Things I Learned in the Hospital

Writer Anne Lamott says that the two most authentic prayers are “help help help help help help help” and “thank you thank you thank you thank you.”

I had a patient who prayed like that: “Help. Help. Help” with every breath…  sometimes, and this was hard: “Why. Won’t. You. Help. Me.”

One of the toughest things to learn as a chaplain is how little one actually does. No, I can’t fix your illness. No, I can’t fix your sadness. What I can do is be here with you in it, so for a little while, you are not alone. I can pray with you, if you want. I can pray for you, and I do. But I can’t heal your pain, or your problems.

One day at St Joe’s we got word that one of our guests had been found in the river. There was some confusion about who it was, and discussion and remembrances once we knew. Apparently he was drunk and fell in the river:  so that means, he died of his alcoholism.

It’s painful for us – just like it’s painful for chaplains in the hospital – when we can’t help our guests. We can be there for them, walk with them, offer food and shelter, a shower, clean clothes – but we can’t cure someone’s alcoholism any more than chaplains can cure cancer.

Sometimes that pain is closer to home.

Right now at St Joe’s we’re undergoing renovations. We got between a rock and a hard place with the city, which because of the age and historicity of the house decreed that any repairs to the front of the building had to include restoring the original storefront windows, and we finally decided we had to just do it. So now, the house is closed, our St Francis mural is coming down, and we’re serving sandwiches instead of a hot meal. In the morning there’s a bit of bustle while the sandwiches get made, but it lacks the urgency of the usual bustle. More relaxed, an odd and peaceful time.

So we’re standing around, Jim’s making sandwiches, Maggie and Caroline are  watching, bagging up the sandwiches as he makes them. Tom and Rafael are talking. I’m making tea, getting ready to go upstairs and write. Tim’s in for a brief visit, but doing some heavy work – dealing with one person’s health issues, another person’s family crisis. And suddenly one of our number is walking away, seeming close to tears – a family member is in jail – in fact, there’s someone who is normally here with us helping make lunch, who is in jail, too, and Tom and I plan to visit them both tomorrow. But now – I’m watching my brother in pain, walking away, facing the hurt of a beloved one jailed, likely for years – how does that feel? I watch him walk away and realize I cannot help, cannot heal, cannot fix, can only love, and cry a little with him, for him.

And that’s what I learned in the hospital. There are moments when life stinks, and you want to help, and you can’t. But you stand there, and you love, and you hope it’s useful. Listen if they want, pray. Be there – be there. Just be there. And love.

October 26, 2009

Previous Inspirations by Chava Redonnet:

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