Pandemic Parables: Discoveries

Pandemic Parables: Discoveries

This weekend has been a time of discoveries, reminiscing, and mini miracles. 

Yesterday a school friend of my brother's contacted me. I think I was about fourteen the last time I saw this chap who was year or two older than me. He came to stay with us in our home in Spain for a few weeks one Easter.  It was not far from his native Portugal, where he still lives with his wife and family. 

All three of us were on holiday from the boarding schools we attended in England. My brother, Damian, and Antonio went to a monastery, I went to a convent. 

The Easter Antonio stayed we struck up a sweet friendship. I haven’t heard from him since, until yesterday when he Facebook friended me. He’d been doing FaceTime with Damian, asked about me, and Damian gave him my details. 

 

This virus is giving many of us an excess of time to reminisce and check into things we’d never have the time or inclination to do otherwise. 

 

We chatted and exchanged news. It took me back to far off innocent days, in a house on a hill overlooking the Mediterranean. My morning alarm was the bells around the goats’ necks that followed their shepherd on a daily trek to high pasture. It was an formative time, and it was good to put myself back into that young self, remember my dreams and ambitions, and measure my life now through that filter. 

I believe this virus time will be a reset time for many of us. We are learning to do without much that we thought was essential. As one wit said - “I never expected to give up so much for Lent!” 

I’m seeing pictures of friends who are cleaning out closets and cupboards. I think we are doing that emotionally as well as  physically.  We might never again want to pick up some of that old baggage and the new normal will be lighter and freer. Many of us are learning new skills. I am being forced to embrace a level of technology way beyond my comfort zone. And I’m glad to be pushed past my fears. 

Then today I discovered, rediscovered, that being  artistically untidy can be a good thing. Years ago, when I lived in a ground floor flat in London, I left a window open and burglars grasped the opportunity and ransacked the place. However I worked for a church and didn’t have much to take. Except I had a lot of beautiful jewelry that had been my mothers and grandmother’s. I kept it right at the back of my underwear drawer. The burglars, that I suspect were kids, opened all the drawers and pulled out some of the contents. However they never found my gold and gem stash. Why not?  Because the drawer was in such disarray to begin with they never spotted them.

Good things came from that invasion. The insurance money supplemented my tiny salary and enabled me to continue working at the church for another year. And I have refused to be ashamed of my creatively messy bent ever since. 

All that to say that my car has not been thoroughly cleaned since my last long storytelling road trip. I keep all sorts of stuff in there as you never know what you will need as you pass through different terrains and stay with a variety of people along the way. Well guess what I found when digging for something else under the back seat? Let me give you a clue. Right now it can seem more precious than gold or gems. 

It was the impossible to find, completely sold out in my local store, extra large container of antiseptic wipes. Glory!  

I needed the wipes badly. They were nowhere to be found. And they were supplied just when I needed them. Thank you Lord!

To me this pandemic feels like we are close to Biblical times. I’m reminded of Elisha and the widow. She, hesitantly, used the last of her oil to cook him bread and in return received an abundance of oil. The oil in the temple burned for eight days keeping the light going, when it should only have lasted a fraction of that time - the miracle celebrated every Hannukah. The child’s five fish and two loaves were multiplied and fed a huge crowd.  (I’ve always wondered if they were sardines unless that kid had a huge appetite.) All that to say that I’m believing our needs will be met one way or the other during this store-stripped time. 

During this dark season relationships are being restored. People are helping every way they can. Young people are shopping for the old and infirm. Quilting groups are making face masks. Communities are coming together while keeping a safe distance. We are in a time of sorrow in which, I believe we will see miracles both domestic and dramatic. 

In the meantime I’ve heard that a nearby nursing home has 66 residents who have all been found to have the virus. Eleven have been hospitalized. Some of those have come to us. So the hospital I’m working at as a Resident Chaplain now has virus patients on its isolation wings. I’ll find out more in the morning when I return to work. 

So once again the house smells of cinnamon. Two loaves of pumpkin bread are cooling in the kitchen. If the only thing I can do is bake a sweet treat and pray over it, I’ll do it gladly. And I’ll believe that somehow God will take it and turn it, and the masks, and the everyday kindnesses, into something that will nurture, sustain, and bring peace. 

And I’m believing for all of us that great good will come out of this season of darkness. That we will remember who we were meant to be, and embrace that truth, and Truth itself, with all our weary, frightened hearts.

Pandemic Parables: Swimming Underwater

I have decided to do a series of vignettes of life (in a small hospital) in the time of Corona. (Forgive me Sr. García  Marquéz!) 

Stories are swirling all around me and I want to share those that are mine to share. This is the third episode. This post is purposeful. The first two just happened. 

It is so odd that I would be working in a hospital at all - that plan never crossed my radar until recently. I was far too busy telling stories and teaching others to do the same. (My year’s stint as a Resident Chaplain is over at the end of August.) 

I am in awe that what was going to be a challenging but fairly uneventful season has turned into a front row seat into a powerful, almost biblical world wide event. I want to capture these times with word snapshots so that I’ll be reminded in the virus-controlled, and hopefully virus-extinguished future, that these things really happened. 

Pandemic Parables: Swimming Underwater

Swimming underwater- that is how I felt yesterday throughout the day as I did my rounds at the hospital. There was a heaviness in the air, tangible tension. Others felt the same. A Nurse Manager told me that they had less than half the number of patients on their floor but everyone was exhausted. I walked (staggered) out of the hospital at the end of my shift next to a social worker that I had never met before. I mentioned swimming underwater. “Yes! Yes!” She said her eyes brightening, clearly delighted that someone understood. “That’s exactly how it is. Everything has changed so quickly that it’s like having to retrain for your job all over again. It’s exhausting!”

Yesterday was a day of further changes in a season where new best practices have been updated daily or more. In line with other hospitals in the area a new visitor policy was put in place. Basically patients can’t have visitors. There are exceptions. If you are giving birth you can have one person in the room, and one parent can be with a child in NICU and Pediatrics. One person can accompany someone coming in for an emergency. Two are allowed in for end of life or recent death. 

One family tried to circumvent the rules in a very understandable way. A much-loved family member was dying and so they went up to their room in shifts of twos. Until they were stopped. It is two visitors within a twenty four hour period. This is a hospital with heart, it is hard, but necessary,  for them to put in place these stringent procedures. 

The policy was activated at midday. Not long afterwards I saw an elderly man with slumped shoulders heading out of the hospital. I had met him and his wife earlier. They had been married for fifty seven years. She was a patient and he had spent many hours in the chair by her bed.  It was clearly hard for him to leave her behind. The visitors understood though. We live in perilous times. 

Later, walking through my assigned floor I saw that most of the hand gels that are  attached outside every room were empty. So hands have to be washed in a sink before and after entering. Then, as further proof of the way people are adapting, I saw an assistant walking along with an armful of bright fabric masks made by our dedicated volunteer auxiliary. 

A nurse who had selected one that coordinated with her uniform told me: “There is a shortage of masks. We are going to wear these as alternatives to keep the others functioning longer.” The nurses, indeed all the medical staff in this hospital are incredible. Exhausted and incredible. 

Today though, Friday, the atmosphere seemed to be different, lighter somehow. The staff’s resilience is kicking in. On full view is everyone’s well-honed ability to rise to the occasion and adapt to changing circumstances. One thing that bolstered moral was learning that local communities and businesses have been gathering up supplies and bringing them into the hospital in multiple box loads. Masks and hand sanitizer are among the windfall. God bless every one of who donated!

At lunchtime I went for a walk on the beautiful, deserted, Hood College Campus, which is right behind the hospital. On my way there, in a window in full view of everyone who exits the staff parking deck, was a sign thanking all the staff at FMH. (Frederick Memorial Hospital recently changed its name to Frederick Health Hospital.) I found it very moving - a warm, grateful hug from the community - another boost to sagging spirits. 

Although numerous people have been tested there is no one with the virus in the hospital. They are well prepared, though, for a sudden influx that I am praying never comes. 

There is one story that symbolizes for me this week of ever shifting reality. An elderly man, not originally from this country, only had a few days left to live. A relative  was by his side. Although the patient could hardly speak, his eyes were alert. The relative told me that this man had lived, really lived during his time on earth. There could be few people with less regrets. As I looked at the patient, I saw laughter in those eyes - a twinkle. For a moment I could see the dashing adventurer he had been. His relative said his life had been unusual. And so was his death. He was dying, virus free, in the middle of a pandemic. As his relative said, it was a fitting way to go. The patient nodded in agreement. At the end of the dramatic opera of his life it was the perfect coda. 

Why does that story stay in my mind? Perhaps because I am believing that as we adapt to necessary constraints, things will happen in our lives that couldn’t have been brought about any other way. Good things. Prayed for things. After this season of cocooning will come transformation. A glorious coda. Lord - let it be so!

Pandemic Parable: Love-Infused Pumpkin Bread

There is a wonderful smell of cinnamon permeating my house. It smells like Christmas. That is because I’m baking two loaves of my famous pumpkin bread, that I only usually make around the holidays, to take into the hospital tomorrow. 

Let me explain. 

As most of you know I am working as a Resident Chaplain at my local hospital until the end of August (when I return to being a full time Storyteller.) The hospital is on high alert, ready and prepared for an influx of virus patients. There is a thick miasma of tension in the air mingled with fear. 

Women in the birthing center want to push their baby out and leave the premises as soon as possible. The big hospital in the next county has banned most visitors and people are wondering if it will happen with us. One woman didn’t want to leave her elderly mother’s room and get fresh clothes in her car  in case she wasn’t allowed back in again. Whereas another was incredibly relieved she could see her mother, because she wasn’t allowed to visit her in the nursing home where she usually resides. However she said she was praying furiously that their joyful reunion wouldn’t be cut short. 

New, necessary restrictions are put in place everyday and everyone is wondering what will be next.

I arrived in this morning, after a weekend away, to discover that one of the sections I am assigned to on the third floor has become an isolation wing. It has been effectively sealed off with minimum admittance permitted. I’m not allowed to enter. If a patient wants a chaplain I have to visit with them via a specially set up iPad or over the phone. 

The nursing staff working there have volunteered to be on this wing. They will alternate with others on the Third Floor who are waiting to relieve them. (God bless them all!)

Although there are no active cases of Covid-19 in the hospital yet, quite a few people on that wing are awaiting test results. I could feel tension and fear seeping through those closed doors that seemed to cut of the people behind it from the rest of the world. 

So there I was this morning, looking at a “Do Not Pass - Isolation” sign barring my way into a section that I usually happily trot through daily, when I had an idea.  An idea that wouldn’t go away. 

I should make some pumpkin bread for the medical staff behind those doors. 

Then I should ask the Lord to fill it with all the peace, love, and joy that flows in abundance at Christmas, when I usually make the treat. I should, (and do) firmly believe the Good Book when it says that His perfect love casts out fear. And trust that when the medical staff eat it, somehow His love goes deep into their insides and girds up their loins for whatever lies ahead. 

It might be fanciful to some of you, but I’m believing it will work. 

Lord somehow, may two loaves of pumpkin bread bring Your  comfort and love to one section of the hospital that sorely needs your miraculous love, strength, and grace. Amen!

Pandemic Parables: For Such a Time as This

I am not sheltering at home. No. I am collecting stories. Incredible stories. Seriously. 

Until the end of August I am working as a Resident Chaplain at my local hospital (Frederick Health Hospital in Frederick, Maryland.) It is a program where you work, and also take classes. By the time I finish I will have five CPEs (Clinical Pastoral Education Credits - professional chaplaincy courses.) 

And unbelievable stories. 

In my wildest dreams I could never have imagined that I would be working full time in a hospital in the middle of a pandemic! 

The hospital is on high alert. Except for the main and Emergency Department entrance, all the outside doors are locked. Before anyone can get out of their cars they are being questioned about their health. They are then funneled past security at both the front entrance and the Emergency Department. Anyone who has  Covid-19 symptoms, or doesn’t have a valid reason to enter is turned away (testing for the virus is done in a drive through site across the road.) 

All elective surgeries have been cancelled. There is almost supernatural quiet in the corridors as only one visitor is allowed to visit a patient at a time, and most secretaries and office personnel are working from home. 

Volunteers can no longer enter. 

The numbers of patients have been dramatically reduced. 

Extra beds are being readied. 

It is as though the tide has gone out before the tsunami arrives. As the CEO said, they are preparing for the worst and hoping for the best. 

At times the tension is palpable. 

There is a serious shortage of hand sanitizer. Supplies of protective masks are dwindling. They are being rationed. The spare industrial sized rolls of toilet paper are under lock and key. But there is no shortage of dedication and selflessness among the doctors, nurses, cleaners, medical staff, security personnel, kitchen workers, and chaplains left behind. And the directors and department heads are doing a superb job of implementing changes and spreading calm. 

The chaplain’s  office rocks with fervent prayer, moving stories of patients’ lives, as well as laughter. Laughter is essential in hard times.  

God bless my fellow chaplains!

Most of all I am deeply thankful to be where I am for such a time as this. 

Thank you Lord!

St Patrick’s Day Amidst the Pandemic

It’s St Patrick’s Day. I have enough Irish in me to get an Irish passport - and I’m dismayed that so many celebrations throughout the world will be squelched because of the pandemic. What? No pubs open in Ireland itself on St. Paddy’s day? No parades in Irish strongholds in the US? Oh woe is us!

Which got me to thinking. Ireland and the Irish have had an abundance of incredibly hard times. Starvation, subjugation, and slavery (the latter on American soil) are among the perils they’ve endured. They have emerged with veins of gold running through their national character (the true gold at the end of a rainbow that emerged after terrible storms.) Among these veins are deep faith, soul-stirring words, music, dance, and irrepressible humor. After all, dangers aren’t so frightening if you can still find things to laugh about in the midst of them. 

So for St. Patrick’s day my prayer is that a rainbow will appear in each of our lives after this mighty virus storm is over. And that from these dark times gold will emerge, “treasures hidden in darkness” - as Isaiah says. That we will discover community, creativity, laughter, and love in new ways. And that we will be the stronger and better for it. 

Happy St. Patrick’s Day  to all my far flung Irish friends and family - and to all others who are wise enough to wish they had roots in the Emerald Isle. Much love to you, and may God bless and protect you all.

 wish they had roots in the Emerald Isle. Much love to you, and may God bless and protect you all.