During the weekdays at the hospital, I'm seeing psych patients and also pulmonary patients, including many with cystic fibrosis. On the weekends while on call, though, I go wherever needed. Here's part of my journal entry after my first solo on-call (one of the CPE writing requirements is a weekly journal entry):

Over the weekend, I dealt with four deaths, all in different stages: a family viewing their deceased mother; praying with another family whose husband ended up dying in the night; praying with the husband and sons of a woman with an unexpected brain bleed and listening as the neurosurgeon let them know she would not recover; praying with a woman whose husband had coded and who likely would not make it. It was a lot and I cried as I drove home and again as I showered. Seeing all that made me want to be with my own family, made me want to be home with them. And it made me fear my being in the shoes of one of the loved ones I’d prayed with through the course of the night.

I wanted to be at UAB in part because it is a level-1 trauma center and I knew I’d get a great deal of experience with patients and families dealing with extremely difficult situations. But death is scarier and harder than I’d anticipated. Watching people say goodbye is moving and powerful but certainly no fun. I hurt for them and selfishly I fear for my own loved ones. I thought that as the chaplain, I would be able to offer comfort, and I think I have, despite a few missteps, and despite feeling pretty inadequate in each situation. But I didn’t anticipate how comfortless I would feel.

In each case last night, I prayed for the family and the patient to know and feel God’s presence. I pray that for myself. I believe God is with me and I do take comfort in that, but the question of theodicy comes up. How can so much suffering occur in just a few city blocks in such a short period of time, much less all the suffering going on outside the hospital walls, throughout the world?

I do believe, or at least very much want to believe, that all the suffering of this life will amount to nothing once we see God face to face. all the death over the weekend also made me think about how short life is and how suddenly it can end. We are here to make connections and help one another in that very short time, I believe. God calls us into community and we are to love and support one another as best we can. Hopefully, whatever support we can give one another in this life is just a tiny inkling of the love and support and complete feeling of wholeness of the next. Hopefully.         

I made it through my shift okay, but was pretty sad and anxious still on Sunday afternoon, after my shift was over and after I’d slept a few hours. But, thankfully, I was reminded of God’s overwhelming love Sunday night at the 13^th anniversary celebration of the Beloved Community United Church of Christ, where I went with a VTS classmate from Birmingham. I was reminded that there really is nothing to fear, that there is nothing that can happen to us in this life—not death, not psychosis, not terrible pain—that can separate us from the love of God. For that, and for the opportunity to minister to people in crisis, I give great thanks. My hope and prayer for that ministry is that my presence can in some very small way let people know that there is nothing to fear.

I've been in Birmingham for a couple weeks now, after a short stint in Vicksburg, and will have my first solo 12-hour on-call shift tonight at the hospital. It's been kind of a sad day for me and I'm a little nervous about tonight. Thursday, while finishing the required new-to-UAB scavenger hunt to try to find different units of the hospital, I walked in on a code. All the staff chaplains and chaplain residents were in a staff meeting and I was in a part of the hospital that requires either a 15-minute walk or a shuttle ride. All that is to say I was it as far as chaplain support for a while.

The code involved the husband of a woman who was really scared about losing the one person who had been there for her. She had some family a few hours away but her husband was really the only person she had, and she clearly loved him. She didn't know what she would do, and I of course had no answers for her. On top of her being alone, it was clear she had very little in the way of financial means. I was able to keep it together to be with her but she's been on my mind most of the day. All I can think to do for her is pray.

It wasn't the first death I'd seen here; I think it maybe was the third. But the thing about this death was this woman, who seemed so small and shaky and frightened in the corner of the hospital room, where she sat and rocked as no less that half a dozen doctors and nurses tried to revive her husband. I left about 40 minutes after meeting her, soon after the chaplain assigned to the unit arrived, soon after her husband passed. Again, all I can think to do is pray that she will feel the presence and peace of God.