Saturday 1 March 2014

Rebel Rev's last blog as a hospital chaplain is particularly gut wrenching



The same weekend when I was having the discussion with the 93 year old of my last blog I was also bleeped to deal with the tragic and unexpected death of a 6 year old. The child had come in the day before which was Boxing Day, the day after Christmas Day for international readers. The child had come in just generally unwell but was usually fit and healthy. The medics had observed the her overnight as she had come up late to the ward and had then decided to do a lumbar puncture before lunch. Within half an hour of this procedure the child arrested (her heart stopped) and unfortunately the resuscitation attempt was unsuccessful.

The ward manager bleeped me. She was relieved to get me and explained what had happened. I said I’d be there as quickly as I could.

As it was nearly lunchtime I went back to the office to grab my oil and prayer book and I also quickly ate some fruit as I now know from experience that these things take time. When I arrived on the ward I was met by a frazzled deputy ward manager who told me they were behind in getting pain relief to the other children because of what had happened and so many nurses being tied up with it. She showed me to the room. I went in and the ward manager looked at me with eyes that were struggling to hold back the tears and immediately left me to it. Up till this point I had still not heard the story of what had been going on with the child so was going into the situation blindly. 

Mum was sitting in a chair one side of the bed, dad was pacing the other side. Their older daughter, who looked around 13 was stroking her sisters hair. They were all crying. Dad was saying he didn’t want to live. He was also pleading with God to take him instead and give his daughter back. Mum just looked at me with these huge disbelieving eyes and said “How can I leave her here. I promised I’d take her home to her Christmas presents and now you tell me that I can never take her home. You tell me how I am supposed to do that?” I took a deep breath in the face of such raw emotion and went and stood beside mum and placed my hand on her should and just said how so so sorry I was for her pain and I could not imagine how awful she must be feeling. She then grabbed onto me firmly and poured her heart out. Dad was still pleading with God and telling me he didn’t want to live. He also kept wailing. With my one free hand I reached out to their daughter who then snuggled under my arm and wept. I asked her if she had a friend or someone that she could ring who could be there for her. Her mum then said that was a good idea and encouraged her to ring her best friend. I was concerned for her and could not physically or emotionally effectively look after all 3 of them.

After about an hour of really intense emotion the dad reached out for my prayer book and placed it on the child. I asked the family if they wanted me to say some prayers. They said they did. I’m not sure what I prayed, as adrenaline takes over because your mind is screaming what on earth can you say in such an awful situation. Words just seem completely inadequate. I did anoint the little girl and got the family to participate in this ritual as I think action often communicates where words fail us. When this was finished the family seemed slightly more settled and were able to tell me what had happened.

Eventually other family members began to arrive. Also the friend for the older daughter arrived with her mum, which I thought was really good of them. Each time a new family member appeared the raw grief would come spurting out at force like a volcano erupting.

Another hour went by. The mum was still hanging on to me most of the time. She then told me she needed to phone her parents in Europe as they were meant to be travelling out to them the next day. I arranged for mum to use the phone in the ward office. She asked me to come with her. Even though I didn’t understand the words being used in the phone conversation because of the language barrier I could still clearly hear the pain and grief as it tumbled out.

We went back into the room. By now the child’s body was fairly cool and stiff. Blood was also trickling out of her nose. None of this seemed to be outwardly causing the family anymore distress than they were already feeling. All they would do is gently wipe her nose. I explained that this was all a natural part of the death process. They then started to ask me if they could take the child home. I then had the delicate job of explaining that this beautiful little girl would need to have a post mortem because of the unexpected way in which she had died. I explained that they would also want answers and this was the only way to get them. The uncle was distressed at this and asked to talk to me outside. He said he didn’t want this to happen as he had heard about doctors keeping children’s organs. I explained that the law had changed and that this couldn’t happen and I promised the family that anything that was looked at during the post-mortem process would be returned to the child’s body before she was buried or cremated. I then had to explain the legalities of the coroner’s office and that the child was now under their care until they felt it was ok to release her to an undertaker for the parents to make the arrangements.

It’s an awful lot for a family to take in and there is a booklet that explains all this for families to refer back to which I would give to them when they were ready to leave.

Another hour had gone by and I started to talk to the family about how they were going to say goodbye for now. Dad said he wanted some pictures so another family member started to take pictures of dad and mum and sisters.

I’ve noticed the taking of pictures is beginning to creep into these situations more often. This is mainly due to mobile technology and the fact that people often have a camera with them on their phone. I must admit it’s a new phenomenon that leaves me slightly uncomfortable but that’s my hang up.

After the pictures were taken I asked the extended family if they also wanted to anoint the child like the immediate family had done earlier then leave the family for a more private goodbye.

This seemed to work to enable people to leave the room until only myself and the parents and older daughter were left. I reassured them that they could come back to the mortuary anytime to be with their daughter and to arrange this through the ward as it was the weekend. They told me they’d be back the next day and asked if they could see me again. I reassured them I was around all over the weekend.

Every time I thought they had left the room for good one of them would go back in again. All I could do was be there with them until they felt able to leave their daughter for the last time in an ordinary ward. From now on they’d only see their precious little girl in the mortuary or an undertakers chapel.

I walked them to the end of the ward when they were finally ready to go. I can’t imagine how awful and gut wrenching that must feel. As I turned to walk back down the ward I sighed heavily and stretched out my tired stiff shoulders that had absorbed so much over the last few hours. I now needed to spend a bit of time with the staff who were still looking traumatised.

When I got home eventually that night it was like I had used up all my words. I found it quite difficult to talk to my family. It felt like I just needed a bit of space and solitude and nothing too demanding.

Refreshed by that space I went in the next morning. At some point I was contacted by the nurse in charge of the children’s ward who told me that the family would be arriving in half and hour and was I free to be with her and them in the mortuary. She then told me she was about to bleep the porters to get the child’s body out and ready. I told her not to bleep the porters and I would do it. I know the porters find dealing with children difficult. I also wanted to make sure the little girl looked as good as she possibly could for her family. I took her out of the fridge and placed her in the viewing room. I removed the gauze from her nose and gently washed her face. I brushed her hair and placed teddies around her.

Just as I was finishing off the family arrived. They greeted me like a long lost relative. Again there were lots of photo’s taken. The aunt asked to have a word with me outside and then asked if I could spend time with the mum because she was saying she wouldn’t have got through the previous day without me. She also asked if I could help with the funeral. I had to tell her that I only had one more day at work and then I was leaving. I felt awful as I usually like to travel with a family for as long as they need me. I knew I needed to draw a line but it felt horrible.

When the family left their little girl this time it felt different. They were already calmer. The only strange thing that happened was dad asked me if there was any way of preserving the body so that they could keep coming to see her. He said he’d seen something on the tele about people being frozen forever. I explained as best I could about cyrogenics and why that wasn’t an option. He accepted this and took more pictures. He obviously wanted to preserve his daughter for as long as he could and was worried that he’d forget her or forget what she looked like. I guess I can understand this, even though I believe that death only separates us from the body but for me importantly the heart and mind of the living keep the memories.

The last 2 weeks that I worked as a hospital chaplain were pretty full on but reinforced to me how diverse hospital chaplaincy is. I was also reminded that even though the day might have been full of awful things and horrendous trauma’s, it is still possible to go home satisfied that you’ve done a good job. It may seem weird to say that you get job satisfaction in the face of such adversity but I know that these last two weeks and over near enough four years, I have in a small way made a difference to some people. I’m grateful that I’ve been blessed with a temperament that makes it possible for me to go where angels fear to tread. I know without a shadow of a doubt that all those patients, relatives and staff that have shared their stories with me over the last few years will continue to inform my future ministry and add to the rich tapestry that is my life. Thank you to each and everyone of you. This blog is dedicated to all those memories.

2 comments:

  1. I come upon your blog just as you are apparently ending it. Let me just say that rather than a modest impact, it sounds like you have softened the blows of tragedy for countless patients and family members, and likely your readers as well. May I be so bold as to suggest that instead of stopping both the blog and the career at the same time, that you let time without chaplaining allow your thoughts to distill. You may find a whole new angle on what you may impart to your readers. (I'm speaking form my own experience.) Sincerely, Karen, of http://offbeatcompassion.wordpress.com/

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    1. Hi

      Thanks for your kind comments. I only came across them tonight. I'm still working just not as a hospital chaplain. I finished working at the hospital a few years ago but only released the reflections now as less likely good of people being identified.

      I may go back to the beginning a release again but with my updated thoughts added in.

      I appreciate your feedback

      Take care

      Kes

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