Pandemic Parables: Both Sides

Pandemic Parables: Both Sides
Sunday July 5th 2020

As the old Joni Mitchell song says, I’ve been looking at life from both sides in the hospital in Frederick, Maryland where I am working as a Resident Chaplain until the end of August. I have been observing anew that people can see exactly the same thing, but from a completely different perspective.

Take July the Fourth - for example. This was my fourteenth year to celebrate Independence Day as a proud, naturalized American Citizen. Even with all its current challenges - opportunities - I love this nation, and I am grateful to be able to call it home. However, growing up in Britain, July the Fourth was no different from any other day, of course. And even though my first degree, from England’s Bristol University, was in history, the only reference I heard about the Revolutionary War was: “Mad King George lost the farm...”

History is written by the victors and we definitely lost that war.

A Pennsylvania-born fellow chaplain at the hospital, who spent several years living in England, told me that when over there she had a special ritual every Independence Day. With a reference to the incident that sparked the Revolutionary War, she would hand out tea bags to her bemused friends. As she did she’d quote the words spoken at the Boston Tea Party by the Sons of Liberty as they threw a whole shipment of tea into the harbor.

“No Tea! No Tea! Down with King George.”

Incredibly no one responded: “Off with her head!”

My brother, who has been a good naturalized citizen for a lot longer than me, jokes that July the Fourth is England’s Thanksgiving Day. Why? Because that is when they got rid of the Americans.

Ba Da Boom...

Depending on what side of the pond you stand, Independence Day looks completely different. I am grateful to have seen it from both sides now.

I’ve been seeing other things in the hospital from both sides recently.

Babies for example.

It was the same fellow chaplain who told me of the preparations that were being made in the birthing center at the end of last week.

All the newly hatched babies receive a beautiful, soft, white cap to keep their precious tiny heads warm. The caps are made with love in every stitch by members of our incredible hospital auxiliary. On Friday a nurse was preparing these caps for Independence Day births by threading red, white, and blue ribbons imprinted with stars through their soft fabric.

Those babies will be patriotic from the getgo!

Other aren’t so fortunate.

On Friday, not long after those caps were finished being adorned, there was a pediatric code blue. This means that a child under the age of eighteen is being brought into the hospital dangerously close to death. I’m the chaplain for the Emergency Department. When I got there I discovered the code blue was a baby, a few months old, and a team was desperately working behind a closed curtain to save the child’s life.

There was a lull in the normal frenetic atmosphere of the ED. Staff members were looking towards the curtain either praying or willing that baby to survive.

I joined the small cluster of nurses and social workers that I knew well. We were waiting for the parents to arrive.

“When I heard the code, before we knew the age of the child, I phoned up my husband and asked if our son was OK,” one of the nurses said in a voice hardly above a whisper. He said, you just phoned ten minutes ago and I told you he was doing good. Why would things be different now?”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“I had to know,” she said nodding towards the curtain, “because things can change so fast.”

One mother’s relief is another’s nightmare.

The police arrived. Depending on whether the parents live in the city of Frederick or the County either the police or sheriff’s department will have jurisdiction.

Whenever a child pediatric code blue is called, particularly for a baby, and the patient doesn’t have a medical history that would warrant such a call, the law is involved. A social worker told me that an officer will often drive parents to the hospital.

“How kind of them,” I said. “It must be difficult driving when you are so concerned about your child.”

The social worker gave me a knowing look. “They also want to keep an eye on them to make sure they’ll be available to be interviewed later.”

I looked towards the officers, who usually wait quietly to one side until the medical intervention has ceased before asking the parents questions. Sometimes, as in this case, one or more will be behind the curtain watching the team as the baby hovers between life and death.

One of the main tenets of the Clinical Pastoral Education course that I am taking is the saying “the patient is the book.”

In other words you are plunged into the real life of the hospital. You learn about how to handle situations correctly, as well as managing your own emotions that are triggered by that situation, afterwards, either in class or in a weekly individual supervisory session.

Months ago I misread a situation with a baby. I was standing outside the same curtained room flanked by a social worker and a young sheriff’s officer. We waited in silence as a medical team worked on the other side of the cloth divider. The parents had already arrived and were in there watching those incredible medical professionals save their child’s life.

I am a feeler, and I felt tension and deep emotion coming from the officer by my side.

“Is everything all right?” I said to him quietly.

“Yes,” he said too quickly. “Of course it is.” His professional veneer was firmly in place.

“I have my chaplain’s hat on,” I said. “So I was just checking. And I’m praying.”

We both carried on staring at the closed curtain. I felt some of the tension ooze out of him. Then, without moving he said softly. “I have a kid at home the same age. This one is hard for me.”

Moments later he walked away out through the stretcher entrance doors to get some fresh air, and he didn’t return for a long time.

There were several other officers in the ED department at the time, one in plain clothes. I stepped into the curtained room to be with the parents at the same moment that they were coming out. They said that yes, they would like to talk, and certainly wanted to pray but they didn’t want to go into a private room to do so. The distraught mother said she wanted to be as close to her baby as possible, but they had both needed a quick respite. The mother was in tears, the father looked stunned. So we prayed in the hallway.

Words came out of my mouth during that prayer that surprised me. They bypassed my brain. I heard myself praying that the baby would not suffer permanent damage from whatever had happened. That miraculous healing would take place. That the child would recover from trauma and be well.

Soon after I said amen the mother headed back behind the curtain, and the plain clothed sheriff’s officer politely told the father that he had some routine questions he needed to ask him.

I went to the third floor to see other patients but came down a little later to check on the family. They had already left. A nurse emerged from the same room they had been in.

“The child lived and has been flown to Children’s Hospital in DC,” she said. “It was a brain bleed. We found several signs that there was physical abuse, and it had been going on for some time, previously broken bones and the like. The law will investigate more heavily now.”

I had misread the young sheriff officer’s reaction. He clearly knew of the possible abuse situation, whereas I had no idea. It had never crossed my mind. It was my first pediatric code. I now realize he suspected the worst. And he was right.

A couple of weeks later I saw the father’s picture in the paper with an article giving the medical details from both hospitals. He had been arrested on suspected child abuse and was being held without bail at the County Detention Center.

I have no idea if the trial has taken place. We don’t know the end of patients’ stories unless we read about them in the paper. (I scour the obituaries every day hoping not to see the names of my more vulnerable patients...)

But I did find out one further piece of information about the father. While we were standing outside the same curtained room with a different baby last Friday, a social worker mentioned the abuse case. “I saw a picture of him in the paper before he was arrested. He was at Children’s and was holding the baby and smiling. He had started a GoFundMe for medical expenses for the child and had raised well over twenty thousand dollars...”

My fists clenched, and I understood with sudden clarity why the officer had to step outside and get fresh air.

I almost had to do the same.

One of the medical personnel came out from the curtain. The ICU nurse by my side had a quick word with her before the team member hurried back in.

“Oh, Lord! Let this baby live!” I said. My friend, the ICU nurse, a woman with the most enormous, loving heart, said: “I’m seeing things from the other side. I suspect there will be severe, permanent damage, and so my prayer is for a peaceful, gentle death.”

Minutes later her prayer was answered.

The parents arrived and were ushered into a private room with a truly wonderful social worker, and the doctor who had done the surgery. With the parent’s permission, I slipped into an empty seat.

The doctor gave the news of their baby’s death with compassion coming out of his pores. This couple was in shock. Tears slid down their faces, the mother shook in silent grief. The father asked questions. How could a heart attack happen to a child barely months old? The doctor answered every question with great kindness before leaving. The couple was young, a little awkward together. The father finally moved over to sit next to the mother to hold her. She fell into his arms and a high pitched wail came out of her mouth.

It was the sound of a heart breaking.

On Independence Day this year that baby was free. Returned to the One who had made him far too few months before, healed now, and eternally loved.

His brief presence on earth changed the lives of that young couple forever. Their grief will go on for a lot longer than their son lived.

In a much more joyous way, great change was brought to the lives of several other mothers this weekend as they held close a baby wearing a white cap festooned with July the Fourth ribbons.

When I think of that contrast of life and death over this holiday weekend, it is with the soundscape of the Joni Mitchell song “Both Sides” playing in my mind.

Particularly its lyrics:

“I've looked at life from both sides now

From win and lose and still somehow

It's life's illusions I recall

I really don't know life at all.”

This year of 2020 has shown us all that none of us know what will be around the next corner. Who would have ever thought that churches and restaurants would be closed? July Fourth parades and fireworks canceled - or at least severely curtailed?

And that a pandemic would sweep through the earth changing our way of lives; closing our institutions; postponing life events: separating us from family?

Looking at this year from both sides though, who would have thought that we would have so much time to clean our houses?

Bake sourdough, banana, and in my case, pumpkin bread?

To do jigsaws?

To eat together - in some of our cases - virtually?

To be the giver and receiver of a myriad kindnesses - out-workings of caring and love?

In this pandemic season we all have seen both sides of life and love and fear. As the Good Book says where there is darkness there is also great light. John 1:5 declares

“The light shines in the darkness and the darkness can never extinguish it.”

Hurrah!

So even though, like Joni Mitchell, we might not know life at all, certainly not life in this new Coronavirus era, we can count on a few things. That the good we do, the kindness we spread, has more of an impact on pushing back the darkness than we can ever imagine.

So carry on baking, and gifting that comfort;

Knitting socks and sending them to surprised delighted recipients;

Reading a book to a child, yours or others, in person or over the web.

Write a note, send a card;

Leave tomatoes from your garden on someone’s door step,

Phone a long lost friend.

In a season when at times we feel powerless, let us push back the darkness with those things that are in our power to do. Something that might be simple for us, yet might mean the world to someone else. As simple as threading a ribbon through a baby cap.

When we join our pinpricks of light, of goodness together we will have a mighty light.

Our future might still be uncertain. We do not know what it will bring. But of one thing we can count on. The God of light and love will be there rejoicing at how we have fought fear and spread goodness one small action at a time.

How we have spread His light.

With great delight he will provide for us abundantly. That is His promise.

So whatever it holds. No matter what side we look at it from.

The future will be good.