Competing demands for Rebel Rev

As well as my work at the hospital I enjoyed ministering to the people of the parish where I had been a curate since 2003. I was serving my title there as the Church of England puts it quaintly, in other words learning the ropes.

The Church Warden had recently been ill. She lived alone in a flat. I went to visit her and realised she was more ill than had been understood. I started to liaise for her with her hospital appointments, which were all at the hospital where I worked. I used to meet her and accompany her to her outpatient clinics. Eventually she was admitted to the hospital. Her family all lived abroad so I was put down as Sheila’s next of kin. I contacted her family in Canada and America and kept then informed about what was going on. Her younger sister, who she got on with best, came over and Sheila was able to be at home and she picked up and didn’t seem so bad. Within weeks of her sister returning to Canada she had deteriorated to such an extent that she ended up back in hospital again. I visited her as much as I could and could see she was really struggling. This woman who had been a really active member of the church and used to go to the local school to help the children with their reading was now unable to walk or get in and out of bed without assistance. In fact she used to stay in the chair because she was frightened of not getting out of bed in enough time to go to the loo. She was being really stubborn about this and I could not budge her out of the chair into a more comfortable position in the bed.

It seemed that she was getting worse and she didn’t know why. She told me she had been referred to the palliative care team and she asked me what this was and why she had been referred. I was shocked because of course I knew what this meant. I needed to buy some time and said I’d talk to the doctors.

When I talked to the team of doctors looking after Sheila they told me she had cancer and that it was terminal. I asked them if they had told her. I wasn’t convinced by their answer that they had, even though they said they had. I explained to them that whatever they had said Sheila was unaware of the seriousness of the situation. I got as many facts as I could from them I went back into Sheila’s room with a heavy heart.

She looked at me with questioning yet fearful eyes. She asked if I’d seen the doctor. I explained that I had and did she want to know what they had said. She told me she did. I took her hand in mine and as gently as I could I told her that she had cancer and that she was terminally ill. She asked me how long and I had to tell her it was likely to be weeks rather than months. I apologised for having to tell her this and she squeezed my hand and said “I’m glad it’s you that is telling me I wouldn’t want to hear this without you anyway.” Sheila looked shocked and sad. I just held her hand. She was a little tearful. I asked her if she was frightened and she astounded me by saying no. This woman was one of the worst worriers I knew, so to hear she wasn’t frightened amazed me. It turned out that she wasn’t frightened because she had her faith and was looking forward to seeing her beloved daughter who had died at the age of 18. Now that she had the facts she seemed to stop fretting. Looking back on it now I think Sheila was afraid of losing her independence and living a life where she was unwell and felt ill. She now knew this was not going to be the case and so she relaxed. It’s strange how people deal with things so differently.

Sheila asked me to phone and tell her sisters. It’s hard to give bad news at anytime but to do it over the phone is horrible. I spoke to her youngest sister who said she would phone the others. From that point on there was a flurry of phone calls between us with me relaying information so that they could make decisions about when would be best to come over.

All through this time I saw Sheila several times a day. She hadn’t written a will, her sisters were anxious about this, as was Sheila. So for the first time in my life I wrote a very simple will out which Sheila signed in the presence of two friends from church, who witnessed it. I found myself wearing many different hats. I spoke to Sheila about what she wanted from her funeral and liaised closely with my colleague from the parish about all that was going on.

When Sheila first became ill she was aware that I was planning a big holiday to Australia. The time was slipping by and the time for my trip was getting closer. By now all Sheila’s family were over and trying to sort out her affairs, as she wasn’t expected to live for much longer. But she was still hanging on. I spoke to my parish colleague about it and we decided I needed to remind her that I was going away. That way if she wanted to give up sooner she could, not that these things are always controllable. About 3 weeks before I went away and with my parish colleague at my side, I told Sheila that I was due to fly off soon. You could see that she almost visibly shuddered but I explained that my colleague would be around and we would both take the best care for her while we could.

Sheila didn’t die before I left. I said some prayers with my colleague at her bedside 2 days before I left. It was like I was handing her over to my colleagues care and we were all aware that was what was going on. I saw her again on my own the day before I left. It was hard to say goodbye. I knew I was never going to see this woman again in this earthly life. We had become quite close during the last few months. I hated not being able to be there at the end and also knew that I probably wouldn’t be at her funeral either. It was definitely a tough goodbye. I went into the Chapel before I left work and handed her over into God’s tender care.

Whilst I was away I set up a special email address just for my colleague. Sheila died about a week after I left. I was pleased that this woman who had worried all her life, died peacefully and unafraid.  I expressed my feelings to my colleague and passed on my condolences to the family and to Sheila’s church family. On the day of Sheila’s funeral I went into a local church and said some prayers and lit a candle. My colleague very kindly quoted something I had said about Sheila as the final tribute in her eulogy. So even though separated by 11.000 miles I still felt connected.

The whole episode was very intense. I learned a lot about the importance of keeping boundaries when two areas of my life converged i.e. the curacy and the chaplaincy. I also learned that it is ok not to be able to see things through to completion. That although this leaves me not feeling as fulfilled, it doesn’t mean the situation is less complete. The other people in Sheila’s life played their important roles and I did my Emmaus bit. In other words I journeyed with her for a while and she finished the journey on her own but also with the company of others.

On another occasion I was called by the mortuary staff. This was unusual. I liaised with the mortuary staff over our regular baby funerals but I didn't often get called out by them.

What had happened was a young man aged 24 had died suddenly and unexpectedly. Many of the young man’s family had gathered at the mortuary and they were very distressed. I sat with them for about an hour as the grief poured out of them. 

Eventually it became clear that they wanted me to do something formal. I asked them if they wanted to come over to the chapel, which they did. I made up a short ceremony for them and got them all to light a candle for the young man. Then I also lit a separate candle for the man’s 2 year old son and said a prayer for him. At this point the chapel was so still and quiet you could’ve heard a pin drop. I played a piece of music and then left them sitting quietly. It was like no-one wanted to move. They stayed perfectly still for about 20 minutes while I just stood at the back praying silently for them all. 

Eventually they left one by one shaking my hand on the way out. I must admit I felt pretty useless. It’s hard standing in the face of such raw emotion. I went home feeling pretty tired and wrung out.

I saw the family a month later when they came to the annual memorial service. They greeted me like a long lost friend and gave me big hugs. They said I had really made a difference to them that day and thanked me profusely. 

It made me realise yet again that we can never know what helps and what doesn’t because it will always be different for each family. It is ok also to feel useless but it is just possible that the family are not perceiving it that way.

Some patients you see on on a fairly regular basis, This one was 83 and had had several strokes which left her totally dependent. Her husband had been her sole carer for a number of years. He is an ex-naval man and quite traditional in his view of the roles of men and women yet he gladly does everything for his wife. I first met him a couple of years ago. At that time he told me he would never cope if anything happened to his wife.

This admission was difficult because he was blaming himself for the fall that had resulted in a broken pelvis for his wife. He had momentarily taken his eye off her as he was transferring her from the car to her wheelchair when someone had said hello. They were on their way into church at the time. I kept trying to say that accidents happen but he wouldn’t have it. He was being really hard on himself. His anger then turned towards the woman who had said hello and at that point she became the enemy and he would call her names in his anger and frustration. At one point it even became my fault because I had found the church for him a year ago and if he hadn’t been taking his wife there then it wouldn’t have happened, although he never said this directly to me. Eventually his wife was discharged to a rehab centre until she was well enough to go home. With this turn of events he seemed to be much calmer.

I was really concerned over what would happen to this man when his wife did eventually die. In my chats with him I didn’t seem to get anywhere with him when I talked about the fact that we all must die some day. He would say to me that he would never forgive God if he takes his wife away. I tried to tell him that I didn’t believe God works like that, it’s just a fact of life that from the moment we are born the only certainty is that one day we will die. He won’t have any of it. I also talked to him about the length of his marriage and what a blessing that must have been over the years, but none of it seemed to make a difference. Yet he continued to seek me out whenever his wife was admitted and loves buying me a hot chocolate while we have a good chat. All I could do was continue to be there and listen until the fateful day came.

That day came one summer. The wife came in during the night. I was bleeped as things looked very bleak. When I arrived I spent some time with the man at his wife’s bedside. Then we went off for a hot chocolate. During this time his daughter arrived. I took the man back to the bedside and we said some prayers and got them both to anoint their loved one. The man was still hoping for a miracle. His daughter persuaded him to go home. They both came back early the next morning and were with this woman that had suffered so much, as she peacefully slipped away.

The man was incredibly upset and yet also quite calm. I was wondering when he would fall apart. He came to see me several times to ask practical questions. My hardest job was persuading him that he couldn’t keep his wife with him at home until the funeral. I tried to do this delicately but two weeks in the heat of the summer would have created a big problem. In the end he settled on two nights.

The priest in the local church took the service and I attended even though it was my day off. This man had trusted me with so much over the years I thought it was right and proper that I should pay my respects. It was a lovely service. The vicar acknowledged the good work between the hospital and the parish in passing the couple on into their care. It’s great when things turn out well. I know this parish can now give the man much more support that I can as a busy full time chaplain. I haven’t seen him yet since the funeral. I will drop him a line and invite him to our annual memorial service. I hope he is ok. I suspect it may not have totally hit him yet.

In fact I need not have worried. this man found a new lease of life. He became a leading light in the church pantomime. Many activities that he hadn't been able to do because of being a full time carer he took to with relish. You can never tell how things will turn out.

One of the things I was keen to develop was a closer working relationship with the palliative care team. I went and spoke to them about my understanding of general spiritual care as opposed to religious ministrations and the cross over with some of what they did in helping people to die well.

Spiritual care can be described as a search for meaning, understanding and belonging. It’s asking questions like “Why me?” or “What will happen to me when I die?” or “What will happen to my family?” We all have a spirituality. Only some of us have a religion. Religion is a hook that some of us hang our spirituality on.

The palliative care team agreed there was a lot of cross over so it was decided to invite me to the weekly multi-disciplinary team meeting. From there I have become very much part of the extended team.

As part of those regular weekly meetings two elderly women were brought to my attention. One was 82 and the other 91. They were both dying and approached death in a very matter of fact way. The 82 year old had just been diagnosed with cancer and decided she didn’t want any further tests or treatment and just wanted to be left with as much dignity as possible for the time that she had.

The 91 year old was very frail physically but was emotionally very robust. She had a no nonsense approach to life and death. She had put her affairs in order and was really looking forward to meeting her maker. As a chaplain I deal with so many people who don’t want to die or don’t want to talk about the possibility of dying. It’s refreshing when I meet people who can be open about it.

The work of the palliative care team is quite extensive. It used to be only people with a diagnosis of cancer. Now they take referrals from anyone who is coming to the end of their lives. That could be things like heart failure or kidney failure as well as terminal cancer. I value being part of the team and having an opportunity on a regular basis to discuss any concerns.

My work with the palliative care team was proving to be fruitful in many different ways. 

One of the patients we had been discussing in the multi-disciplinary meeting was being cared for by the community team. She was a cause for concern. She had extensive disease including bone metastases and was staying with a friend who lived in a bedsit. She was sleeping on the floor. She had no income and wasn’t well enough to prove that she was entitled to benefits as she hadn’t been back in the country long enough to pass the Habitual Residency Test. I am familiar with these regulations because of my previous work as the manager of a Women’s Centre. The community palliative care team were floundering a bit and didn’t know what to do. I was able to give them a few pointers.

I also spoke to my congregation anonymously about this woman and asked for donations of food and toiletries. They were very generous and I was able to give the community team several bags of shopping. The woman was moved to tears when she received these gifts and wrote me a heartfelt thank you, which I read out to the congregation. She was also very grateful for the prayer that she felt was supporting her. She said that when she felt better she hoped to come to the church and say thank you herself.

This woman wanted a miracle and she put up a valiant fight but unfortunately she died after a brief hospital admission. Her body was taken to our hospital mortuary while her family were contacted abroad. Nearly a year later her body is still in the freezer. It has taken time for the family to be granted visa’s. They now have the paperwork but not enough money yet for the funeral.

Most of us have no idea how many bodies are held in freezers while officials try and find out who they are or track down relatives. It’s a sad situation. I know her soul is already at peace. I hope it won’t be long before her body can also be laid to rest.

As summer came there were a few distressing things that happened and all became connected for me. A member of staff who I had begun to get to know was faced with the tragic situation of her husband being killed in an accident while he cycled home. One of her colleagues emailed me to tell me the news. I immediately wrote to her at home to express my sorrow at her situation. I received an email back asking me if I did home visits. Staff are as much part of the work of a chaplaincy department as patients and their relatives and visitors, so of course I would do a home visit in this particular situation. 

I went to see her and her two grown up daughters. They were all numb with shock. They spoke to me about their dad/husband, in the main devoid of emotion, because of the enormity and unexpectedness of what had happened. The member of staff knew I valued spiritual care and not just religion. She asked me if it was possible for me to take her husband’s funeral in a non-religious way. She explained that her husband was a staunch member of the Liberal Democrat Party and was a real thinker but was not religious. I said I would be able to carry out their wishes because a hospital chaplain is there for people of all faiths as well as those of no particular faith.

There was a slight delay in the funeral due to the circumstances of the death. This gave me time to think about how I was going to construct the service without the religious framework. I was gathering ideas but was feeling the tension of wanting to make the occasion a meaningful encounter for everyone and not water everything down so that in the end nothing of substance is being said.

While I was pondering all this, another funeral came in for the day after this one. It was again a death out of season where the woman had lost her battle to cancer at the age of 53. I did the funeral visit and got the families story but decided not to write it up until I had got the man’s funeral done. I didn’t want to get them confused in my head.

I had been working on the man’s funeral for about a week. It was the night before the funeral and I was sitting at my desk working on it and trying to pull it all together, I actually got up and paced a few times. I really wanted to do a good job but this was all new to me. I had never created a service like this before. One of the novel things that I had suggested and was to happen in the service was that the mourners were going to be given an opportunity to place a message on the coffin that had been written on a post it note during the service. I thought this would be good because of the sudden nature of the death. It gave people a chance to say that final message or goodbye. The family were very keen for this to happen but wanted to make sure it was dignified. There was also going to be poems and tributes by former colleagues and Liberal Democrat members. I didn’t know how long these would last. I had given a time frame but people sometimes are not aware of how long it takes to speak the words that have been written. I had to somehow hold all this together and try and create something of meaning.

While I was sat at the computer I had a call from the hospital. A child had suddenly died in A&E. The family went to a local church and wanted their own priest to attend. Unfortunately the hospital couldn’t contact this person so they had asked for the chaplain instead.

When I arrived there was a large family gathering around the young distraught parents. The child was 21 months old. She had been in the department all day and had suddenly died. The family were swinging between anger at the hospital for not saving their daughter and complete disbelief. I stayed in the room with them and as more family arrived the emotional out pouring would start all over again. The family asked me to bless the child. I got everyone to gather around. It was a really hot day and we were in a small room in the children’s A&E department. The air was extremely sticky. I anointed and everyone else also took their turn in anointing. Whilst I gave the child a blessing the family held hands in a circle around her. Then one of the grandmothers asked if we could sing something. I said sure. She started to sing but nobody knew what she was singing and couldn’t join in. She then said what else could be sung that everyone could join in with. There was a silence and then I suggested Amazing Grace. We all started to sing Amazing Grace. It was a beautiful moment. During the second verse people stopped singing. I guess they didn’t know the words or they might have been overcome with emotion. I was left singing on my own. I felt very exposed but thought it best to carry on. At the end of the 2^nd verse I went back to the 1^st verse and they all joined in again.

It was a moving and meaningful goodbye ritual for this little girl. What I needed to do was now create a situation where the parents could have some time alone with their daughter. I suggested this and everyone left the room. They asked me to stay with them and to say some more prayers. I did this. At one point I called the child by the name of another dead child that I had dealt with a few days before. I corrected myself straight away but felt awful and immediately felt my muscles flinch at my mistake.

The parents were on either side of the child’s body. Dad was telling her a goodnight story mum was in a crumpled heap on the floor. I sat on the floor with mum but she was quite distant. Occasionally she would grab my hand. I felt so helpless. In the end because the situation had gone on so long and I wanted to try and gently move them along, I said I would go outside while they said goodbye and goodnight to their daughter. Whilst outside I spent some time comforting the extended family. Eventually the parents came out and the family surrounded them and took them away to begin the enormous task of coming to terms with their daughter’s death.

I then spent some time with staff, who were also shocked and traumatised by what had happened. It was an unexpected and unexplained death. This would mean a hospital investigation as well as a coroner’s post mortem. I chatted with the nurses and then went to the doctor’s room. I encouraged them to go home and have a bath and a hot chocolate or glass of wine. I explained that it could all be looked at again the next day. They took my advice and I gave them a hug as they left.

I eventually got home at 1am and had to finish the funeral I had been working on when I got the call.

I crawled into bed around 3am. I was up again at 7am as I had the usual weekly baby funerals that morning. I did that and came into work and went to see how the staff were doing after last night’s events. I then went to the office and took some time to just be with my thoughts and have some lunch.

When I arrived to take the funeral that I had been so worried about the crematorium staff commented that I looked different not being in uniform. I wore a dark suit with a yellow shirt to honour the man’s political leanings. It was strange because not wearing the robes left me feeling slightly vulnerable. It wasn’t drastic but I was aware of it.

The funeral went really well. The family were relieved that it was over and pleased that it had proved to be such a fitting occasion for such a well respected man. They were insistent that I come back to the house. I said I would call by later but I had to go back to the hospital first.

I went back to the hospital and saw a few patients and then had to write up the funeral service for the woman who had died from cancer. This was more straightforward but I was glad I now had the space in my head to think only of this service.

I called into the man’s family on my way home and had a drink with them and arrived home around 7pm. I was totally exhausted. I knew I was pushing myself too hard and that I needed to have a break. Although I had lots of support around me during my colleagues long-term absence, there was still an awful lot that could only be done by me as the full time chaplain. If I ended up off sick, that wouldn’t do anyone any good.

The next day, after the funeral, I came back to the office to discover an email from a friend telling me that a space had unexpectedly come up on a week’s retreat on Iona. It felt like a sign from God. I went and spoke to the senior manager who was managing me in my colleague’s absence and she agreed that I could have the leave as recognition for the extra responsibilities and work that I had been doing while we were short staffed.

I managed to get cover and had a wonderful 6 days on the beautiful Island of Iona. I came back refreshed both physically and spiritually and ready to continue with the demands of chaplaincy.

A mixed bag but lots of tension for Rebel Rev

My senior colleague was unfortunately going to be off sick for the next few months. I knew this would be tough, as I would have to step into the space she left behind, but not over do it to my own detriment. I was going to have to learn to pace myself better as well as learn the administration of the service which my colleague usually does.

I have developed quite a good working relationship with the staff on ICU. I regularly wander through and chat to staff and say hello to patients and their visitors. That then stands me in good stead should I be called in in-extremis as I’m already a familiar figure.

During my wanderings I had gotten to know a particular patient and his family very well. Due to his obesity he had serious heart problems. He needed an operation and was trying to lose weight so that he could have the surgery. We got on really well and had regular bantering sessions. His daughter was due to get married that summer and there was a real question mark as to whether the patient would live that long. The family asked me if there was any way that the daughter could get married in the hospital at her father’s bedside. I looked into it and found out that it was possible.

The paperwork took a while to sort out and we had many lovely conversations around the bed about all sorts of things. The patient was a real questioner and I encouraged him by telling him there was no such thing as a stupid question. He asked me one day why you had to shut your eyes when you pray? I said you didn’t and explained that you could pray at any time and in any way that you were comfortable with and said that some people close their eyes so not to be distracted. He then asked me for the words of the Lord’s prayer so that he could join in when I prayed for him. He felt he couldn’t before because he was meant to keep his eyes shut. He also asked if he could be confirmed as he now knew that he could pray with his eyes open. I was sure this would be alright and said I’d arrange it with the Bishop.

One day when I arrived he was a bit uncomfortable and told me he had a tummy ache. I explained that I had just been praying for a little baby on NICU who needed to have a poo. The patient asked would I pray for them both in my prayers that day. Every day after that he always asked after the little baby. I wrote out a prayer for the baby and gave it to him so that he could pray it whenever he felt like it. He was really pleased with this.

The paperwork came through and the daughter was given a special licence to marry at her Dad’s side. Plans were made for the weekend amongst much excitement.

The Tuesday morning that week I had a call from a friend’s husband. He told me the devastating news that my fiend had had a massive stroke and was not expected to survive. She was only 39 and they had a 4 year old daughter. I speedily made arrangements for a parish colleague to cover me for emergencies at the hospital as I was the only chaplain in that day due to my colleagues long term sickness absence.

My friend, lived about 2 hours away. When we arrived at the hospital her husband was there on his own. We spent some time together then a doctor came to talk to him. He asked me if I would come with him to hear what the doctor had to say. The doctor gave him the awful prognosis and asked if his wife was on the donor register. She was and he explained she would like everything used that could be. The doctor said the transplant co-ordinator would be in to talk to us next.

The co-ordinator turned up and took us through the process. We went with my friend to the anaesthetic room where they would disconnect her from the ventilator. The plan was that when she stopped breathing they would take her into theatre to remove her organs. Unfortunately my friend started to breathe for herself when they disconnected her. The co-ordinator explained that this sometimes happened and if she died in the next 2 hours her organs could still be used.

While we were waiting for my friend to die my mobile phone started to vibrate madly in my pocket. It kept going off, so in the end I excused myself to answer it. It was my colleague at the hospital to say that the patient whose daughter was to be married has suddenly deteriorated and would not last much longer. He and the family were asking for me. I felt awful. I knew I couldn’t leave my friend but I also wanted to be with this patient and his family. I gave my colleague messages for them all and promised that no matter what time I got away I would come to the hospital on my way home.

I went back into the anaesthetic room and felt really heavy with emotion. My friend didn’t stop breathing, so after 2 hours we went back to ICU with her to wait for her to die. By the evening we were all rung out so I persuaded Mark to go home and have something to eat. We went home and picked up his daughter and half heartedly tucked into some fish and chips. I left him around 10pm.

I kept my word and came into the hospital around midnight. The patient had died and his family had finally left. He was laid out but still in the room. I gently unwrapped his head and anointed him and gave him a blessing. I just wanted to rest my head on him and weep but I knew I couldn’t as some of the staff needed support. They were upset at the way he had suddenly died before his daughter could get married.

I went home feeling completely drained. The next day I spoke to the family and they asked me to come to the funeral home and do a ceremony with them. We arranged that and I took the same oil that I had anointed the patient with and got them all to anoint him too. It was very touching and very moving.

My friend died the next day. I felt useless as I was so far away from the situation and had my work commitments. A humanist funeral was arranged as my friend had no truck with organised religion. In my opinion the funeral was awful. It was bland and had no substance to it. This woman was a loud and bubbly character. When she laughed people stopped in their tracks. This service didn’t seem personal to her at all. Her husband asked me to read the poem that I had read at their wedding 5 years earlier. He also asked all the mourners not to wear black but to wear as much colour as possible. As I looked up and saw all the colour that represented what a colourful person my friend was, I felt very sad at the greyness of the ceremony of her funeral. It made me more determined than ever that any funeral I was involved with would always have substance.

When it came to the patient’s funeral I shared the ceremony with the families vicar and gave the eulogy. The patient had given me messages for his wife and son and daughter to be given out at the funeral. It was a very emotional occasion and there were lots of tears as well as much laughter. It was a fitting tribute to this larger than life character who had given so much love to his family.

Both my friend and this patient were lovely, lovely people, with hearts of gold. They would do anything for their families and left behind some devastated people. What is so sad is this could have been prevented if only they were able to control their weight. I do not understand what drives people to stay obese. I understand that people get hurt by all sorts of things and that obesity is like a blanket that protects them from future hurt. I also understand that, for them, food brings comfort. I sometimes wish I had enough love to go round that would take the hurt away from these people so that they could lead their lives and carry on giving love into their old age.

I felt quite wrung out by all these events so on the spur of the moment went away to Norfolk on my weekend off to get away from everything and re-charge my batteries. I’ve learnt the importance of regular breaks while I’m working in such a demanding job. If I don’t take good care of me how can I encourage patients and their relatives to do the same?

  

Early one crisp and cold February morning I was called at home to say that a patient had died suddenly and the family needed something. When I arrived the wife and one son were standing around in the corridor while the patient was being made presentable by the nursing staff. The wife had a vague C of E background the son was more spiritual than religious. They were also waiting for another son to arrive from Oxford. I was told this son was very religious and part of the anglo-catholic tradition.

While I was chatting to them they were asking lots of questions and wanted to know where would be a good church to have the service. The patient was a popular man so there would be a large congregation. I felt they were very earnest about getting it right and doing the right thing by this patient. I spent several hours talking to them about all the options. During this time the patient was moved to the mortuary.

When the other son arrived I did a ceremony with them in which I tried to encompass all their varying beliefs. This meant it needed to be traditional as well as liberal as well as spiritual. I can’t even remember exactly what I did now but I know the family were pleased as I received a lovely thank you card and a letter saying how helpful they found what I had done.

The tricky part for me in doing these multi-faceted rituals is not to lose sight of what I believe. I need to be always respectful of what other people believe but I also have to maintain my own integrity. So far this hasn’t been a problem.

One day I was bleeped by A&E to say they had a patient dying in resus and the family were religious. As I was talking to the family I realised that they went to a local church. I asked them if they had contacted their vicar. They told me they had so I just stayed with them until their priest arrived. 

We were chatting quite easily to one another. The man who was dying was elderly and loved and they were sharing stories of his life with me. 

The family priest arrived in a flurry of activity. I shook his hand and he said he was in the middle of preparing lunch for 8 people. I was appalled. This was not a very pastoral thing to say as you greet a family at such a difficult time. 

Then I recognised him and realised he was a leading light of Forward in Faith or backward in bigotry as I refer to them in private. It's an organisation that is anti women priests. I then felt I had to say something pastoral and theological to this family in front of him to show how valuable my ministry as a woman was. Why did I feel the need to prove myself though? It was a horrible situation to be in and I almost felt his disdain for me and all female priests ministry. 

I hope that family received something despite the differences of the priests with them that day.

One night I was called out to the Stroke Ward. When I got there I discovered a delightful man who was preparing himself to die. His speech hadn’t been affected so communication was good. He wanted some reassurance about the dying process and what would happen to him. I thought he was talking about heaven so started talking about going into the arms of a loving God. He said he knew that but what would physically happen to him. This was a new one on me and I wasn’t sure. I encouraged him to speak to the nurses. He said many of them didn’t like to talk about death but he thought I’d be ok with it. I told him I was ok with it and I promised him I would get the answers and get back to him on that one. He then talked to me about how he felt to be leaving his wife after their 60 years together. It was all I could do not to weep with him for the sadness he felt at the pain he would cause his family. I reassured him that love always has pain as the flip side because great love involves great risk and that risk is the pain of parting. When you love someone or have been loved by them it always hurts when they are no longer physically there. But we wouldn’t live our lives with out that love. He understood this and knew he had been fortunate to have 60 years of love. I knew he and his wife needed to experience the pain as the working out of that love until they were to meet again.

I went back the next morning with a leaflet I had found from the Macmillan Team about the physical process of death. The patient was quite frail by then and not able to speak as much. I read the leaflet to him and he nodded at times. I slipped out of the room when his wife and daughter arrived to give them space for those last precious few hours. He died peacefully later that day.

Wow what a privilege. I thank that man for sharing his final journey with me. He was so steady and ready to meet his maker. It’s such a shame that so many people are uncomfortable talking about death. We’re all going to go one day. Death needs to be embraced and not feared. If there is no God then it’s just like falling asleep. We don’t know when the defining moment of sleep comes, we just close our eyes and know we’ve been asleep when we wake up. If there is no God then we won’t wake up. If however, there is a God, as I believe, then we will wake up surrounded by love and light and be invited by a loving God to know whether what we have valued in our lives has eternal value. Again this is nothing to fear. I hope that people don’t see me as the “Grim Reaper” but I do hope they know they can always talk to me about death and dying.

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.

One day I had a call from the maternity ward to say a patient wanted to see a chaplain. We do not have many requests from the maternity ward so I was intrigued. I was wondering if I was going to get to bless a living baby for a change.

In fact it turned out to be a very different scenario. The patient’s brother had been murdered. The funeral was going to happen the next day and due to the patient having an emergency caesarean section she was going to miss the service. She felt devastated about her brother’s death, extremely sad at missing the funeral yet she also had the joy of cradling her baby daughter.

The next day, at the time of the funeral, I went and said some prayers with her and a friend who was supporting her. I showed them a picture of a candle I had lit in the chapel with the brother’s name on a card in front of it. They took some comfort from this.

It’s hard to face these awful situations. Sometimes I feel so inadequate and I think who am I to try and make sense of it all? Like the bible says “I am who I am” and in my own limited way I am prepared to keep struggling and to stand alongside those who suffer. I don’t have all the answers but I can enable the questions. Sometimes it's about learning to live with those questions.