| Welcome to The New Coffee Room. We hope you enjoy your visit. You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board and there are some features you can't use. If you join our community, you'll be able to access member-only sections, and use many member-only features such as customizing your profile, sending personal messages, and voting in polls. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free. Join our community! If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| Strange. | |
|---|---|
| Tweet Topic Started: Jan 19 2011, 03:07 PM (325 Views) | |
| Dewey | Jan 19 2011, 03:07 PM Post #1 |
![]()
HOLY CARP!!!
|
The past several days, I'd been visiting a particular patient in the hospital. Miriam was 83 years old and in relatively poor health overall. She came into the hospital with a bone fracture. Doctors ended up telling the family that she was in such poor condition that she'd never survive the surgery - in fact, even as it was, she only had a very short time left - days, at most. The hospital had the hospice folks come in and talk with the family. Miriam was in such a state that they decided not even to move her from her room into the hospice facility, but rather, to just let her end her days in the hospital room. The hospital set up a bed for Miriam's daughter to stay in the room with her. I first visited Miriam on Monday, and met her daughter Betty at the same time. We talked for a while, and I talked with Miriam, although she was completely unresponsive - lying in bed, jaw gaping open, rough, labored breaths. I kept talking with Miriam through the visit. Ironically, just that morning in our CPE didactic, we'd discussed the scenario where you're visiting with an unresponsive patient, and that you always want to continue talking with the patient and not allow them to become like a potted plant in the room, while you talk *about* them with family, instead of talking *with* them - to do this out of respect for the patient's dignity, and due to studies that seem to indicate that the sense of hearing is possibly the last of our senses to shut down as death nears; and to model proper behavior for family members too, who may be tempted to talk about the patient as if they weren't there. Betty wasn't that kind of family member. She spoke from time to time with her mother as w stood by Miriam's bedside. She told me some of Miriam's history, and that she'd been a Sunday School teacher for years and years, and liked to listen to recordings of her favorite hymns. The three of us talked, and prayed. We both told Miriam that if she felt like letting go, that that was all right. The her family loved her very much, and wanted her to be at peace. I was scheduled back at the hospital Tuesday morning, and of course I stopped in to visit with Miriam again. Betty wasn't there, but I stayed there with Miriam, holding her hand and speaking with her. She still lay there, unmoving, eyes closed, the only noise her breathing. I prayed with her, for her, for her family. Afterward, sitting there in quiet of the dim room, I'm not sure why, but I started to hum "Amazing Grace" close to her ear. If she had favorite hymns, surely this would be one of them, I thought. I hummed one verse and stopped. As soon as I stopped, Miriam started making noise - nothing much, just faint moaning. Then she stopped, and just went back to the rough breathing. I decided to hum another verse of the tune into her ear. And as soon as I stopped humming, Miriam started moaning again. Then, like the first time, she stopped. Again, a third verse, and the same response. I had other patients to visit, so I had to leave. I was on a very tight schedule, having to get a certain number of hours of visitation, then charting, then hurrying across town for my 3-hour long seminary class. It's long, and frankly, boring, and I could smell Miriam on me all the time I was in class. When it was over at 4:00, I really just wanted to go home, have some dinner, and get on with some other work I had to do. But i kept thinking about Miriam, and I ended up driving back to the opposite side of town to check in with her. When I got there, Betty was sitting in a chair along the bedside, knitting. I said hello to Miriam, and pulled up another chair. Betty told me about how Miriam had always been a feisty woman, very independent. Her husband was a lifer in the military, and he and Miriam had lived in many different countries. Betty said that Miriam had essentially raised her and her brother by herself, since Dad always seemed to be posted in one faraway place or another. She had lived a long, and interesting, and blessed life, according to Betty. I couldn't stay long; I really did have things I had to do. I left Betty and Miriam at about 5:15. I prayed with Miriam, and stroked her hair. I wondered if she'd make it until today. I'm not normally scheduled to be there on Wednesdays, but my schedule this week allowed me to be, so I decided I'd try to get back sometime this morning. Before I left, I told the chaplain on call the situation. Of course, if Miriam died during the evening, he'd have been called anyway, but I told him that if things weren't too hectic, he might want to stop up & check in with them anyway. I bumped into Betty in the lobby as I was leaving, and told her the name of the chaplain on call and that if she needed anything, to have the nurses give him a call. Then I hurried home. After a quick dinner and doing a bunch of nonstop reading and coursework, I crawled into bed at about 1:00am, and drifted off to sleep. I was startled awake a while later. I heard someone call my name, just as if someone else were in the room with me. I half woke up, but a few seconds later, I hear the same voice - a woman's voice - call my name again. Now, I was fully awake and I wondered what I'd heard. Then, I heard the same voice say "Thank you." And then the voice was gone. And I knew that Miriam had died - and even though the voice was that of a woman much younger than 83, somehow I knew it was her. I looked at my alarm clock. It was 2:03. If this story were fiction, I'd go on to say that when I got to the hospital today, I learned that Miriam died at 2:02am this morning. In reality, she'd passed away just before 6:00pm yesterday evening, shortly after I left her & Betty. I don't know how to explain it, and people can certainly say that Miriam was just on my mind and that I'd dreamt or imagined the voice. I know that explanation is possible. But I also know that isn't what really happened. Strange. Rest in peace, Miriam. And for what it's worth, no thanks are necessary. Thank *you.* |
|
"By nature, i prefer brevity." - John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, p. 685. "Never waste your time trying to explain yourself to people who are committed to misunderstanding you." - Anonymous "Oh sure, every once in a while a turd floated by, but other than that it was just fine." - Joe A., 2011 I'll answer your other comments later, but my primary priority for the rest of the evening is to get drunk." - Klaus, 12/31/14 | |
![]() |
|
| KlavierBauer | Jan 19 2011, 03:17 PM Post #2 |
![]()
HOLY CARP!!!
|
Dewey - that's an amazing story, and it brought a tear to my eye reading through it. My "Oma" passed away this last summer, and Mrs.KB and I were one of the last family to see her. She was at home, and under hospice care, and as in your story, unresponsive. The only sounds were her labored breaths, as she approached the end. We were visiting, and speaking with Oma, and were seeing no indication that she was aware of our presence. Mrs.KB suggested we read the Psalms to her (there's a long tradition of reading Psalms to people on their death bed). We began reading to her, and as soon as we got to her favorite one, she began to smile. Her legs and arms moved a bit, and she moaned a bit. She seemed to be responding to what we were reading. She passed the very next day, and that is our last memory of her. It's not to compare with your story - which is amazing - but your story made me remember that moment, and cherish it for a brief moment this afternoon. Thank you. |
|
"I realize you want him to touch you all over and give you babies, but his handling of the PR side really did screw the pooch." - Ivory Thumper "He said sleepily: "Don't worry mom, my dick is like hot logs in the morning." - Apple | |
![]() |
|
| George K | Jan 19 2011, 03:22 PM Post #3 |
|
Finally
|
Thanks for sharing that, Rev. Dewey. |
|
A guide to GKSR: Click "Now look here, you Baltic gas passer... " - Mik, 6/14/08 Nothing is as effective as homeopathy. I'd rather listen to an hour of Abba than an hour of The Beatles. - Klaus, 4/29/18 | |
![]() |
|
| Mikhailoh | Jan 19 2011, 03:51 PM Post #4 |
|
If you want trouble, find yourself a redhead
|
The are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy. Travel on, Miriam. |
|
Once in his life, every man is entitled to fall madly in love with a gorgeous redhead - Lucille Ball | |
![]() |
|
| Friday | Jan 19 2011, 04:15 PM Post #5 |
|
Senior Carp
|
Thanks for sharing. Your story brought tears and goosebumps. |
![]() |
|
| blondie | Jan 19 2011, 05:19 PM Post #6 |
|
Bull-Carp
|
Did it ever occur to you that God gets backlogged with a queue waiting on benches outside the pearly gates? Miriam simply waited til she checked in, had a bath, dried her hair, before thanking you Dewey. Completely understandable. |
![]() |
|
| brenda | Jan 19 2011, 05:27 PM Post #7 |
![]()
..............
|
Yes, Dewey, I believe these things happen. It's always classy to say thank you, and she must be a classy gal. |
|
“Weeds are flowers, too, once you get to know them.” ~A.A. Milne | |
![]() |
|
| apple | Jan 19 2011, 05:30 PM Post #8 |
|
one of the angels
|
nice Dewey.. thanks for taking the time to share it with us. |
| it behooves me to behold | |
![]() |
|
| Optimistic | Jan 19 2011, 05:59 PM Post #9 |
|
HOLY CARP!!!
|
I passed this along to my mom, who has kind of felt a calling towards ministering to the elderly. Great story, Dewey. I bet that hymn sounded pretty sweet to her.
|
|
PHOTOS I must have a prodigious quantity of mind; it takes me as much as a week, sometimes, to make it up. - Mark Twain We shall not cease from exploration And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time. -T. S. Eliot | |
![]() |
|
| « Previous Topic · The New Coffee Room · Next Topic » |










10:58 AM Jul 11