In my line of work, I often have CRAZY things happen to me or around me. People are always saying, "You've GOT TO write that down!" So, here it goes...a new segment that I haven't officially named, but for now will call, "Chappy Tales".
Most of you know I'm a hospice chaplain. What's that? I'm a minister. Stop laughing right now! Anyway, as I was saying, I'm a hospice chaplain which is basically a minister for patients who are at or nearing the end of their earthly journey. I also minister to their loved ones. I offer support...prayer...encouragement. Oh yeah, and I check vital signs. What?? That's right, a new part of my job description as of today is to check vital signs.
Today, I entered the room of one of my patients. She is a woman quite advanced in her years. She was in her bed. My friend, the social worker, and I crept in the room to check on her. As we neared the bedside, we saw that she was asleep. Or was she? Suddenly, I realized her chest was not rising and falling. She was still as a stone...almost like she was, well...dead. I called her name. Nothing. I tapped her shoulder. Still nothing. I bent over and listened to her heart and couldn't hear anything. I said to my friend, "I think we have a problem here...she's dead."
At this point, I was still bent over the woman near her face. Wouldn't you know that right at that moment, when my face was two inches from hers, her eyes popped open and she let out a blood-curdling scream! I almost made a puddle at the bedside. To say that I jumped would be an understatement! Then I bolted. Yes, I know...very pastoral. Don't worry, I came back and apologized for scaring her. I think she's the one that needed to be passing out the apologies though.
Chappy Tale #2: Last week was a DOOZY of a week. I came home about every day and collapsed. I was just so incredibly worn out. And when you hear about the following escapade, you'll know why.
This is NOT the funny part of the story. I've been working for awhile with a young-ish man who has been in the end stages of cancer. We have been able to develop a great relationship, and I've also gotten to know the family quite well. Unfortunately, this man passed away after a LONG, courageous battle with this dreaded disease. His family was all gathered there at the home. I was present, along with our social worker and some nurses. Here's where it gets funny...
SIDE NOTE: Please keep in mind that in my line of work, you HAVE TO be able to laugh. Otherwise, you might cry all the time.
So, there we all were gathered in the living room. We had been waiting for a LONG TIME for the funeral home to arrive to pick up the patient. There were probably around 20 family members present in a very small living area at the front of the house.
Finally, I saw a van pull in the driveway. I went out to meet the funeral directors, but as I neared the van all I saw were two young girls. Now, believe me, I'm no sexist when it comes to gals choosing lines of work that might not be "traditional" for women. But what you need to know is that both of these young women weighed about 100 pounds SOAKING WET! And while this patient had become frail, he was still at least 180 pounds of MAN! And their job was to TRANSPORT HIM! So I'm looking in the van, waiting for two big men in suits to jump out like they usually do...but they weren't there. That's right...these GIRLS were the ones sent to procure this 180 pound MAN who was, well, dead weight...literally.
Well, we'd been waiting for them for what seemed like FOREVER. Given the circumstances, it was time for this man to be TAKEN AWAY. It had been at least FOUR HOURS after all. I escorted the ladies back into the bedroom. So there we were, the two skinny chicks, my social worker pal and me...and...well, the deceased.
Wouldn't you know that the stretcher used for transport wouldn't fit in the bedroom. So, their plan was to keep it out in the hallway and CARRY THE BODY over to it. Well, it wasn't a LONG way. But, it definitely wasn't a SHORT distance either...considering the two twigs were going to be carrying the body. My social worker pal looked at these chicks and said in her wonderful southern accent, "Y'all sure you gonna be able to lift him?" Twig #1, who was apparently quite the valley girl, said, "Oh yeah, we do this allllllll the time!" Social worker pal and I exchanged glances and said, "Well okay."
The two twigs positioned themselves over the body, put their arms underneath, braced themselves to lift, attempted to lift...NOTHING. This guy was going nowhere so long as these two were going to be the ones carrying him. So, they repositioned themselves. Hoisted. Grunted. Huffed. Puffed. Still nothing.
Meanwhile, we have a full living room of people...FAMILY... waiting for us to pull the stretcher into the living room and out the front door. Of course, they had earlier said that they would like for me to escort the body out, but first stop in front of them to pray and share Scripture. So, just keep this in mind.
Back at the ranch, (ie the Bedroom), the Twigs were still grunting and tugging away. They finally stood up and acknowledged what social worker pal and I already knew, "Yeah, so we can't lift him." "Really? You think?" Twig #1 turned to me and said, "So, do you think you could like go out there and like get one of the male family members to come and like help us?" "What?????" I thought she had surely lost her mind. I told her, "Absolutely not. Those people are distraught and the last thing they need is to be carrying their own dead loved-one to a stretcher!" Both Twigs looked at us with eyes that said, "So which one of you broads are gonna help us?" My social worker pal immediately piped up and said, "Not me. NO WAY. I've got back problems..." Well, I probably should have been saying the same thing given that just a couple of months back I was totally incapacitated with Sciatica. But all I could think was how we HAD TO GET HIS MAN OUT OF THERE! So I told the Twigs to move over and let me in the middle since I weighed more then both of them put together.
We all three bent over. We all three grabbed on...I was in charge of the "mid-section", since it's the heaviest. One Twig had the head and the other had the feet. We bent. We hoisted. We lifted. And finally we started to move. Well wouldn't you know that about two steps out, Twig #2 starts to "lose her grip", as she put it. I screamed out, "You better not!" She grabbed on tighter and THANK THE LORD, we were able to keep trudging.
Please keep in mind that the family was just about 20 feet away (this was a very small house). They were hearing this whole commotion despite our efforts to whisper. It's hard to WHISPER GRUNT and WHISPER GASP and WHISPER CHOKE TO DEATH.
After about 10 steps, we FINALLY reached the stretcher. To say that our placement of the body was graceful would be, well, a stretch. But he was on, and still mostly covered by his sheet (a whole other part of the story that was disturbing). So we all collected ourselves. If you know me, you know how badly I was sweating. We're talking full tilt, water on the brow, hair wet in the back, drops running down into my cleavage. IT WAS QUITE A SIGHT TO BEHOLD.
The twigs pushed the stretcher out into the living room, trying to look as though they had just done the deed all by themselves. Although, I guess my appearance probably let the family know otherwise. I managed to spit out a prayer and read Psalm 23 without too much gasping.
It was...crazy.
Several days later when I attended the visitation at the funeral home, the man's mother came to me and said, "Holly, you really helped CARRY US through this awful time!" I thought to myself, "More than you know, lady!...More than you know!"
