As I was coming to the end of my second year as a chaplain I was presented with one of my biggest challenges. A toddler had suddenly and unexpectedly died on the children’s ward. I was called by a very distressed member of staff who said they didn’t know what to do, the family were wailing and crying and praying to God to raise their daughter from the dead. I said I’d be there immediately but inside I felt all wobbly. How on earth was I going to make sense of any of this.
When I arrived the staff told me the child had come in with chicken pox and in fact was better so they were making arrangements for her discharge later that day. What had happened was that suddenly the child started bleeding from everywhere and stopped breathing. Resuscitation was immediately attempted but this proved futile and the little girl died.
When I went into the room, much of the equipment was still strewn about amongst bloodstained clothes and blankets. The mum was sobbing uncontrollably and the dad was running out of the room then running back in and saying “In the name of Jesus I command you open your eyes” There was another woman wearing a white bloodstained shirt who was on the phone and alternating between crying and saying prayers. I latter found out she was the toddlers aunt. A senior nurse and the divisional manager were in the room and they were tidying up and getting ready to wash the child. Another nurse was trying to console the family. The non-verbal communication between us as staff spoke volumes about the awfulness of the situation and how helpless we all felt.
I stood in front of the mum and placed my arms on her shoulders and said how sorry I was for her pain. She threw herself on the floor and nearly knocked me over such was the force of her grief. The dad came in and I offered my condolences to him. He was angry and would have none of it. He said we must have faith and pray that God would raise the child from the dead. He also told me this was a test of their faith. I felt awful because I just don’t agree with that kind of theology and I don’t believe in that kind of God. God doesn’t test people’s faith by killing their children. If that was the case I couldn’t be a person of faith. Even though I didn’t agree with their theology I had to let this family express their grief the way they wanted to. They were waiting for their pastor to arrive.
While we were all waiting the nursing staff cleared the room and washed most of the blood away. The parents didn’t want the child formally washed as they were still hoping for a miracle. During this time I held the mums hand, I read them some Psalms, but not any that would enforce their religious view. I prayed, although I found this really difficult and I began to talk to them about the ultimate healing can sometimes be death. I also talked to them about a God who watched helplessly as his own son died but because Jesus died in that way and rose again that is why we can believe in everlasting life. I didn’t know whether any of it was going in.
Eventually their pastor arrived and I gave them some space and myself and the nursing staff left the room. From the nursing station we could hear the shouts and raised voices as they tried to pray their child alive. It was having an awful effect on the ward staff, patients and visitors alike. I gave them about 20 minutes. During this time I encouraged the staff to talk to me about the events that had lead up to this awful situation. That is always the first stage of any debrief. Everyone was traumatised by events.
After 20 minutes I went in and stood quietly at the back of the room. The pastor in a big booming voice would say a prayer and then roughly shake the little toddler. Dad would also do the same. It was heartbreaking to watch. I knew I couldn’t let this go on indefinitely on the ward due to the needs of everybody else, but how was I going to shift them.
I stepped forward and said that I had some oil and would they like me to anoint the child. They wanted this. I said some general prayers about us not knowing or understanding God’s ways and praying for God’s transforming love to come into this situation. I got them each to anoint her too. They seemed slightly calmer and I said that we were going to need to move the toddler to a quieter place where they could continue to be with her and pray and get any other relatives to come but that we needed to move away from the ward area because of disturbing any of the sick children. I said that the mortuary had a room that was private and any noise they made would not disturb any one. They accepted what I had to say. I quickly went and phoned the mortuary staff and warned them about what was going to happen.
When I got back into the room Dad had picked up the child and wanted to carry her to the mortuary. I wrapped a blanket around her whilst nodding to the nursing staff to let them know this was ok. We went down the back steps and across to the mortuary the whole time I was praying that nobody would stop us to talk because it would have been obvious that Dad was carrying a dead child.
I was so relieved to get then into our visitors room at the mortuary without incident. The mortuary staff and I took turns at being with the family for the next 5 hours until they were all prayed and cried out. It was really important to enable them to express their grief how they wanted to without necessarily reinforcing their beliefs. Because I patiently waited for them to be ready I was eventually able to do a goodbye ritual. Afterwards I reassured them of on-going support and watched them dejectedly walk away. The mortuary worker and I then sat down with each other to try and make sense of all that we had witnessed. This of course was an impossible task.
I then went back to the children's ward to look after the doctors and nurses who were very upset and wondering if they did everything they could. The consultant also needed a few moments with me so great was the impact of this little girls death.
Along with several of the nursing staff I went to the toddlers funeral. The family were grateful for what we had done but most of the hospital staff felt they hadn’t done anything and some were still wondering if they had missed anything that could have prevented the death.
I supported staff through debriefs and regular visits to the ward but it wasn’t till the results of the post mortem came out that staff really stopped giving themselves a hard time.
I have taken to popping into the chapel on my way home and handing all those I carry with me in my heart and mind and the work of the day over to God. I literally leave them on the altar. It was one of those days where only God could make sense of it.
No comments:
Post a Comment