As a chaplain in a hospital, I meet all kinds of people: young to old, deeply religious to denying God, grateful to angry, and dying to be “on the road to recovery.” Among many roles, I support my patients and their families on an emotional and spiritual level while they are in the hospital, at what is often a very reflective, challenging and confusing time.
My patients have become my best teachers about life. Here are just a few of the lessons that I have been privileged to learn firsthand over the past several years:
(1) Never complain about making a birthday party or other celebration.
I had been reminiscing with a friend of mine about planning and making birthday parties for young children. Honestly, I had always dreaded making birthday parties for my kids when they were younger. I often found them time-consuming to plan and stressful in the moment. I hated the apple juice that one child would inevitably spill, and the kids’ complaints when they didn’t like the activity. The goal for me was to make it through. “Coincidentally,” the day after I had that conversation with my friend, I saw Jackie in the hospital. Jackie is 40, an extremely special woman, wife and mother of three children, who has an advanced form of cancer, among other health issues. She told me, “My daughter turned eight a few weeks ago. Every time I try to plan her birthday party I end up back in the hospital for another reason and need to cancel the party. This has happened two times already. All I want to do is to make my child a birthday party….” She then burst out into an uncontrollable sob.
Hearing those words reminded me of the conversation from the day before with my friend. Jackie’s words made me stop, think and appreciate. I gained a new perspective quickly: I am grateful to have a healthy child and I should feel grateful that I am healthy enough to plan a celebration. It is a privilege and not a reason for complaint.
“Whether it’s half full or half empty, appreciate you have a glass.”—Aish.com
(2) Hope is essential to life.
As I walked into the room of Mrs. Rosenberg, a 74-year-old woman, matriarch of a large family, I was greeted by one of her daughters. She looked quite distraught and had a ghastly look on her face. “One of the doctors was just here and told me there is nothing else they can do to help my mother. He then walked out of the room! I had no time to respond.” With tears in her eyes she then said, “I would have asked him: Doctor, where is your hope?”
One of the hardest things to hear is when a patient and/or their family feels that everyone has “‘given up” hope. Many times there is no cure for a terminal illness, but there is always hope for something—hope for no pain and suffering, hope that final moments can be spent with as much dignity as possible, hope for a peaceful death surrounded by family, hope that remaining family will be taken care of, hope for a better tomorrow and there is always hope for a miracle. Hope can change from day to day but we all need hope until the last moment of our lives.
“For some people, hope is not looking for a way out, but for a way through.”—Corey Kennard (a pastor and spiritual care provider)
(3) Make your life matter.
Sam was on the hospice floor in the hospital. With any patient, I do not know what kind of mood they will be in when I enter their room. Sam was no different. Will Sam be angry with God? Grateful? Frustrated? Will he want to reflect back on memories of his life? The only thing I did know about Sam was that he was Jewish. At 8:45 a.m., I walked into Sam’s room—my first patient of the day. I was full of energy and I was ready to support him in the way he needed. I gently knocked, entered the brightly lit room and introduced myself to an older-looking gentleman. It took a few seconds for me to realize that Sam did not look alive. I went out of the room to get the nurse, who mentioned that she had just checked in on Sam a mere 10 minutes before. She called the doctor who confirmed that Sam just passed away. The doctor estimated the time of death and said he would inform the family. I told the doctor and nurse that I would try to stay with Sam until his family would arrive.
I covered Sam’s body with the white sheet, prayed and opened up my book of Psalms. As I paused in between reciting Psalms, I could not help but to frequently stop and stare at the sheet. I thought of the person who lay underneath and the soul that was returning or had just returned to God. Indeed a holy time. To me, there was only one idea that became very real, clear and palpable in that moment. The kind of house one owns, the car one drives or the wealth one accumulates does not matter. It does not leave the world with you. At the end, the only thing that remains is the person whom you have become—it is only the soul that is eternal and treasured by God. And so I wondered—who were you, Sam?
Steve Jobs said: “Material things lost can be found. But there is one thing that never can be found when it is lost—life.” We were all given one life and one chance to make it count in this world. Did we use everything that God gave us to improve ourselves and to impact those around us? Your life is a direct statement to others about the values you represent. Sometimes a small word or a seemingly trivial action can create a lasting impression on another and change their life. Everyone whom you have touched—family, friends, colleagues, students and even random strangers—have potential to be part of your legacy. That is the only thing left at the end of the day. Think about what and how you might want to be remembered. Live by that model.
“Values are like fingerprints. Nobody’s are the same, but you leave ’em all over everything you do.”—Elvis Presley
(4) People want to be heard.
Henry, a 78-year-old Catholic gentleman, was admitted to the hospital for a serious infection. He appeared angry and agitated and was labeled as “extremely difficult” by the doctors and a psychiatrist. During our visit he told me about his physical, emotional and spiritual pain and struggles. Henry had so very much to express. Hours later, I met the psychiatrist in the hallway who had visited with Henry after my encounter. He mentioned to me that he had never seen Henry looking as calm as he just had. He had not even administered medication! He begged me: “Tell me what you did! What did you say?” I had two words for him: “I listened.”
My patients often share with me how they want to be seen as a whole person and not just as a “disease.” Dr. Paul Kalanithi was a young neurosurgeon who was diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer. He wrote in his book, “When Breath Becomes Air,” that while sitting with a patient of his and trying to decide on treatment options, “I had met her in a space where she was a person, instead of a problem to be fixed.” This view not only applies to a doctor-patient relationship, but to all relationships. Listening is the ultimate respect and dignity one can give to another because it makes one feel valued. It entails not always giving advice and not telling someone how to feel. Listening involves patience, complete focus, time, being attuned to listening for what is being said beneath the words, and learning how to be and feel comfortable with silence.
“The most basic of all human needs is the need to understand and be understood. The best way to understand people is to listen to them.”—Ralph Nichols.
(5) True happiness.
Sam was a 32-year-old, bright young man, son, brother and friend with numerous cancers. He was being seen by almost every kind of medical specialist and had been in the hospital for days on end. Every part of his body was breaking down little by little. As I entered his room, I commented on his glowing smile, despite the pain that I knew he was enduring. “Wow, Sam,” I said, “such a big smile you have,” actually wondering to myself what gave him reason to smile. “What’s there not to smile about?” was the response.
Happiness in life is determined by one’s own state of mind and perspective and not by external circumstances. It is a choice that we make and not a result of something that happens to us. We alone have the power to create our own happiness, and nothing will make us happy until we choose to be happy. Our reality is determined by our thoughts and our interpretation of events. I have had countless patients with severe chronic, life-threatening illness tell me how they believe so much of their outcome has been strengthened by their attitude. Many see their challenges as a means to grow. They consciously and often with tremendous effort make the choice to seek out and focus on the positive in their lives. Many of my patients appreciate what they do have and consider themselves happy. People like this are truly inspirational to me.
“Remember that happiness is a way of travel, not a destination.”—Roy Goodman
(6) Let go, let God.
“God gave me a second lease on life,” he tells me amidst his tears. On Sunday, Matt, a 56-year-old husband, father and engineer had a series of tests performed in the hospital, revealing an “impressive mass” near his heart. Several top doctors saw the pictures and confirmed that a complicated and risky surgery would need to be performed that week. Matt and his family were beyond frightened. Two days later, the doctors wanted to re-take the pictures before the surgery. The same doctors re-examined the new pictures. They had no words—the mass was nowhere to be found.
Man’s control and understanding only goes so far. I have seen cases where sometimes the best of doctors predict that a patient will die within 24 hours and he is still alive days later. Others, who should have lived from a “routine” procedure, unfortunately die. How can this be explained? It does not make any sense. It only makes sense if we realize that it is God Who is in control. We need to do what we can do and then leave the rest to God. If we are able to throw our burden onto God, pray and trust Him, perhaps we can start to feel more at ease.
As is says in Tehillim (Psalms) 55:23—“Cast your burden upon Hashem, and He will sustain you.”
(7) Take advantage of life. Live and be in the moment.
“How are you feeling today?” I ask. “Alive” is the response.
That answer is one that I hear often. The people who say that word convey it with a deep feeling of seriousness along with a full, grateful heart. Death is a stark reality to many of my patients; it stares at them every day. Because of that, many have learned to appreciate and enjoy life in the “small” moments; to recognize the power in today because there is no guarantee for a tomorrow. If we truly believed that every day that we wake up is a gift from God (and that we too are not guaranteed a tomorrow), all of us would be making the most of each day, not dwelling on trivialities. We would all be thinking of what we can do differently today to be better and happier people.
“In the end, it’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years.”—Abraham Lincoln
However, the most important thing that I have learned is: Do not wait until it is too late to learn each of these lessons.
As it is stated in Pirkei Avot (Ethics of our Fathers): “If not now, when?”
Debby Pfeiffer is a board-certified chaplain working at Morristown Medical Center. She resides in Bergenfield, NJ,with her husband and five children. She can be reached at [email protected].
By Debby Pfeiffer
