Chosen by the patient.

Chosen by the patient

Chosen by the patient

I first met J. int the spring of 2018. It was my fourth or fifth assignment as a hospice volunteer with a local hospital. I had read the info on the patient before our first meeting. It read: Dementia, sleeps all day gets no medication and is just waiting for death. She was a patient in a home care situation together with other patients. The place was super clean, but exactly because of that, it had a horrible chemical smell to it and I don’t think the caretakers ever opened up a window to get some fresh air through the house. I knocked on the door and a happy looking  woman opened. 

I’m here for J told her and showed off my new volunteer ID card. She then led me into the room where J was resting. The woman was just skin and bones and her mouth wide open as if she had already past away, but her eyes were flickering as if she was looking for something without really seeing anything and for sure not noticing me beside her. Small jolts went through her body and she kept her tiny bony hands crossed over her chest. In between small shakes with her head she would try tighten her lips and suck in air which made a popping sound. I felt very uncomfortable by her presence and the smell in the house made me nauseous. 

I realized that any form of communication was out of the question so I grabbed a bible on the side table and began reading out loud. My voice sounded monotonous and I did a horrible job at reading the text, besides I had a hard time finding something which would sound really upliftings. She was clearly unaware of my presence and I left after she dosed off and fell asleep. I could not wait to get out of there. I had spent just 25 minutes with her and it seemed like a lifetime. 

The next visit a week later did not seem to be more successful and I began thinking that this was all a big mistake and that I was wasting my time. J. was asleep when I came in which made me decide that there was probably no reason for me to be there and I left quickly.  Next Monday the pattern repeated itself. J. was asleep when I arrived and again I questioned what I was doing and if it would not be better if I just left or stopped being a Hospice volunteer all together. I moved the only chair in the room close to her bed and sat down close to her. Intuitively I reached out and covered her hand with mine. Her fingers felt ice cold and bony. I moved the quilted blanket over her hand and rested mine on top to warm her. Her breathing slowed down and the look of her face told me that somehow she felt my touch.  The fact that I felt comfortable holding her hand in mine took me by surprise. “Why did I not think of this before?” I asked myself. There was a glass of water on the side table. It had a straw in it and I reached out, took it to her mouth to let her drink. She seemed to know how to do this and I sensed that she enjoyed the drink. 

On this visit I read: Building a fire, by Jack London. Maybe not the best reading for a patient who is dying but as she was not able to notice what was going on around her I thought it was OK. I began thinking that I had a purpose.

The next visit I did not read for her. I just sat quietly beside her bed holding her hand in mine as she was sleeping and I read books. On my visits with her I plowed though: Creating a life by James Hollis, Seeds by Thomas Merton, The intellectual culture of the Iglulik Eskimos by Knud Rasmussen and, The silence of God by James P. Carse. All the while my sweet patient was in another world, just waiting for the grace of God for her to pass into the next reality. I don’t know when exactly it happened. Maybe it was the day my wife and I by accident strolled into a church in Seattle and attended mass. All of a sudden the overwhelming thought struck me that I had not been there for my hospice patient but she had all the time been there for me. She had taught me to open myself to more compassion and opened my eyes to the healing touch of quiet attendance. The discovery felt to me as if a veil had been lifted and that I had stepped deeper into that space as Dr. C.G.Jung discovered and I quote: “Learn your theories as well as you can,but put them aside when you touch the miracle of the living soul.” I had held myself back thinking that I had a role to play with this patient, and she had shown me that what I had to learn was to give in to the miracle of sitting with her, allowing me to witness her passing and opening up my compassion for the dying. The experience left me with a sense of incredible gratefulness.