitful relationship that has helped her though some really tough times.

Angry or confused all are welcome in love

In my wanderings through the ICU staff had spoken to me about a young patient who was causing a few problems. He was 19 and a drug addict. An abscess had formed at the top of his spinal chord and caused permanent damage. This left the young man quadriplegic. He was really angry with the world and showed it by not complying with staff and making lots of complaints about his care. I ended up acting as an intermediary. Strangely he was never rude to me. I listened to him and took him seriously and gradually he trusted me. We eventually got to the stage of being able to have a laugh and a joke. He eventually went off to a more specialised place. A year later he wrote to staff to say sorry for being so horrible. I think for him the acting up was his only control when he had lost the power to do anything for himself.

As I’ve become a more familiar feature around the hospital staff support has become higher up the list. Staff use me in a variety of ways and often trust me with the difficult issues that many of us struggle with at times. I particularly remember one member of staff who was struggling with her sexuality. Her fundamental religion was telling her that same sex relationships are wrong. She felt unable to talk to any of her family as they were all church-goers. She had fallen in love with a woman who was also a member of staff and didn’t know how to cope with her feelings. I was so pleased she came to talk to me because I was able to say that not all religious people think that way. We saw each other a few times before she was able to accept that where there’s love there is God and where there’s God there is love. It’s such a shame that people of faith hurt each other deeply when the central message of all religions is love. Why can’t we just celebrate our differences?

The wounded healer feels the wounds

I started my second year as a Chaplain with a heavy heart. Diana was my soul mate and I really grieved her death and the loss that it brought to my life. Whenever people have died that I’ve been connected with, I’ve always been able to carry on chatting with them. I believe they are in heaven and that they can hear me. It has always helped me still feel some sort of closeness. With Diana all I felt was an enormous void! We were very often in contact via phone or text message. All of a sudden there was just nothing. It was an awful pain. At times I felt overwhelmed and could feel myself becoming tearful with patients or staff. I never did break down in front of anyone but I came close. It’s not that I think crying is wrong but when it’s your own stuff it has no place in someone else’s pain or trauma.

The work of the hospital continued. Despite my grief I had to be along side the dead and dying and the bereaved. Eventually my pain lessened and became part of my experience. In fact now I find it has been a useful experience because I more readily understand the void that someone’s death can leave. From my woundedness I’ve been able to be a more effective healer because of that deeper understanding.

One night, in the early hours, I had a call from NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit). A much loved baby had died shortly after his premature birth. He was an IVF baby. The parents were devastated. I was able to do a naming and blessing ceremony for them. They were a long way away from their home on the South coast. They had come to the hospital in the hope that our specialist unit would be able to save their baby. Unfortunately that wasn’t to be and that left these poor parents without the support of their extended family around them. I really felt for them as I left knowing that they were going back to a grey institutional hot family room before they could return to their own surroundings the next day. Sometimes it’s the little things in life that can make a difference, like nice paintwork or colourful bedding or nice pictures on the walls. I know the NHS doesn’t have any money but I can dream.

A year in focus

Wow, what a year! It seems impossible to me that a year has gone past already. And what amazing experiences I have had during that time. Some people don’t have these experiences in a lifetime yet alone a year.

At one point during the year I became very ill and had to take time off and was in hospital myself. That time of enforced stillness made me realise a few things. It is really important that all of us look after ourselves. For a person doing a job like mine, that is doubly so. I hadn’t been doing such a good job and I learned the hard way.

As a result I have now learned to more effectively pace myself. I take regular breaks in the sun and get right away from all demands. I take time each evening to just stop for a moment and leave the day behind. I try to make sure there is a balance between work, family and church commitments. I try to nurture the me that needs some fun, as well as the studious me who loves to learn new things. I try to also get a balance between the physical and the sedentary. It’s not easy and I don’t always get it right but I hope I’m still open to learn how to achieve these things more effectively.

I feel immensely privileged to be doing this job and I am grateful to all the people who have allowed me to share parts of their journeys.

I’m looking forward to the next year and all that lays ahead.

Can you say difficult things to the dying?

One night I was called to the bedside of an elderly woman, She was dying having had a second stroke. The first one had been 18 months earlier and that had left her unable to speak and walk so she had been in a nursing home. Before that she had been incredibly active and a powerful force in her families life. Even though she couldn’t speak after her first stroke she could still communicate what she wanted. The patient’s daughter was an only child and the relationship between the two of them at times had been really difficult. The daughter went on to have three daughters of her own. It seemed to me from what was said that the patient had been an exceptionally good grandmother. It also seemed that she had tried to make up for maybe not being that great a mum by being a fantastic grandma.

As the daughter and granddaughters talked to me over the few days it took for the patient to die, it became clear that there were some deep wounds. I encouraged the daughter to name her hurts and speak them out loud to her mum as she was never going to get another opportunity to do this. I said I felt that her mum had tried to atone by the way she had been with her grandchildren and that she wouldn’t want her daughter to carry that pain any further in her life. Now was the time to lay it down and let it go. Bravely she was able to do this and we were able to have a little ceremony and anoint her mum and begin the process of laying the ghosts of the past to rest.

While all this was going on a very good friend of mine was dying. She was in Maidstone Hospital. I visited when I could and chatted on the phone to the rest of the family when I couldn’t get there. Diana was a hospital chaplain herself and had been very instrumental in shaping the way I approached priesthood and chaplaincy. The last time I saw her in a state where we could communicate I knew I had to take my own advice and say to her all the things that I would never have another chance to say. In this case they were all very positive things. During this conversation I asked Diana if she wanted to be anointed. She smiled and opened herself up to me in a posture that is symbolic of being anointed. In my short time as a chaplain I have anointed many people. Anointing Diana was the hardest thing I’ve done in a long time. It was a beautiful moment and she was very serene and peaceful and it is a memory that will stay with me forever but it was really hard. Afterwards I got back to my car and wept. It was some time before I was able to drive.

The next day, back at work, I found out that the family of the elderly patient who had died wanted me to take the funeral. I agreed to do this as they were all so dispersed around the country.

The funeral was early one Friday morning. I had spoken to Diana’s family the night before and they didn’t expect her to last much longer. I was very heavy hearted as I arrived for work that morning. I put on my professional mode and set off for the funeral. Just before I arrived at the crematorium I realised I didn’t have my robes with me. I was aghast at what I’d done and couldn’t believe I had been so stupid. The chapel attendant at the crem was great and rigged me up in something. It wasn’t perfect but it would do. I then opened my folder only to find that I had put the wrong funeral in it. At that point I almost lost the plot. I went into the chapel to take a moment to try and compose myself before the family arrived.

When the family arrived I confessed that I was not properly dressed and that I had forgotten my notes. I was extremely apologetic and said I wasn’t normally so dis-organised. They were extremely gracious and accepting of what I said. In part, that is due to the relationship I had built with them over the time that I had been visiting, but it is also due to the vulnerable position people are in when attending the funeral service of a loved one.

The service went smoothly and fortunately I remembered most of what I had written in the funeral address.

I had never done that before and I hope I’ll never do it again. My own grief over Diana was having much more of an impact on me than I had anticipated. That bit of forgetfulness was a warning sign to me to take care of myself.

Over the next couple of weeks I felt very fragile and my colleagues shielded me from some of the more traumatic situations in the hospital. The problem of a hospital chaplain grieving is that they can’t not be involved in other people’s death or grief as that is part of the daily work. One of the impacts of the strain of trying to remain professional whist feeling so vulnerable was that the forgetfulness continued. This came to a head when I had forgotten to tell my colleague about two occasions that I would be out of the hospital all day. On one of the days she had to come in on her day off. It was a trying situation all round.

Fortunately I had a weeks A/L booked already. The holiday really helped and gave me some space to just be myself. The forgetfulness has lessened but the effects of Diana’s death will be felt for some time I’m sure.

Staff have feelings too

Getting back to the day to day life, as a chaplain one of the things I was keen to develop was a teaching role with staff. I have been gradually building these sessions up. At present I talk about the role of chaplains and rituals at the time of death. I’m also doing some domestic violence awareness courses. All this has been good in that it has broken down some of the misconceptions about chaplains amongst the staff. Whenever I get the opportunity I remind staff that we are there for them too and not just the patients and their visitors.

This has led to several staff members coming to chat to me. The issues have ranged from marital problems, difficulties in offering care to a dispersed family with elderly parents living abroad, bereavement support, complex family relationships and coming to terms with past hurts. Sometimes staff have approached me for support with work related issues. Recently that has become more so with cuts that have been made and the threat of future cuts.

One of the staff support activities that I got into was to acknowledge and support the work of a particular ward. They’d had an unusually rough time with a number of untimely deaths amongst their patients. One of these was a young man in his 20’s who unexpectedly went into cardiac arrest and couldn’t be saved. It deeply affected every member of the team, especially the other young men.

I put together a little ceremony, which happened on the ward. The liturgy needed to contain elements that appealed to all faiths and those of no faith. I used a bowl of salty water to symbolise tears and a central candle and gave each staff member a small candle, which symbolised the light and life of the many patients that they had cared for. The ward manager read out various poems and chose some music. It was only half an hour but it was a very emotional occasion for the staff and gave them an opportunity to stop and think and acknowledge their feelings.

The next day one of the young men told me that he had slept better that night than he had for months. He thanked me for making it possible for him to move on. I think this is important. Many staff don’t get the opportunity of going to patients funerals but they sometimes need a space to say goodbye. That was provided on that occasion and helped. It’s something maybe to think about in future for the whole hospital.

An intense night involving a dead baby, the police and the mortuary

One day just as I was preparing to go home I was bleeped by children’s A&E. A 2 year old had suddenly become unwell. Resuscitation had not been successful. The family had asked for a chaplain to come and say some prayers.

When I arrived there was obviously great distress. The young mum was cradling her son, her sister was sitting next to her silently weeping and their mum was trying to be there for them but couldn’t keep the tears back. It turned out that the sister felt terrible because the baby had become unwell at her house and stopped breathing. She had tried to do CPR. She felt it was her fault that he had died. Gradually more of the family arrived. I was shocked to find out that one of the family had recently been murdered. As an extended family they were still mourning for this young woman’s death and now they had another tragedy to cope with.

I did an anointing, naming and blessing ceremony with them. They took turns holding the baby and anointing him.

After this as I sat with the mum she started to tell me about her life. She had two children and they were put on the “At risk register” due to their dad’s violence to the mum. This had been so severe that it had put her in hospital and he had gone to prison for it. He was out of prison now but was not allowed any contact with her or his children. I was touched by this young woman’s desire to do the right thing. She wanted the dad to be told as soon as possible. Then she told me she had just sent the sister round there. I suggested this might not be the best way to go about it and it was better left to the police to inform him. I felt she had enough on her plate without having to deal with a potentially violent man. She agreed and phoned her sister and got her to come back.

I had been with the family for a couple of hours by then. I stepped outside the relatives room and asked what the hold up was. The Sister from A&E told me that they had been told to wait for the police, who wanted to see the body and talk to the family due to the children being on the at risk register and the sudden nature of the baby’s death. The Sister said she would phone the police again and see why it was taking so long.

Another couple of hours passed and the nursing staff changed shift. The new nurse who was looking after the family assured me she would keep chasing the police and find out what the hold up was.

By this time the baby had become cold and was going stiff. The mum had noticed this. She started rocking back and forth and saying “Please wake up. Please wake up” The rocking became more persistent and the strain in her voice was unbearable. Several members of her family had their heads in their hands. I was struggling to know what to do. I suddenly remembered the story “Water bugs and dragonflies” I said I’d be back in a moment and I ran over to the office and got a copy of it. I sat down next to her and said I was going to read her and the baby a story. She was still rocking and by now wailing. As I got into the story I could feel people’s demeanour change and they started to listen. By the end of the story you could hear a pin drop. Afterwards I just placed my arm around the mum and she lay her head on my shoulder and we just stayed silently like that for a while. Companionable silence is an extremely effective tool.

Six hours had now passed since I was first called and I hadn’t had a break or a drink or anything to eat. I excused myself and went back to the office for 15 minutes and had a cuppa and some chocolate and listened to some nice music. I felt odd leaving them but I knew I had to look after myself. I’d be no good to anyone if I conked out.

About half an hour after I arrived back, some police officers arrived. I wasn’t impressed by their attitude as they weren’t being very apologetic for keeping them all waiting so long. They explained that they needed to have a look at the baby and while that was happening they would have chat about what had happened. The mum found it hard to give the baby over, but she did. She then told the officer the sequence of events. He didn’t write any of it down and his phone kept ringing. He eventually gave his phone to a colleague and asked him to answer it. The colleague came back into the room and interrupted the statement and said he needed to talk to him urgently. The officers left the room. They came back in a few minutes later and said they were sorry but they weren’t allowed to continue and that the area team would be taking over this case. They explained that they were on their way from Gravesend and shouldn’t be too long.

I was absolutely dumbstruck. The baby was brought back in and given to the mum and they left. About an hour later the other team turned up and it all started again with mum having to hand the baby over. This time they were apologetic from the start and seemed to have a better attitude. Before they started I said I hoped they were going to take notes of what the mum was saying so that she didn’t have to repeat it all over again. I also asked if they could arrange for someone to go and tell the dad as this was weighing on the mum’s mind. I also stressed the importance of not giving any details of where mum was living due to him being out on license and the terms of the licence were no contact with mum or children.

I could tell by the way they were looking at me that they were wondering how come a priest was so aware of the terminology. It was really helpful to have had the background in working with domestic violence in order to support this young woman effectively.

They took the statement and said they then wanted to go back to the sister’s house first and then go back to the mum’s house. The police left with the sister. I then had the difficult task of getting the baby into the mortuary.

At times during the 8 hours that I had spent with the family I had been asked to hold the baby. Mum said she wanted to take him to the mortuary. I said she could do this but she wouldn’t be able to come into the working part of the mortuary. She asked me if I would take him for that last part.

Before we went over to the mortuary I spoke to the nurse who was coming with us and said that this was going to be the flashpoint. During my chats that evening the mum had said to me that she was dreading that moment. That she had known where her baby was for every minute of his life and he had never been left alone. How was she meant to leave him?

We sat in the relatives room of the mortuary for a while and then I stood up and said she needed to say bye for now and that she could come back the next day and spend more time with him. She stood up but couldn’t quite hand the baby over. I gently lifted him from her arms and the nurse took hold of her. The mum really wailed at that point and I quickly left the room so as not to prolong the agony for her.

Once on the other side of the door I took a deep breath and tried to compose myself. The porter opened the fridge door for me and I gently laid the baby in there. The porter then said how hard he found seeing dead children. I then spent some time with him and how it affected him. I made sure the paperwork was done and I left the mortuary and went back to the mum in the relatives room.

When I said my goodbye to her I gave her a hug and told her to feel free to contact me if there was ever anything I could do. I watched this young woman walk away. She was trying really hard to be strong but she was slumped as she walked. I wondered if she was ever going to recover and I wondered if I’d ever hear from her again.

As I got into my car the radio flickered to life and Robbie Williams dulcet tones emerged singing “Angels” I wondered whether this family were going to be able to sleep that night knowing their little angel was gone for good.

As I got nearer home I decided that I wasn’t going to cook as it was now 1am. I remembered a late night chippy and picked myself up a bag of chips to take home. I sat at my dining room table half eating the chips and half staring into space and I began to start processing the events of one amazingly intense night.

When I talked about it with my supervisor he pointed out the many complex roles I had held that night. I had been the point of continuity. The doctors and nurses had changed shift but I had stayed throughout. I had been a bereavement counsellor to the extended family over the murder of the young woman as well as the tragedy of the baby’s sudden death. I had carried out a priestly function in anointing the baby. I had been carrying out staff support in looking out for and allowing the nurses and porter to express their sadness at the events. I had advocated for the family to the police and I had given some practical advice with relation to the domestic violence and the implications of contacting the dad. I had also physically carried out other roles in taking the baby to the mortuary and placing him in the fridge.

I hadn’t seen it like that but my supervisor was right. It was a very intense night with varied interactions with many people and it shows the complex nature of chaplaincy.

A Humanist, Buddhist Chaplain or just a good inclusive Christian?

During my wanderings on NICU I met a family who had just had their first baby. She was born to term but they knew there was some sort of problem but they didn’t know what. The family weren’t religious but we got on well and I was able to be alongside them as they got the devastating news that their baby was terminally ill and wouldn’t live a year. It was a very sad time. This couple were people who planned things and thought them through. This wasn’t part of their plans and it threw them into turmoil.

The baby made it to 4 months, which was a miracle in some respects. Some of the staff had got very close to the baby and her parents. It was a very sad time. I was asked to take the funeral. I found it quite difficult to plan a funeral which was non religious yet honoured my beliefs too.

It’s amazing how often I get asked by non religious people to do things that are significant for them. It shows the importance of human contact and just being there for people. The family and the staff were very appreciative of the service. The parents liked the fact that I knew the baby, and so it felt right to them for me to take the service, even though I had pointed them in the direction of the humanist society.

It’s hard in this pluralist society to keep hold of the things that are important and not have a watered down version of everything. I feel I achieve this balance, but sometimes it’s a fine line. One thing I am sure of is that I am able to witness to what I believe through the way I live my life and carryout my role in a way that is extremely effective.

"It's your fault, you and your God, that's why my brother is dead"

One night, in the early hours, I was called into A&E. A 45 year old man had suddenly collapsed and died. The family had asked for a chaplain to come and say some prayers. There were lots of very distressed relatives already there when I arrived. They asked me to wait for the rest of the family to turn up. In the end there were about 25 relatives present. The room in A&E is very small. The body was on a trolley. I stood beside it. The family spilled out of the room and into the corridor. I tried to project my voice so they could all hear. My practise is always to invite the family to anoint their relative and to say anything they want at the moment of anointing that honours their relationship with the deceased. They all took turns to file in and place their finger in the oil and anoint their relative. A man came forward. He didn’t put his finger in the oil. He just stared at me. Then he said really angrily that my God had killed his brother. He was pointing his finger in my face and saying “It’s your fault, you and your God, that’s why he’s dead.” I let him rant. Then I asked him if he had kids. He said he did. I asked him would he do anything to deliberately hurt them and he said no. I said I didn’t believe in the kind of God he believed in. I believed in a God who was a loving and kind parent like he was to his children and that bad things happen and we just don’t know why. With that he slumped at my feet and wept. His friends helped him up and led him away.

Violence doesn’t frighten me. I’m very familiar with it. I’m sure that helped me in that situation. It made me aware how vulnerable we are and what a target we are for people’s projections of what they think they believe in. I hope I did a good job that night by allowing the man his anger.

Pride comes before a fall

By now I was feeling pretty well established as a hospital chaplain and nothing much phased me. I was happy to be on-call and not worried about what I might get called to. One night I had a call to come out to a 74 year old woman who was dying. Her family were present. The only strange thing about the request was that they wanted holy water. I checked that the patient wasn’t RC and was assured she was C of E.

I turned up with the holy water and my oil for anointing and was really surprised to find the patient was conscious. She was dying from heart failure and is often the case, was still aware of what was going on. This threw me. By then I had attended the bedside of many dying patients none of them had been remotely conscious. My words had been aimed more at the relatives than the patient. This situation meant I had to say words that meant something to a woman who was just about to make the most amazing journey of all. I felt inadequate and ill equipped. I checked that the patient didn’t want to speak to me alone and then stumbled through a liturgy. The family and the patient were very appreciative but I felt I hadn’t done a good job.

This taught me a valuable lesson. I now always ask if the patient is conscious. What I should have done was to take a few minutes out once I was aware what this family wanted and prepare myself and compose myself.

This lesson helped me with my next encounter. I was asked to go to a ward and see a patient who had asked for the chaplain. The staff didn’t know why. When I arrived the man asked if he could make his confession to me. I gulped. I’d never heard anyone’s confession before. I told the patient that would be fine but that I just had to collect a few things from the office now that I knew what he wanted. On the walk back to the office I was thinking “Oh no. What if he tells me he’s killed someone? What if he gives me a crisis of conscious?” I also didn’t really know what to do. I tried to phone a few people who might be able to help but they were all unavailable. I looked things up in my liturgy book and quickly produced a sheet on the computer.

When I got back to the patient he told me he couldn’t read, so I had to think again. It actually turned into a very moving occasion for me and made me truly realise why we call it the sacrament of reconciliation. It was one of those moments where I really felt my priestly vocation. Most of the time I feel and I am an ordinary person doing an extremely privileged job. Just occasionally though I don’t feel ordinary and I do feel priestly. I don’t really know how to describe this. Maybe it’s something to do with that ontological change that happens at ordination?