The same weekend when I was having the
discussion with the 93 year old of my last blog I was also bleeped to deal with the tragic and
unexpected death of a 6 year old. The child had come in the day before which
was Boxing Day, the day after Christmas Day for international readers. The child had come in just generally unwell but was usually fit and healthy.
The medics had observed the her overnight as she had come up late to the ward
and had then decided to do a lumbar puncture before lunch. Within half an hour
of this procedure the child arrested (her heart stopped) and unfortunately the resuscitation
attempt was unsuccessful.
The ward manager bleeped me. She was relieved to get me
and explained what had happened. I said I’d be there as quickly as I could.
As it was nearly lunchtime I went back to the office to
grab my oil and prayer book and I also quickly ate some fruit as I now know
from experience that these things take time. When I arrived on the ward I was
met by a frazzled deputy ward manager who told me they were behind in getting
pain relief to the other children because of what had happened and so many
nurses being tied up with it. She showed me to the room. I went in and the ward
manager looked at me with eyes that were struggling to hold back the tears and
immediately left me to it. Up till this point I had still not heard the story
of what had been going on with the child so was going into the situation
blindly.
Mum was sitting in a chair one side of the bed, dad was pacing the
other side. Their older daughter, who looked around 13 was stroking her sisters
hair. They were all crying. Dad was saying he didn’t want to live. He was also
pleading with God to take him instead and give his daughter back. Mum just
looked at me with these huge disbelieving eyes and said “How can I leave her
here. I promised I’d take her home to her Christmas presents and now you tell
me that I can never take her home. You tell me how I am supposed to do that?” I
took a deep breath in the face of such raw emotion and went and stood beside
mum and placed my hand on her should and just said how so so sorry I was for
her pain and I could not imagine how awful she must be feeling. She then
grabbed onto me firmly and poured her heart out. Dad was still pleading with
God and telling me he didn’t want to live. He also kept wailing. With my one
free hand I reached out to their daughter who then snuggled under my arm and
wept. I asked her if she had a friend or someone that she could ring who could
be there for her. Her mum then said that was a good idea and encouraged her to
ring her best friend. I was concerned for her and could not physically or
emotionally effectively look after all 3 of them.
After about an hour of really intense emotion the dad
reached out for my prayer book and placed it on the child. I asked the family
if they wanted me to say some prayers. They said they did. I’m not sure what I
prayed, as adrenaline takes over because your mind is screaming what on earth
can you say in such an awful situation. Words just seem completely inadequate.
I did anoint the little girl and got the family to participate in this ritual
as I think action often communicates where words fail us. When this was
finished the family seemed slightly more settled and were able to tell me what
had happened.
Eventually other family members began to arrive. Also the friend
for the older daughter arrived with her mum, which I thought was really good of
them. Each time a new family member appeared the raw grief would come spurting
out at force like a volcano erupting.
Another hour went by. The mum was still hanging on to
me most of the time. She then told me she needed to phone her parents in Europe as they were meant to be travelling out to them
the next day. I arranged for mum to use the phone in the ward office. She asked me
to come with her. Even though I didn’t understand the words being used in the
phone conversation because of the language barrier I could still clearly hear
the pain and grief as it tumbled out.
We went back into the room. By now the child’s body was
fairly cool and stiff. Blood was also trickling out of her nose. None of this
seemed to be outwardly causing the family anymore distress than they were
already feeling. All they would do is gently wipe her nose. I explained that
this was all a natural part of the death process. They then started to ask me
if they could take the child home. I then had the delicate job of explaining
that this beautiful little girl would need to have a post mortem because of the
unexpected way in which she had died. I explained that they would also want
answers and this was the only way to get them. The uncle was distressed at this
and asked to talk to me outside. He said he didn’t want this to happen as he
had heard about doctors keeping children’s organs. I explained that the law had
changed and that this couldn’t happen and I promised the family that anything
that was looked at during the post-mortem process would be returned to the
child’s body before she was buried or cremated. I then had to explain the
legalities of the coroner’s office and that the child was now under their care
until they felt it was ok to release her to an undertaker for the parents to
make the arrangements.
It’s an awful lot for a family to take in and there is a
booklet that explains all this for families to refer back to which I would give
to them when they were ready to leave.
Another hour had gone by and I started to talk to the
family about how they were going to say goodbye for now. Dad said he wanted
some pictures so another family member started to take pictures of dad and mum
and sisters.
I’ve noticed the taking of pictures is beginning to creep
into these situations more often. This is mainly due to mobile technology and
the fact that people often have a camera with them on their phone. I must admit
it’s a new phenomenon that leaves me slightly uncomfortable but that’s my hang
up.
After the pictures were taken I asked the extended family
if they also wanted to anoint the child like the immediate family had done
earlier then leave the family for a more private goodbye.
This seemed to work to enable people to leave the room
until only myself and the parents and older daughter were left. I reassured
them that they could come back to the mortuary anytime to be with their
daughter and to arrange this through the ward as it was the weekend. They told
me they’d be back the next day and asked if they could see me again. I
reassured them I was around all over the weekend.
Every time I thought they had left the room for good one
of them would go back in again. All I could do was be there with them until
they felt able to leave their daughter for the last time in an ordinary ward. From
now on they’d only see their precious little girl in the mortuary or an
undertakers chapel.
I walked them to the end of the ward when they were
finally ready to go. I can’t imagine how awful and gut wrenching that must
feel. As I turned to walk back down the ward I sighed heavily and stretched out
my tired stiff shoulders that had absorbed so much over the last few hours. I
now needed to spend a bit of time with the staff who were still looking
traumatised.
When I got home eventually that night it was like I had
used up all my words. I found it quite difficult to talk to my family. It felt
like I just needed a bit of space and solitude and nothing too demanding.
Refreshed by that space I went in the next morning. At some
point I was contacted by the nurse in charge of the children’s ward who told me
that the family would be arriving in half and hour and was I free to be with
her and them in the mortuary. She then told me she was about to bleep the
porters to get the child’s body out and ready. I told her not to bleep the
porters and I would do it. I know the porters find dealing with children
difficult. I also wanted to make sure the little girl looked as good as she
possibly could for her family. I took her out of the fridge and placed her in
the viewing room. I removed the gauze from her nose and gently washed her face.
I brushed her hair and placed teddies around her.
Just as I was finishing off the family arrived. They
greeted me like a long lost relative. Again there were lots of photo’s taken.
The aunt asked to have a word with me outside and then asked if I could spend
time with the mum because she was saying she wouldn’t have got through the previous
day without me. She also asked if I could help with the funeral. I had to tell
her that I only had one more day at work and then I was leaving. I felt awful
as I usually like to travel with a family for as long as they need me. I knew I
needed to draw a line but it felt horrible.
When the family left their little girl this time it felt
different. They were already calmer. The only strange thing that happened was
dad asked me if there was any way of preserving the body so that they could
keep coming to see her. He said he’d seen something on the tele about people
being frozen forever. I explained as best I could about cyrogenics and why that
wasn’t an option. He accepted this and took more pictures. He obviously wanted
to preserve his daughter for as long as he could and was worried that he’d
forget her or forget what she looked like. I guess I can understand this, even
though I believe that death only separates us from the body but for me
importantly the heart and mind of the living keep the memories.
The last 2 weeks that I worked as a hospital chaplain were
pretty full on but reinforced to me how diverse hospital chaplaincy is. I was
also reminded that even though the day might have been full of awful things and
horrendous trauma’s, it is still possible to go home satisfied that you’ve done
a good job. It may seem weird to say that you get job satisfaction in the face
of such adversity but I know that these last two weeks and over near enough
four years, I have in a small way made a difference to some people. I’m
grateful that I’ve been blessed with a temperament that makes it possible for
me to go where angels fear to tread. I know without a shadow of a doubt that
all those patients, relatives and staff that have shared their stories with me
over the last few years will continue to inform my future ministry and add to
the rich tapestry that is my life. Thank you to each and everyone of you. This blog is dedicated to all those memories.
