Elegy for Ellen

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My friend Ellen De Bondt was killed yesterday by a drunk driver. It was a Sunday morning and who in the hell thinks about drunk drivers on a Sunday morning?
http://www.peninsuladailynews.com/article/20110307/news/303079998/suspected-drunken-driver-kills-port-angeles-nurse-in-two-truck-crash

My former boss called me this afternoon to let me know. I was stunned. I hadn't seen Ellen in awhile, but when I was a staff chaplain at the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance I used to bike to work and Ellen and I would chat in the locker room every morning.

It's a bonding experience when two sweaty women discuss their ride (or sometimes in Ellen's case her run) into work while shouting over the shower and hair dryer. My hair dryer that is. Ellen always let her amazing hair air dry.

She had a wide grin, wild hair and bright blue eyes. It astounded me that for someone who loved the outdoors, she managed to be happy while being indoors most of the day. Ellen was a nurse in the pain clinic and like being a chaplain in a cancer center, you get a different perspective on life. I can't remember her complaining about anything. She was always cheerful, sweet and enthusiastic.

Ellen referred a lot of patients to me--people who were learning to live with their chronic pain or hoping for relief from their crippling pain. When I saw the photo of Ellen's destroyed car, all I could think was, "I hope you did not die in pain. I hope you died instantly and flew out of your body in a rush of joy and freedom."

I've been walking around the house all day weeping. I was touched by the call from my boss that he would think to let me know. I realize too that hearing his voice and remembering Ellen brought up some grief I still have about leaving my staff position.

Ellen and I used to talk about living with pain and how if you can't relieve it physically, it is sometimes relieved psychically. I found this to be true for myself. When I was working in the clinic I had a bad mountain bike crash and broke six ribs, each one in two places. It was unbearable most of the time, that is, until I went in to see a patient. Then I never noticed it. Seriously.

It seemed that in reaching to out to others in pain, my own disappeared.

So perhaps this afternoon my dog Max and I will go visit one of our hospice patients. A little pain relief.

I can still grieve for Ellen and miss my job but rejoice that I knew this wonderful loving Bright Spirit. I hope she is running, biking, kayaking, hiking, swimming in some lovely precious world that is free of drunk drivers.

The Feel Bad Talk

A few week ago I received this message from my friend Jon who is an oncology nurse.

"Can you write a wonderful meditation please on the spiritual needs of those of us who give care and support to those who have a cancer diagnosis?

Cancer patient care-givers (family) and patients get a lot of air time (and rightly so) regarding what they deal with, and I have been in a caretaker role with my dad as he was dying with metastatic prostate cancer so I get that. I don't think that the mental, spiritual, and probably physical impact of what we do as nurses (and yes, physicians and other providers as well) is well understood. Many speakers address this issue but, from my perspective, it is presented in a "nurse appreciation day" format that lacks depth and appears to be somewhat cliché. It seems to be a "feel good" talk that lasts until the next day when it is back to business as usual.

Speaking for myself (which is all I am able to do) I agonize over patient outcomes. Every patient that dies reflects another life I have been touched by, which I feel as a loss. No matter how compartmentalized I try to make my interactions with the people I am privileged to share lives with, I can't escape the impact of their death. When I don't feel that loss, I will no longer be able to do my job. This is a catch 22 situation which is not understood."

Well, Jon, I understand your frustration with the "feel good" talks. So I hope you're holding onto your lab coat because I'm going to give you the "feel bad" talk.

I know you and I know the good work you do. You say the compartmentalizing is not working out, so why not just let everyone you meet really touch you? Let every crappy diagnosis you encounter make you even more fiercely determined to live life to the fullest. Continue to feel the loss which means you will feel bad and sad and basically shitty. Whatever made you think you could do this job and never feel that way?

But here's the question I ask you and always ask myself, "Would I rather have not met this person so as to avoid the grief of losing them?" When it comes to love, everyone loses at some point because EVERYONE DIES. This is the state of our existence. But would you rather never love? Of course not.

Let yourself cry until you think your eyeballs will fall out. I've done this very recently and though it now takes my face longer to recover, my heart feels calmer and lighter almost immediately.

You can see you are getting no sympathy from me because my experience is that sympathy is no help at all. I find when I want sympathy it is because my slobbering dog of an ego really wants strokes for how noble and courageous and compassionate and "special" I am for doing this work. So I pat the doggie on the head and say, "Yes, you are noble, etc. and how great that you get to do this work. Now get on with it."

I think when we are doing our best work, we are simply channels for the Spirit. I love that feeling of Spirit working in and through me. It's so freeing because then I don't have to be in control!

But the downside of that is that I don't have control! Talk about Catch-22. We certainly have no control over Death. For me, doing things that I can control helps mitigate all that loss and powerlessness I often feel. So that means I bake bread, I make mosaics, I write, I garden, I walk outside. In all these things I control the variables (except perhaps weather and slugs).

And I spend time goofing around with friends which is why I posted the pic of me drinking a Margarita. So I ask you, Jon, what night next week do you want to have a drink?