On the Thursday before Easter known to Catholics as "Holy" or "Maudry" Thursday, the gospel reading for the mass is about the Last Supper. When Luke, Matthew and Mark recount the story of the Last Supper, the focus is on the covenant Jesus speaks of ( "This is My body...This is My blood.").
John, on the other hand, gives us the only account of the Passover meal where Jesus gets down on the ground and washes every body's feet.
Every parish does this next part differently, but in each church after the gospel and then the homily, there's usually some literal foot washing. It's often the priest who washes the feet of some lay ministers. One year at the church I attended at college I was asked to be one in a handful of parishioners to have their feet washed. I sat rigid in my chair as my feet got washed. It felt weird. I hoped no one would ask me about it later.
This year, at St. Cecelia's in Boston, Fr. John closed his homily by introducing the foot washing saying, "For those of you who don't know us, here at St. Cecelia's we don't just wash the feet of the twelve men on the church board." The congregation chuckled knowingly and my mouth opened as I realized what was coming next.
Father John reminded everyone that they didn't have to participate, but he invited everyone who wanted in to ditch their shoes and socks in the pews. I shook my head in disbelief.
As the choir sang and bowls of water were set up, I reflected on the first half of Fr. John's homily. He had pointed out that in the midst of everything else going on with that Passover night Jesus told his disciples to wash one another's feet. "That's it," Fr. John said in his comforting Boston accent, "that's all it comes down to. Washing each other's feet."
He urged us to think about the feet we've washed, literally and figuratively. And to think about whose feet we should wash next. He asked us to think about those in our lives who need to be "scrubbed" by our forgiveness, or our compassion. He implored us to try to "rinse" those around us by being refreshingly positive in every day small talk rather than respond to those around us with sarcasm or negativity.
My thoughts tumbled as I stepped into the aisle and got in line with the other bare foot men, women and children. I thought about the people in my life who need compassion, patience and positive energy the most. I thought about the people in my life who provide me with the compassion and love I need to survive.
Then I couldn't help but start to think about the literal feet I've washed as a CNA and then as an RN. For that reason alone I imagined this ritual was less scary for me than for some of the other strangers in line. (Or the ones sitting with their shoes securely tied on in the pews).
That made me remember about the man who wouldn't let me wash his feet.
As I stepped up to the bowl to have my feet washed by the stranger in front of me, who had just had his feet washed by the stranger in front of him I thought about the people I met in Haiti. I remembered how most of the people doing the "foot washing" in those tents weren't blood relations of the injured or dying patients - they were just neighbors who were responding to the need they saw around them.
After the man at my knee was finished washing my feet he patted them dry with a clean towel. He put it down, and an altar server appeared to refill the bowl and replace the towel. As she did so, the man and I embraced and I thanked him. Then I took my place at the bowl and washed the feet of the next seated stranger. After I dried his feet he thanked me, and hugged me goodbye. I padded back to my seat, struck by a lack of discomfort in the whole thing. Mine and everyone else's too.
"We belong to a church with a ton of hierarchy, huh?" Fr. John had challenged at the top of the homily, "sometimes it seems like people are more interested in getting their feet washed than washing other feet."
He continued, "We have a lot of ways of describing the hierarchy and power and ritual, huh? High mass? Low mass? But no matter how you understand religion, or what parts (pahts) of it are attractive to you... in the end it is all about washing one another's feet."<
That, as it so happens, is actually exactly how I choose to understand religion.
Showing posts with label faith. Show all posts
Showing posts with label faith. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Songs From Haiti
A quick piece of news: Hopital Sacre Coeur was featured on The Takeaway, because apparently producer Anna Sale was recently in Milot for eight days blogging about the earthquake, the hospitals and its patients and what lies in store for the country in a series called Rehabilitation in Rural Haiti.
It's worth reading, especially the entry entitled Stumbling Through Creole and Hymns in the Earthquake Tent, because besides capturing life in Tent City perfectly, she also includes audio of one of the women who is currently a patient, singing a hymn.
It made me miss my guys in Tent 3 who sang every day.
I tried to embed the audio here and couldn't, so go check out the blog entry and listen to Marie Genese-Pompee sing.
I think it will make your day better. It definitely helped mine.
It's worth reading, especially the entry entitled Stumbling Through Creole and Hymns in the Earthquake Tent, because besides capturing life in Tent City perfectly, she also includes audio of one of the women who is currently a patient, singing a hymn.
It made me miss my guys in Tent 3 who sang every day.
I tried to embed the audio here and couldn't, so go check out the blog entry and listen to Marie Genese-Pompee sing.
I think it will make your day better. It definitely helped mine.
Monday, March 22, 2010
i'm so glad that trouble don't last always
"There's a gospel choir from BC downstairs," I told the patient as I thumbed his dilaudid into a paper cup.
"You mean BU," he said, "Think about it. Gospel from Boston College?"
"Why not?" I asked, puzzled. He took the pills and swallowed them with a grimace.
"Catholic music isn't that happy," he pointed out. "I'd know - I'm Catholic."
I grinned as I headed downstairs, remembering how my mother would often roll her eyes and ask me why the adolescent choir at St. T's never sang anything she could clap her hands to.
Down in the Atrium a modest crowd had gathered to hear the (BU) Choir sing. Another RN waved me over to where she was standing, "They just did that James Taylor song I love."
The choir launched into a spirited number with the rhythmic hook "I love you more than I did the day before." I was suddenly reminded of a day I had spent not too long ago also listening to a gospel choir - a day I never wrote down, so I made a mental note to store as many details as I could when I got home.
We were in the tent. By 'we' I mean myself, the other RN, the two interpreters, the 36 patients, and 20+ family members I had grown accustomed to sharing space with. The air was buzzing, not just with talking but with the noise of music being played over amplifiers.
"You coming with me," said one of the patients I was closest to - a 21 year old with post quake bilateral above the knee amputations*, a wicked grin and a penchant for wheelies.
"Where?" I asked.
"To the program!" he answered and flashed that smile I had begun to count on to punctuate everything he said.
I declined, and away he rolled, all style and flair. I moved on the task of finding a thermometer.
"Hey, come on," said my translator noticing that I was standing still, "you have time and we'll go."
He took me by the arm and we exited the back of the tent. We walked along the barbed wire fence strewn with laundry, passing small children who stopped to openly stare at the blanc as we went by.
We passed the row of tents and our feet beat on the rocks as the music got louder and louder and I began to make out voices. Up past the small building for less acute Tent City patients and around a corner there was a small yard. A stage had been set up, and on stage were the same men in suits who had come into my tent to sing that morning. Off to the side there were several other groups of well dressed men warming up.
It was a Gospel Festival.
Their audience sat in old fashioned wooden desks, the kind with the chair and the wrap-around arm. They had been taken out of the school rooms and set up here. The yard was stubbed with short fat grass, but was mostly rocks and dirt. Friends assisted their wounded loved ones to navigate crutches and wheelchairs over the ground to find preferable vantage points. I spotted Mr. Smiley and his sister, but they didn't notice me.
Like everyone else they were completely wrapped up in praising and singing.
"This is the Gospel Program," the interpreter said next to my ear. I moved out of the way as two men entered the yard flanking a woman with one leg using crutches. They guarded her as she found a place to stand in the shade. A cool breeze blew on our backs, and rustled the green leaves against the sky. The men sang of everlasting love into their microphones. Men and women clapped their hands or nodded along as children played tag, shrieking happily like children do when they are outside and no one is telling them to be quiet.
Not for the first or last time that week, I was amazed at how much joy a community can contain after enduring so much grief.
Back at work watching my patients dance in their seats, I thought it again.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
* "Look!" he exclaimed when we met, "we're the same height!"
"You mean BU," he said, "Think about it. Gospel from Boston College?"
"Why not?" I asked, puzzled. He took the pills and swallowed them with a grimace.
"Catholic music isn't that happy," he pointed out. "I'd know - I'm Catholic."
I grinned as I headed downstairs, remembering how my mother would often roll her eyes and ask me why the adolescent choir at St. T's never sang anything she could clap her hands to.
Down in the Atrium a modest crowd had gathered to hear the (BU) Choir sing. Another RN waved me over to where she was standing, "They just did that James Taylor song I love."
The choir launched into a spirited number with the rhythmic hook "I love you more than I did the day before." I was suddenly reminded of a day I had spent not too long ago also listening to a gospel choir - a day I never wrote down, so I made a mental note to store as many details as I could when I got home.
We were in the tent. By 'we' I mean myself, the other RN, the two interpreters, the 36 patients, and 20+ family members I had grown accustomed to sharing space with. The air was buzzing, not just with talking but with the noise of music being played over amplifiers.
"You coming with me," said one of the patients I was closest to - a 21 year old with post quake bilateral above the knee amputations*, a wicked grin and a penchant for wheelies.
"Where?" I asked.
"To the program!" he answered and flashed that smile I had begun to count on to punctuate everything he said.
I declined, and away he rolled, all style and flair. I moved on the task of finding a thermometer.
"Hey, come on," said my translator noticing that I was standing still, "you have time and we'll go."
He took me by the arm and we exited the back of the tent. We walked along the barbed wire fence strewn with laundry, passing small children who stopped to openly stare at the blanc as we went by.
We passed the row of tents and our feet beat on the rocks as the music got louder and louder and I began to make out voices. Up past the small building for less acute Tent City patients and around a corner there was a small yard. A stage had been set up, and on stage were the same men in suits who had come into my tent to sing that morning. Off to the side there were several other groups of well dressed men warming up.
It was a Gospel Festival.
Their audience sat in old fashioned wooden desks, the kind with the chair and the wrap-around arm. They had been taken out of the school rooms and set up here. The yard was stubbed with short fat grass, but was mostly rocks and dirt. Friends assisted their wounded loved ones to navigate crutches and wheelchairs over the ground to find preferable vantage points. I spotted Mr. Smiley and his sister, but they didn't notice me.
Like everyone else they were completely wrapped up in praising and singing.
"This is the Gospel Program," the interpreter said next to my ear. I moved out of the way as two men entered the yard flanking a woman with one leg using crutches. They guarded her as she found a place to stand in the shade. A cool breeze blew on our backs, and rustled the green leaves against the sky. The men sang of everlasting love into their microphones. Men and women clapped their hands or nodded along as children played tag, shrieking happily like children do when they are outside and no one is telling them to be quiet.
Not for the first or last time that week, I was amazed at how much joy a community can contain after enduring so much grief.
Back at work watching my patients dance in their seats, I thought it again.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
* "Look!" he exclaimed when we met, "we're the same height!"
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Leaving Haiti
I titled this entry "Leaving Haiti," to offer parallels to Leaving Costa Rica and Leaving Japan, but I don't know yet if it's the same at all.
Before I even got to Haiti a coworker advised me, "as soon as you get there remember you'll be leaving. Otherwise it just becomes impossible to walk away at the end." She pointed out, "just like you leave your shift at the end of the day to another nurse, I had to remember to trust the next ones coming after me."
She was right, but no matter how I thought about it I couldn't wrap my mind around it. To knowingly walk away from such suffering is already very difficult, and it only became more difficult as I got to know the patients personally.
Starting on Monday I attended a brief Eucharist service every morning in the chapel. It was my way of starting the day with a clear head, a fresh perspective and a connection to God. I've never done to a daily service before in my life, not even when I was living with the Sisters of the Good Shepherd in New Jersey. To be honest, I don't always even say a formal prayer in the morning. But I figured I needed all the help I could get.
On March 4th the Gospel reading was the story of the rich man and Lazarus from Luke 16. I felt terrible as Sister Ann read it out loud. It seemed as though the message couldn't be more clear. I am the rich man, and these people are Lazarus. How could I return home now that I've seen this level of poverty with my own eyes?
I began to pray and slowly my despair turned into gratitude.
I realized how easily I could be living some other life. But every single event in my life fell into place to lead me to this moment, there in a chapel in Milot, Haiti. It wasn't my fault or my doing that I was born in the United States. But that was the beginning of my story. And then every next step led little by little to what I would become and where I would go. It was mind blowing. With any slight alteration of course, I wouldn't have been sitting there surrounded by surgeons and nurses at seven in the morning. With a start, I realized that was true of every single person I met on the trip. God built our lives, and He has a plan.
My behavior doesn't always demonstrate faith in a higher plan. In fact, most of the time I act like I don't believe in a "Plan," at all. I like to be in control of my own life and of my environment. I like to take credit for the things I do. I like to plan the future. And it's easy to grab onto my life tightly and try to steer it the way I want. And for the most part, it's probably not too harmful. It certainly keeps me moving. But ultimately, I have to submit to the idea that I am not in control simply because that's what faith is. I need to let go, because letting go is believing. It's a trust fall with God.
My brain argues with me every time I try to relax and trust God. "Stop it!" it yells, "the path of least resistance is not for people of your educational background and social grooming!" But trusting God isn't the same as giving up, or taking the path of least resistance. In fact, some times what you find is the hardest path. But it's a path you'll never find unless you shut down all the things you think you want and listen to what you're meant to have.
From my journal on March 4th:
... so I am going to trust the plan. The plan is for me to be here this week. The plan is for me to leave on Saturday. To see my Mom, and my brother. To pay my bills. To fill the shifts at work that are mine to fill. And if the plan is for me to return here again - God will surely let me know. I will continue to pray for Him to tell me. I will pray for ears to hear it.
And that's how I was able to leave.
The day I left we all had to work a morning shift. I pushed my goodbyes off as long as possible. I built a wall of protection around myself by passing out medications, hanging IV fluids, and cleaning external fixators. When I started contemplating alphabetizing the med desk I knew I couldn't put it off any longer.
I started at the back of the tent and worked my way to the front, but word traveled fast that I was saying my final goodbyes and soon I had a small procession of family members and patients who could walk following me from bed to bed. Eyes were wiped, blessings were said and I told each person to be strong and to get well. Then the interpreter yelled that I was going to miss my ride.
"Ok," his voice boomed out, as he gently pushed his way to the center of the small crowd, "she is really going now!" I ran out of the tent to a chorus of blessings and goodbyes and demands for promises of a return trip.
Back at the compound my friends, old and new were packing up. I grabbed my belongings from inside and then joined everyone on the porch. Some of our coworkers from BHCHP had just arrived from the airport, ready to start their orientation.
"Any words of wisdom?" they asked us. We told them everything we knew.
Then, just like leaving work after an eight hour shift, we were done. We might have another shift in the future, but for now the plan led home. And as we piled into the truck for the bumpy ride to Cap Haitian I felt alright.
Then, just like leaving work after an eight hour shift, we were done. We might have another shift in the future, but for now the plan led home. And as we piled into the truck for the bumpy ride to Cap Haitian I felt alright.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
World Religions 101
It was night time and the air in the tent had cooled off considerably. Everyone had quieted down and were talking softly among themselves, reading Bibles, or sleeping. One man in the corner was singing a hymn very quietly that had gone on for quite some time.
"Michelle," my patient called out, "can you help me please?"
I stopped what I was doing and approached his bed, thinking he needed his pain medication.
"Please, can you help me understand this?" He was speaking in English and pointing to a passage in a Bible that was also in English. This particular young man had been enrolled in school for many years and proudly spoke both "higher" and "lower" English fairly well. I know this because he once explained to me that "maybe" was lower English but "perhaps," was higher. I was impressed.
"I am reading this and I need to understand," he said. "Ok, shoot," I responded.
“Speak to the people of Israel, saying, ‘If a woman conceives and bears a male child, then she shall be unclean seven days. As at the time of her menstruation, she shall be unclean," he read.
Oh boy I thought.
"What is conceives?" he asked, "does it mean have a baby?"
"Yes, it means have a baby."
"And... menstruation? How is that?"
Words failed me. "It means..." I stalled for a minute, "well it means..."
"Is it like when a lady has her bleeding?"
"Yes. Exactly." I began to get suspicious of his need for my tutorial, but his question wasn't about feminine body functions.
"Ok... then it says a woman will be unclean for seven days if she has a baby and it is a boy. And she is unclean for seven days if she has her bleeding."
"Mmmhmmm."
"Ok. 'If she bears a female child she shall be be unclean for two weeks.'" He looked at me. This isn't my favorite part of Leviticus* so I just nodded, waiting.
"If a lady has her bleeding or a boy baby she is unclean for one week and a girl baby she is unclean for two weeks, so what is unclean?"
"Oh wow. Ok... well the Jewish people had a lot of rules for things," I stopped, wondering how far in over my head I was about to get. "And there were rules about when you could and couldn't enter a temple. Having a baby is one, touching a dead body is another."
He stared at me, not blankly, but waiting for more explanation.
Guessing his question I said, "Temple for the Jewish people is like going to church for Christians."
"So if a lady has a baby she can't go to church? If she is unmarried?"
I had no idea where the last part came from. "No, I said, "whether or not she is married. She has to stay away for a certain amount of time. Then there are things you have to do to get clean again. Rituals."
"But we don't do that here," he said, his brow furrowing. "We don't say that."
Realizing I was about to deliver the most diverse theology lesson he may have ever heard, I tried to chose my words sensitively, "It's a different religion. Jesus was Jewish. When Jesus came, some people started a new religion. That's where Christians came from. They don't follow all the same rules of the Jewish people."
For good measure I added,"We have the New Testament."
He looked relieved. "Ok. Because I was surprised to read that. We don't do that here."
He was just worried that they weren't following the Bible as closely as they could be. I shook my head in wonderment. Across the tent, the hymn continued.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
* I do not have a favorite part of Leviticus.
"Michelle," my patient called out, "can you help me please?"
I stopped what I was doing and approached his bed, thinking he needed his pain medication.
"Please, can you help me understand this?" He was speaking in English and pointing to a passage in a Bible that was also in English. This particular young man had been enrolled in school for many years and proudly spoke both "higher" and "lower" English fairly well. I know this because he once explained to me that "maybe" was lower English but "perhaps," was higher. I was impressed.
"I am reading this and I need to understand," he said. "Ok, shoot," I responded.
“Speak to the people of Israel, saying, ‘If a woman conceives and bears a male child, then she shall be unclean seven days. As at the time of her menstruation, she shall be unclean," he read.
Oh boy I thought.
"What is conceives?" he asked, "does it mean have a baby?"
"Yes, it means have a baby."
"And... menstruation? How is that?"
Words failed me. "It means..." I stalled for a minute, "well it means..."
"Is it like when a lady has her bleeding?"
"Yes. Exactly." I began to get suspicious of his need for my tutorial, but his question wasn't about feminine body functions.
"Ok... then it says a woman will be unclean for seven days if she has a baby and it is a boy. And she is unclean for seven days if she has her bleeding."
"Mmmhmmm."
"Ok. 'If she bears a female child she shall be be unclean for two weeks.'" He looked at me. This isn't my favorite part of Leviticus* so I just nodded, waiting.
"If a lady has her bleeding or a boy baby she is unclean for one week and a girl baby she is unclean for two weeks, so what is unclean?"
"Oh wow. Ok... well the Jewish people had a lot of rules for things," I stopped, wondering how far in over my head I was about to get. "And there were rules about when you could and couldn't enter a temple. Having a baby is one, touching a dead body is another."
He stared at me, not blankly, but waiting for more explanation.
Guessing his question I said, "Temple for the Jewish people is like going to church for Christians."
"So if a lady has a baby she can't go to church? If she is unmarried?"
I had no idea where the last part came from. "No, I said, "whether or not she is married. She has to stay away for a certain amount of time. Then there are things you have to do to get clean again. Rituals."
"But we don't do that here," he said, his brow furrowing. "We don't say that."
Realizing I was about to deliver the most diverse theology lesson he may have ever heard, I tried to chose my words sensitively, "It's a different religion. Jesus was Jewish. When Jesus came, some people started a new religion. That's where Christians came from. They don't follow all the same rules of the Jewish people."
For good measure I added,"We have the New Testament."
He looked relieved. "Ok. Because I was surprised to read that. We don't do that here."
He was just worried that they weren't following the Bible as closely as they could be. I shook my head in wonderment. Across the tent, the hymn continued.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
* I do not have a favorite part of Leviticus.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Day Two: Hitting the Ground Running
Actually we hit the ground last evening, and have been running since.
Right now, to paint a picture, I'm on a porch. It's pouring but the computers are sheltered by a roof. The rest of the volunteers are milling about drinking beer and relaxing, or sleeping beneath mosquito nets behind the thin wall to my left. I'm in my scrubs and interrupting my own writing to chat with two 4th year med students who are sitting with me. They are discussing creating an art therapy group for the children, who are all having nightmares. These are my new friends, comrades. I'm so proud.
I'm not sure how I want to frame all of the information I have for you. A narrative would be overwhelming at this point, and we're only two days in. So much has happened, I feel as though I've been here for a week already, and yet I'm sure as the actual week goes on I will start to think I only got here.
I have fallen in love with Haiti and with the people here. It's a beautiful country and the people have a spirit which is incredible. It blows me away and puts any faith or hope I may have to shame.
I want to talk more in depth about it. Because sometimes it's easy to take for granted. In fact - I have to. If we spent all our time marveling at everyone nothing would get done. But once in a while a look from a patient, or seeing an exchange between two people will hit me- HARD. And it makes me stop everything.
BHCHP can be proud of us so far. Although last night we worked together we got split up today and we're each handling a tent of 36 patients. The teamwork here is amazing. Sometimes there aren't enough people to go around and that's hard, but everyone is here to help. There were two other RNs with me for the first part of the day. One had been in charge of our tent all week and she left this afternoon; she gave me a quick orientation last night. The other RN, April is an ER nurse from Oklahoma and and she's awesome. We gave out all the meds, did vitals, flagged patients for surgical wound rounds and once that was done , set to work immediately rewriting every chart (which are in complete disarray), creating our own plan for medication distribution, and updating the care plan papers that hang taped above the beds because they were mostly outdated.
I want to go be social, and I still need to wash the DEET off my skin. But first, another picture:
Today in my tent I was creating a system for how to communicate with our MD, who was in and out because he was also rounding with ortho across the road in the OR. To paint the picture for you even more, the tents are hot, hot hot. It's hot outside, but worse in the tents. It's over 100 degrees easily, and muggy. Inside there are a lot of flies looking for wounds we forgot to cover. It smells like people in the tent. There are not only 36 patients, there are family members sleeping on the ground, or sharing cots.
I had done all my patient care and was trying to sort out all the orders I needed clarified. (There were a lot of them). Then twenty men in suits walked into our cramped, thick aired tent. They were smiling and shaking hands. I ignored them after a minute because they didn't seem harmful, and there are people in and out the tents all day volunteering to help their neighbors and family.
Just then one of the patient's family members sidled up to me and said "you know, I'm not his family."
He pointed at the patient, "he lost everyone in the earthquake. But I stay here. I wash him, I bring him food. I take care of him. I met him here. I also have no family.
"I do it because the Lord loves me, so I love him."
The men in suits lined up in the center of the tent, and began singing. They were an acapella Gospel group. And they were amazing. They sang for a long, long time. My patient's "family member," translated for me:
"If you have problems... don't worry. For the Lord is with you.
"Don't cry... don't cry. He understands you."
All around us patients smiled, bowed their heads or sang along. They have so much faith. They have no doubt. They adopt one another. They live for each other because that's how to stay alive.
I have literally never seen anything like it. I'm floored.
Right now, to paint a picture, I'm on a porch. It's pouring but the computers are sheltered by a roof. The rest of the volunteers are milling about drinking beer and relaxing, or sleeping beneath mosquito nets behind the thin wall to my left. I'm in my scrubs and interrupting my own writing to chat with two 4th year med students who are sitting with me. They are discussing creating an art therapy group for the children, who are all having nightmares. These are my new friends, comrades. I'm so proud.
I'm not sure how I want to frame all of the information I have for you. A narrative would be overwhelming at this point, and we're only two days in. So much has happened, I feel as though I've been here for a week already, and yet I'm sure as the actual week goes on I will start to think I only got here.
I have fallen in love with Haiti and with the people here. It's a beautiful country and the people have a spirit which is incredible. It blows me away and puts any faith or hope I may have to shame.
I want to talk more in depth about it. Because sometimes it's easy to take for granted. In fact - I have to. If we spent all our time marveling at everyone nothing would get done. But once in a while a look from a patient, or seeing an exchange between two people will hit me- HARD. And it makes me stop everything.
BHCHP can be proud of us so far. Although last night we worked together we got split up today and we're each handling a tent of 36 patients. The teamwork here is amazing. Sometimes there aren't enough people to go around and that's hard, but everyone is here to help. There were two other RNs with me for the first part of the day. One had been in charge of our tent all week and she left this afternoon; she gave me a quick orientation last night. The other RN, April is an ER nurse from Oklahoma and and she's awesome. We gave out all the meds, did vitals, flagged patients for surgical wound rounds and once that was done , set to work immediately rewriting every chart (which are in complete disarray), creating our own plan for medication distribution, and updating the care plan papers that hang taped above the beds because they were mostly outdated.
I want to go be social, and I still need to wash the DEET off my skin. But first, another picture:
Today in my tent I was creating a system for how to communicate with our MD, who was in and out because he was also rounding with ortho across the road in the OR. To paint the picture for you even more, the tents are hot, hot hot. It's hot outside, but worse in the tents. It's over 100 degrees easily, and muggy. Inside there are a lot of flies looking for wounds we forgot to cover. It smells like people in the tent. There are not only 36 patients, there are family members sleeping on the ground, or sharing cots.
I had done all my patient care and was trying to sort out all the orders I needed clarified. (There were a lot of them). Then twenty men in suits walked into our cramped, thick aired tent. They were smiling and shaking hands. I ignored them after a minute because they didn't seem harmful, and there are people in and out the tents all day volunteering to help their neighbors and family.
Just then one of the patient's family members sidled up to me and said "you know, I'm not his family."
He pointed at the patient, "he lost everyone in the earthquake. But I stay here. I wash him, I bring him food. I take care of him. I met him here. I also have no family.
"I do it because the Lord loves me, so I love him."
The men in suits lined up in the center of the tent, and began singing. They were an acapella Gospel group. And they were amazing. They sang for a long, long time. My patient's "family member," translated for me:
"If you have problems... don't worry. For the Lord is with you.
"Don't cry... don't cry. He understands you."
All around us patients smiled, bowed their heads or sang along. They have so much faith. They have no doubt. They adopt one another. They live for each other because that's how to stay alive.
I have literally never seen anything like it. I'm floored.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
The Things I'm Carrying
I am leaving Friday morning for my trip and I find myself in full speed ahead mode, which explains the lack of sitting still and blogging, I hope. Almost everything is done, leaving me with some time in the next few days to relax, dine with family and friends, and second guess everything I put in my duffel bag.
I have been busy tying up loose ends (paying bills that will be due while I'm gone, finishing the script proposal I was working on all month, etc), so that I have nothing to worry about once I'm on my way.*
I've also been involved in more direct preparations like buying supplies, and transferring money to a Caribbean plane company since they don't take credit cards.
Since BHCHP first started sending people over to help staff at Hospital Sacre Coeur enough time has passed that nurses have now returned. They pass on stories that are emotional, unbelievable, inspiring, and energizing.
They've also been passing on really useful advice about things we'll need, and things to expect.
Packing has been a big deal. I like to travel lightly, plus one leg of the trip is in a cargo plane where weight counts! Still, I don't want to find myself unprepared for working the 16-20 hour shifts every day while staying healthy.
Here's a breakdown of what I'm bringing:
-Clothes. The hospital, like many hospitals here, supplies scrubs and there are staff who do laundry for everyone. So most people going down to this particular hospital have to only bring pajamas, underwear and socks. However, because I am so small I'm concerned that they won't have scrubs to fit me. Half the nurses I asked said "it won't be a problem," and half said "you should bring your own scrubs." So to avoid any form of work-disruptive uniform failure, I unfortunately have had to take up some valuable bag space with scrub pants and tee shirts.
- Medical Equipment. I'm bringing my own scissors, tape, and stethoscope and a fanny pack for carrying patient meds in the tents, as recommended. Each team member is also helping to bring donated supplies from BHCHP** such as gauze, sanitizer, bandages and gloves by taking as much as I can fit in our checked luggage.
- Nourishment. The food situation is apparently good. Staff gets three meals a day, but although the food was raved about by the nurses, they also said it wasn't enough (quantity wise) to sustain them for those long shifts. My eating habits are defined by "grazing," and I'm a person who becomes disoriented, cranky and labile when I don't get to munch. So into the bag went a ton of energy bars from my local Eastern Mountain Sports.
In the same theme, there is apparently plenty of good, clean, bottled water where I am heading. However, it's easy in temperatures that are consistently over 100 F, to overdo it on "free" water. One of the MDs there a few weeks ago actually became severely hyponatremic ( his Na+ was 113!). He had a seizure and experienced some rhabdomyolysis to boot. To prevent this, I invested in some nuun tablets.
- Physical Needs. Normal toiletries plus a super absorbent towel, a personal first aid kit, all the medications listed in my Travel Clinic post, SPF 40 sunblock, and DEET.
-Emotional Needs. My prayer book. My journal. My ipod. And, of course, my awesome team.
On the subject of "my awesome team," I am so excited about the people I am traveling with. To be fair, I thought about it and realized there is no one from work who I would not be excited to go with. Still, Colleen W. is in my group and she and I are close friends besides being good at working together.
This past week, at an old friend's birthday party I got to talk briefly with an acquaintance who spends a majority of his time in Haiti. In fact, he was already there serving as a member of the medical community with Partners In Health when the earthquake hit. I told him that I felt like what I'm doing is small beans in comparison.
But his response was reassuring, as he reminded me that they need nurses, and that's why we're going.
Our work is only a small part of a much larger picture. But I am grateful for a chance to work on something so big.
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* Go ahead, you can say it. I'm the model of functionality. I know.
** The fact that a non profit is donating medical supplies to this cause takes my breath away
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Behold, now is a very acceptable time
Lent started on Wednesday.
I had prepared this really great post on the history of ashes to mark the start of the Lenten season.
And an argument on whether or not the use of ashes to mark people's foreheads was contrary to the traditional Gospel reading read in Catholic churches all over the world on the first day of Lent.
The post started like this:
But. Here's the thing. If you want to know those things you can certainly look them up. You found this blog. You know what "Google" is. The point here is that I have a really great sounding argument for people who say "hey aren't those ashes on your head hypocritical??" but I no longer feel the need to post the argument preemptively in my blog, as though I am approaching Lent defensively.
Because that is exactly what I was doing, you know. Approaching Lent defensively.
So, no more of that. From here on in I will be entering Lent honestly and thoughtfully.
I will even explore the reasons I was feeling defensive about Lent.
I am absolutely open to questions, and if I get very interesting ones I may even blog about them, but I'm not going to field imaginary attacks to justify my own growing unease with this solemn Church season.
I promise.
I had prepared this really great post on the history of ashes to mark the start of the Lenten season.
And an argument on whether or not the use of ashes to mark people's foreheads was contrary to the traditional Gospel reading read in Catholic churches all over the world on the first day of Lent.
The post started like this:
Today at church we read the standard Gospel selection from Matthew 6: 1-6, 16-21 in which Jesus warns His followers to give alms secretly, and not to call attention to oneself while praying or fasting.
It's a message that made a lot of sense to me, growing up and now. Performing good works and praising God are things that should be done for their own good. Our relationship with God is personal, private, and certainly not a show we're performing for those around us.
Yet then as a child I noticed, after this Gospel reading, we would all get to our feet and have the cross marked on our foreheads in ash. A clear sign for the rest of the day that we are fasting, and that we had gone to church.
So isn't that exactly what Jesus warns us against?
Today I argue, no. Not at all.
Then I went to to explain the use of ashes by the Catholic Church throughout her history, and how that's changed. And then I explained the contextual significance of Jesus' words. And then I brought the whole thing together with what the modern Church believes the emphasis in Lent should be about.
Then I went to to explain the use of ashes by the Catholic Church throughout her history, and how that's changed. And then I explained the contextual significance of Jesus' words. And then I brought the whole thing together with what the modern Church believes the emphasis in Lent should be about.
But. Here's the thing. If you want to know those things you can certainly look them up. You found this blog. You know what "Google" is. The point here is that I have a really great sounding argument for people who say "hey aren't those ashes on your head hypocritical??" but I no longer feel the need to post the argument preemptively in my blog, as though I am approaching Lent defensively.
Because that is exactly what I was doing, you know. Approaching Lent defensively.
So, no more of that. From here on in I will be entering Lent honestly and thoughtfully.
I will even explore the reasons I was feeling defensive about Lent.
I am absolutely open to questions, and if I get very interesting ones I may even blog about them, but I'm not going to field imaginary attacks to justify my own growing unease with this solemn Church season.
I promise.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Hope and Hope and Hope
All I want is healthcare and equal rights for everyone.
So I can't begrudge others the same mind set. I expressed this thought aloud at work.
"I can," piped up another nurse bitterly, eliciting scattered laughter. Everyone here seems to think healthcare reform died last night. It's a very somber day here. But I'm not giving up.
All I want is healthcare and equal rights for everyone.
I'm not giving up hope for those things, no matter what. I will continue to be a voice for those who don't have one. Brown, as he pointed out last night, is "everyone's" senator. Although that's already becoming a joke in my own household --
"Maybe you could rent a truck from home depot to go get the mattress."
"Maybe I'll just call Scott Brown."
he represents all of us, whether you picked him or not. Maybe this just means we're going to have to stop assuming our representatives know what we want and start telling them.
Brown could end up being a swing vote, after all. This may be an outcome far more in line with the way our government was intended to work.
I am being perhaps a bit naive, imagining that the GOP might not use Brown to block attempts at healthcare reform. Or more to the point that he might break from his party and they won't be able to. But I have hope, hope the size of mountains, that says maybe this won't be the end of progress on the reform front.
Government is imperfect. For someone like me politics are specifically tricky. As a "liberal" Catholic, or "religious" Democrat there are few things that actually please me. My faith isn't in government, it's in God. If I sound like I'm excusing myself from the entire democratic process, I don't mean to. I read, I vote and I yearn for progress. But I do so knowing that it's a never ending process. There will not be a day when everything falls into place and we can just stop hungering for a more perfect world. Not here anyway, and not because of anything we come up with ourselves.
All I want is healthcare and equal rights for everyone. I see no reason to declare those desires more impossible today than they were two days ago. Maybe less possible,
(because, yes, I understand what a filibuster-proof majority could have accomplished), but still not impossible. It may be splitting hairs, but what else am I going to use this tiny axe for?*
Because I could talk about this at great length but would rather move on to talking about Haiti, homelessness, my friend Pim, and videos of my favorite songs, I would like to offer my last thought on the subject for today.
We can only address the problems in our world one step at a time. The Massachusetts special senate elections results may appear to be a set back to some people, and a victory to others right now. But the future will hold many more opportunities for all of us to continue to stand up for what we believe in, one day at a time. Because that's what makes this country worth living in.
---------------------------------------------------
* get it? Because I'm so tiny, my axe must be tiny too. Oh, forget it.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Having A Dream
When I went to college my first major was Social Thought and Political Economy. My hunger and thirst for justice were fueled by one of the best teachers I had in high school, Judi Freeman. But my first sense of why I should care about the rights or lives of others came from my faith based upbringing.
I believe that we are all called by God to serve one another. Serving others is a common theme in several major world religions, leading me to believe that no matter which one you practice, we're probably all on the right track when it comes to that particular point.
Christians are taught that we're all different parts of one Body. We're each called to a unique and different vocation, and we are meant to utilize our own gifts as well as we can so the body is complete. It follows, although this is not part of the verse I am thinking of, that different parts of the body should protect and care for one another. I use my hands to wash my face, my nose stops me from eating rotten foods in my fridge (or purse), and if my immune system starts to attack me instead of intruders, there's a serious problem.
It's an analogy that works well for most non Theists too, I think. The reason I should care about your lot in life is because ultimately your lot and mine are inextricably connected.
I left the Social Justice and Political Economy program because during my dad's illness (and after his death) it became increasingly necessary for me to do something immediate and tangible to save people. "I needed to get my hands dirty," was often how I'd answer the unavoidable questions from professors about my change of heart. When I made that (admittedly rash) decision to change my course of study I had no idea how hard the next four years would be. I also didn't know how much being a nurse would change and shape the way I view the world every single day. I don't regret that decision one bit.
Still, when I made that decision I also left behind a wonderful network of people who really do believe that they can make a difference and leave the world a better place than when they got here. I miss that zeal. I miss rising to meet the challenge of making change happen. I miss the implicit expectation within that community of rising above selfishness and apathy. Every day.
I am humbled by the perseverance of those who dedicate their lives to human rights.I am floored by the hope that they carry like a lamp for the rest of us.
Today we celebrate the life of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.. Let's also celebrate the lives of all those who have given themselves in the constant struggle for justice and equality. While we're at it, let's celebrate each other for the fullness of life we bring to one another and to the world when we act out of love instead of hate. Let's celebrate how far we've come, and let's vow to go even further. Let's celebrate God. And Love. And let's vow to use our own unique gifts to fill the world with beauty, peace and compassion.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
where is your hope, sister?
Once, I stopped my busy work day just to watch a man change his own stump dressing.
It took a long time.
But I did it because it restored all of my hope.
It took a long time.
But I did it because it restored all of my hope.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Hidden
This is a rare post because it is very personal, and largely un promotional of "Misch" as a savvy RN with a sharp comic wit. Proceed with compassion and caution.
I mentioned recently that my Lenten journey was less than successful this year. After admitting it out loud I upped the stakes a little bit, and tried to find the peace and love that has centered my life in the past.
As I drew Jesus closer in my prayer life, I became happier, healthier and more fun to be around. I stopped feeling burned out at work and began reaching out to old friends. Clearly, my faith had needed some serious healing.
Unfortunately, inspired by this change in myself, during Holy Week I dove head first into a bunch of theology which I found I simply do not have the support systems to be dealing with.
Easter, which is the celebration of the Resurrection of Jesus and the Redemption of humanity through His rising, is supposed to be a day of great joy and hope.
And, it was. But with it came what felt like centuries worth of anxiety and bad feelings.
I was visiting family all day long, and tried to focus on how good it was to be with loved ones. I tried to generate the happiness that spirituality usually brings to me. But anxiety kept building up inside me. Instead of feeling awake and joyful in the Risen Lord, I went to bed at 7:30pm just to escape my thoughts.
As of right now I am in the process of seeking help from several friends in various doctrines.
I have prided myself since leaving college at not having a home parish. I have bragged about how I sometimes go an entire month without mass in the same place two weeks in a row. I go every week, but count several different locations as "my church," depending on the zip code. It's because I refuse to forfeit weekly mass to my hectic schedule as a performer and nurse. It's a system that has for the past two years allowed me to never feel cut off from the Sabbath day even in the craziest of weekends.
But now I find that this system, although convenient, has robbed me of the very thing church was made for. Community.
I have questions. Big questions. Questions that are keeping me awake all night long.
And no one to field them.
It will never be a question for me whether God exists or not. Nor will I question the Divinity of Jesus. Right now, more than almost ever in my life I am questioning the idea of church, religion, and the Bible.
It has happened before. It's not new news. I've struggled a long time with some of the same issues.
People closest to me will remember some of the biggest times of spiritual wrestling in my life. When I was in high school I almost didn't become confirmed*. In college, sophomore year most people will remember how I wanted to become a nun. I even went to a retreat at a convent for women my age thinking of the same commitment. I think fewer people will remember that the very same year I almost left the Catholic Church because I thought women should be ordained. (A good friend of mine who is now a priest talked me down from that one.) After I found peace in my decisions to neither leave the Church nor become a nun my life was calm for a while. Another struggle came junior year.
I don't see myself as particularly strong because of these battles. I can never be sure if I've won over doubt or just silenced a snooze button. In the end I'm mostly just relieved to have the joy of believing without fear or anxiety back in my life.
I am sharing this with you for two reasons. One is so that you can relate.
In the past I have been scared of sharing what I consider spiritual weakness with others. I felt they'd then doubt my leadership in the Church, or doubt my ability to help them with their own spiritual needs. But now I know that it is only through our weaknesses that God can make us strong. I believe very strongly in God. But I know something in my life is being called to change, and I don't know what it is. And if knowing that I'm going through this helps you, then it is good to share it.
The other reason is to try to branch out my community more. If you pray, please keep my troubled heart in your prayers. If you don't pray and you'd like to sit and logic some things out with me, I'd be up for that too. I believe we are called to Faith which means sometimes walking blindly. But it never means walking unthinkingly. It has been a combination of my mind and my heart which has brought me here through God's grace. And that is how I will move forward again.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
* My parents told me that it was my choice to make and they'd love and accept me either way which was very wise. It has prepared me for a lifetime of making informed decisions for myself.
I mentioned recently that my Lenten journey was less than successful this year. After admitting it out loud I upped the stakes a little bit, and tried to find the peace and love that has centered my life in the past.
As I drew Jesus closer in my prayer life, I became happier, healthier and more fun to be around. I stopped feeling burned out at work and began reaching out to old friends. Clearly, my faith had needed some serious healing.
Unfortunately, inspired by this change in myself, during Holy Week I dove head first into a bunch of theology which I found I simply do not have the support systems to be dealing with.
Easter, which is the celebration of the Resurrection of Jesus and the Redemption of humanity through His rising, is supposed to be a day of great joy and hope.
And, it was. But with it came what felt like centuries worth of anxiety and bad feelings.
I was visiting family all day long, and tried to focus on how good it was to be with loved ones. I tried to generate the happiness that spirituality usually brings to me. But anxiety kept building up inside me. Instead of feeling awake and joyful in the Risen Lord, I went to bed at 7:30pm just to escape my thoughts.
As of right now I am in the process of seeking help from several friends in various doctrines.
I have prided myself since leaving college at not having a home parish. I have bragged about how I sometimes go an entire month without mass in the same place two weeks in a row. I go every week, but count several different locations as "my church," depending on the zip code. It's because I refuse to forfeit weekly mass to my hectic schedule as a performer and nurse. It's a system that has for the past two years allowed me to never feel cut off from the Sabbath day even in the craziest of weekends.
But now I find that this system, although convenient, has robbed me of the very thing church was made for. Community.
I have questions. Big questions. Questions that are keeping me awake all night long.
And no one to field them.
It will never be a question for me whether God exists or not. Nor will I question the Divinity of Jesus. Right now, more than almost ever in my life I am questioning the idea of church, religion, and the Bible.
It has happened before. It's not new news. I've struggled a long time with some of the same issues.
People closest to me will remember some of the biggest times of spiritual wrestling in my life. When I was in high school I almost didn't become confirmed*. In college, sophomore year most people will remember how I wanted to become a nun. I even went to a retreat at a convent for women my age thinking of the same commitment. I think fewer people will remember that the very same year I almost left the Catholic Church because I thought women should be ordained. (A good friend of mine who is now a priest talked me down from that one.) After I found peace in my decisions to neither leave the Church nor become a nun my life was calm for a while. Another struggle came junior year.
I don't see myself as particularly strong because of these battles. I can never be sure if I've won over doubt or just silenced a snooze button. In the end I'm mostly just relieved to have the joy of believing without fear or anxiety back in my life.
I am sharing this with you for two reasons. One is so that you can relate.
In the past I have been scared of sharing what I consider spiritual weakness with others. I felt they'd then doubt my leadership in the Church, or doubt my ability to help them with their own spiritual needs. But now I know that it is only through our weaknesses that God can make us strong. I believe very strongly in God. But I know something in my life is being called to change, and I don't know what it is. And if knowing that I'm going through this helps you, then it is good to share it.
The other reason is to try to branch out my community more. If you pray, please keep my troubled heart in your prayers. If you don't pray and you'd like to sit and logic some things out with me, I'd be up for that too. I believe we are called to Faith which means sometimes walking blindly. But it never means walking unthinkingly. It has been a combination of my mind and my heart which has brought me here through God's grace. And that is how I will move forward again.
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* My parents told me that it was my choice to make and they'd love and accept me either way which was very wise. It has prepared me for a lifetime of making informed decisions for myself.
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