earlier this week mike asked me out on a date- i was so excited- but then i had to find a babysitter. it didn't work. i tried- harder than i've ever tried. i even called friends of friends to use their babysitters- nothing- nada- nein.
so we did the next best thing- we loaded the kids in the car and went to IKEA to take advantage of 45 minutes of free childcare. we figured we could sit on one of those couches in a fake living room and talk with out being interrupted. but it was full!
so now we're home- contemplating the options. but, we have options, which is such a privilege.
yesterday work was very hard, and long, but satisfying. once again, i learned from other peoples years and other peoples experience. it was a day that actually started the day before when i was called by the daughter of my patient with ALS. he was doing worse- his wife is ill and can't care for him and we had to make some decisions about what to do, where to go. i learned a lot about their baggage, about the family drama that had been going on for 20 years. i learned about a different side of the story. (there is always another side to our stories). and again, i saw forgiveness. reconciliation. love triumph. things let go of. choices made to do the right thing- even when it's hard.
i found myself wrapped up in trying to do the right thing for him- but in a limited system that argued with me at every step- why did we need to admit him to the hospital? why couldn't this be managed as an outpatient? on and on. and the more resistance i got, the more insecure i became in my decision making, and the more worried i became that i would be judged by this person and that person.
when i drive to work on fridays, early morning, in the dark, streets deserted, street lamps lit- i pray for the patients that i will see that day- for wisdom to be able to help them- to be selfless- to be gentle. yesterday i prayed especially that i would not be concerned about who thought what about me, but that i would only continue to be concerned about him- and what was right for him. then i was at peace that i'd done the right thing.
that morning, i spoke with a friend of mine, who told me that she's in a place of darkness and anxiety- a place where she's worried all the time- where she thinks about death and loss and it consumes her. she is young and healthy and married to a young, health man. but she fears the ends of these things- she fears never finding happiness.
and then i met new patient- a man with metastatic cancer who knows he's doing to die of this disease in the next few months. he had eyes like my father, so i had a soft spot for him. he was guarded and seemed irritated and wasn't sure he wanted to be sitting in my office- but he said i reminded him of someone he thought was pretty.
he was focusing on his palm pilot and poking away at at - i asked him what he was doing - he said "taking notes". i was entered in to this- spelling my name out for him- it was part of his ability to keep some distance- and to keep his identity- to keep some control. so i was fine with it. but i wanted him to look me in the eye- because i could tell there was a lot in there- his mind was busy.
there were a lot of hard questions exchanged. exactly how was he going to die? he wanted to know. where did he want to be at the very end? who had he told about his illness? what did he want to do when he could no longer care for himself? people have a much easier time talking about their burial plots then imaging not being able to care for themselves. he wanted to die in his sleep or just drop dead. what are you most afraid of? i asked. "pain and being doped up and out of it" and then he began to cry.
he had abandoned the palm pilot by now. he told me about being in vietnam in a river, trapped under a jeep. he began to ask himself what it would feel like to die, then he realized he was about to find out. he saw all black- then he saw red. he remembers swimming toward the red- and then light- another troupe had come and flipped the jeep and he was rescued. he said- he had no fear- he realized that he is not afraid to die.
"i was a professor. i have two degrees in engineering from Georgia Tech- and a PhD. i'm not an attractive man, i've never been good with the ladies, but i'm intelligent. i can't bear to lose my mind. i can't bear to lose my dignity."
i told him it was a gift that he wasn't afraid to die- many people don't feel that way. i told him that he didn't need to die in pain- that i could guarantee it - and that we would work together to maintain his dignity- even in the very end. he smiled. he had needed to be known. to be understood as a person who has lived- not as a person who is dying.
i spoke with my friend again- heard her baggage- her years of stories- and more about where she is now. afraid of her pain now- the emotional can be way worse than the physical -afraid of death- although it's not near her. and so, so deeply afraid of herself- her depression- that her plight in life is deep sorrow.
and in my mind their stories chased each other- him living with cancer- her fearing getting it - him not afraid to die- her terrified- him afraid of pain- her in emotional pain. if you looked at them, they'd have nothing in common.
except that they're human- except that they're suffering. it was a reminder again of the universality of it- and it made me so thankful for a healthy season.
i went up stairs to the inpatient unit where my patient with ALS was with his daughters. he was getting what he'd needed- he was getting what i'd hoped for. we had a family meeting with the other teams involved in his care- to explain what was happening and where we'd go from here. after the meeting i stayed to talk with them. he motioned for his white board to write and tell us something. he wrote "Dr. Reid- miss her." and started to cry. i knew what he was referring to. my moving to uganda. i asked him if that was it and he nodded. i reminded him it was a long way off. i didn't say it, but far enough in the future that i think i'll miss him before he'll have a chance to miss me. then his brother-in-law asked if he could pray. so we all held hands- circling the bed- as he lifted up mr. G, myself and the family in prayer. he asked for wisdom for me as his physician and for my plans and future. he asked for healing for mr. G, but if not, then for freedom from suffering- freedom from fear- for peace- for comfort. everyone cried- especially mr. G.
i drove home exhausted, but thankful that i'm not consumed. i kept thinking about the other people i'd talked with in the day- my other patient, my friend- wishing they'd been there for that prayer of freedom. wishing i could guarantee them both freedom from pain- all types-at the end and all the way through- that i could guarantee them peace. aware again of my limitations- its easy to give medicine- it's harder to touch a soul- and cradling a spirit- is a divine intervention.
so i offered up a silent prayer- for divine intervention.
so we did the next best thing- we loaded the kids in the car and went to IKEA to take advantage of 45 minutes of free childcare. we figured we could sit on one of those couches in a fake living room and talk with out being interrupted. but it was full!
so now we're home- contemplating the options. but, we have options, which is such a privilege.
yesterday work was very hard, and long, but satisfying. once again, i learned from other peoples years and other peoples experience. it was a day that actually started the day before when i was called by the daughter of my patient with ALS. he was doing worse- his wife is ill and can't care for him and we had to make some decisions about what to do, where to go. i learned a lot about their baggage, about the family drama that had been going on for 20 years. i learned about a different side of the story. (there is always another side to our stories). and again, i saw forgiveness. reconciliation. love triumph. things let go of. choices made to do the right thing- even when it's hard.
i found myself wrapped up in trying to do the right thing for him- but in a limited system that argued with me at every step- why did we need to admit him to the hospital? why couldn't this be managed as an outpatient? on and on. and the more resistance i got, the more insecure i became in my decision making, and the more worried i became that i would be judged by this person and that person.
when i drive to work on fridays, early morning, in the dark, streets deserted, street lamps lit- i pray for the patients that i will see that day- for wisdom to be able to help them- to be selfless- to be gentle. yesterday i prayed especially that i would not be concerned about who thought what about me, but that i would only continue to be concerned about him- and what was right for him. then i was at peace that i'd done the right thing.
that morning, i spoke with a friend of mine, who told me that she's in a place of darkness and anxiety- a place where she's worried all the time- where she thinks about death and loss and it consumes her. she is young and healthy and married to a young, health man. but she fears the ends of these things- she fears never finding happiness.
and then i met new patient- a man with metastatic cancer who knows he's doing to die of this disease in the next few months. he had eyes like my father, so i had a soft spot for him. he was guarded and seemed irritated and wasn't sure he wanted to be sitting in my office- but he said i reminded him of someone he thought was pretty.
he was focusing on his palm pilot and poking away at at - i asked him what he was doing - he said "taking notes". i was entered in to this- spelling my name out for him- it was part of his ability to keep some distance- and to keep his identity- to keep some control. so i was fine with it. but i wanted him to look me in the eye- because i could tell there was a lot in there- his mind was busy.
there were a lot of hard questions exchanged. exactly how was he going to die? he wanted to know. where did he want to be at the very end? who had he told about his illness? what did he want to do when he could no longer care for himself? people have a much easier time talking about their burial plots then imaging not being able to care for themselves. he wanted to die in his sleep or just drop dead. what are you most afraid of? i asked. "pain and being doped up and out of it" and then he began to cry.
he had abandoned the palm pilot by now. he told me about being in vietnam in a river, trapped under a jeep. he began to ask himself what it would feel like to die, then he realized he was about to find out. he saw all black- then he saw red. he remembers swimming toward the red- and then light- another troupe had come and flipped the jeep and he was rescued. he said- he had no fear- he realized that he is not afraid to die.
"i was a professor. i have two degrees in engineering from Georgia Tech- and a PhD. i'm not an attractive man, i've never been good with the ladies, but i'm intelligent. i can't bear to lose my mind. i can't bear to lose my dignity."
i told him it was a gift that he wasn't afraid to die- many people don't feel that way. i told him that he didn't need to die in pain- that i could guarantee it - and that we would work together to maintain his dignity- even in the very end. he smiled. he had needed to be known. to be understood as a person who has lived- not as a person who is dying.
i spoke with my friend again- heard her baggage- her years of stories- and more about where she is now. afraid of her pain now- the emotional can be way worse than the physical -afraid of death- although it's not near her. and so, so deeply afraid of herself- her depression- that her plight in life is deep sorrow.
and in my mind their stories chased each other- him living with cancer- her fearing getting it - him not afraid to die- her terrified- him afraid of pain- her in emotional pain. if you looked at them, they'd have nothing in common.
except that they're human- except that they're suffering. it was a reminder again of the universality of it- and it made me so thankful for a healthy season.
i went up stairs to the inpatient unit where my patient with ALS was with his daughters. he was getting what he'd needed- he was getting what i'd hoped for. we had a family meeting with the other teams involved in his care- to explain what was happening and where we'd go from here. after the meeting i stayed to talk with them. he motioned for his white board to write and tell us something. he wrote "Dr. Reid- miss her." and started to cry. i knew what he was referring to. my moving to uganda. i asked him if that was it and he nodded. i reminded him it was a long way off. i didn't say it, but far enough in the future that i think i'll miss him before he'll have a chance to miss me. then his brother-in-law asked if he could pray. so we all held hands- circling the bed- as he lifted up mr. G, myself and the family in prayer. he asked for wisdom for me as his physician and for my plans and future. he asked for healing for mr. G, but if not, then for freedom from suffering- freedom from fear- for peace- for comfort. everyone cried- especially mr. G.
i drove home exhausted, but thankful that i'm not consumed. i kept thinking about the other people i'd talked with in the day- my other patient, my friend- wishing they'd been there for that prayer of freedom. wishing i could guarantee them both freedom from pain- all types-at the end and all the way through- that i could guarantee them peace. aware again of my limitations- its easy to give medicine- it's harder to touch a soul- and cradling a spirit- is a divine intervention.
so i offered up a silent prayer- for divine intervention.
1 comment:
I love the Mike stories.
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