a better day

I am still dragging a little, and the idea of investing myself into new relationships with four new patients and families sounded taxing. The new patient I met yesterday had not been able to communicate; but his family was there visiting, and they were delightful.

Today's first visit was with a man who had been dying last week, but is now making a speedy recovery, a fact that he seems cognizant of without any show of emotion. Since he has no family around, I can't tell if his frequent answer, "I don't have it," means he can't hear me or can't recall the information. Too bad, since it included his name. "That might be it," he said, but without any sign of recognition. He did agree to prayer, and said "Amen" at the end. I left puzzled, wondering if there's anything I can do that will feel supportive to him. Sometimes I worry that my questions and their loss for answers may cause distress. I asked him, though, if it bothered him to not remember things, and he said no.

My second new patient was asleep in his recliner and wakened only when I was standing in front of him. He looked neither startled nor welcoming, but indicated that I should sit on the bed, at least that's what I thought. He was very difficult to understand. When I made out that he wanted his hearing aid, I found it for him and then tried sitting in a chair on the other side. That time he was clearer that I should sit on the bed, evidently near his better ear. He told me there wasn't much use getting to know him because he won't live much longer-- he'll be 99 on his next birthday. He was one of eleven children, seven boys, none of whom ever married! He worked as a maintainer in a TB hospital, and he built a greenhouse for them because he enjoyed plants. He also likes animals, and his young kitten kept attacking me playfully.

I might have put off the fourth new patient until Monday, since she lives far out in the country on a farm and it was getting late; but I'd heard she might not survive long. She is a beautiful woman in her early 50's with breast cancer. The noise and activity of her family were bothering her, and she was restless. They had obligingly moved their piles of photographs to label and organize several rooms away. The kitchen counters were covered with cupcakes fresh from the oven, and the smell of bread baking was inviting. The daughters-in-law had been busy.

Her husband took me back to the family room where she was reclining. He said she'd told him weeks ago that she didn't want any people coming in. He'd told her, he said in his quiet voice, that her friends needed to see her and talk to her, and he let them in anyway. They were always glad they'd come and had done what they could, and she was always glad afterwards that she'd seen them.

He wanted the three of us to pray together, and we did. On the way out, he showed me a marvelous scrapbook which people at her work had put together for her. It included all the cards she'd received, and messages reprinted from emails, all beautifully laid out and decorated with some children's pictures and scripture verses interspersed. It was a work of art. He said he couldn't look at it closely or he would cry.

This house, and this family, was filled with and surrounded by love.

It was a good day.

Whenever you connect with people, it's a good day.