The Deacon's Bench - February, 2011

A while ago I attended a seminar about pastoral care in healthcare settings. I listened eagerly as the presenters used fascinating personal experiences to illustrate their points. There’s one in particular that I’d like to share with you though because it changed my mind about what it means for a story to have a happy ending.

The doctor who told us the story described about a woman in his care who was dying of inoperable cancer. All possible remedies had been exhausted, and he needed to tell her that there was nothing more that could be done for her. He wasn’t looking forward to it, because the woman was demanding, critical and manipulative, and had been that way during the entire course of her treatment.

As he entered her room he could see the look of cold fear on her face. Something about the way he approached her told her what he was going to say, and she didn’t let him begin.
“I want you to promise me something doctor,” she said, fixing him with her eyes.
“What’s that?” he asked uncomfortably.
“I want you to promise me that you won’t let me die,” she said, gripping his hand with her icy fingers.

“I told her as gently as possible that I couldn’t promise her that. We had done everything that could’ve been done, and there was nothing left to do. I told her she would die soon, though I couldn’t say exactly when. In that moment, I wondered if her fear of death had been any part of the reason for her behavior during treatment.”

“She began to speak, but something made me grip her hand tightly and I urged her to accept that reality. ‘I’m not asking you to like it,’ I said. ‘Acceptance doesn’t mean that what’s happening to you is what you want to have happen, that it’s good, or bad or anything in between. You don’t have to make a quality or “justice” judgment about it at all, let alone feel that anyone, least of all you, has failed somehow. We’re past the point where anyone’s performance has any meaning,” I said. ‘You need to acknowledge that what’s happening is indeed happening, and it’s happening to you, now. That’s all acceptance is – and right now, it’s everything you’ve got. For my part, if I can promise you anything that does have meaning, I will promise that I will not leave you alone, or let you suffer pain if I can help it.’”

“She continued to stare at me, but her hand gripped mine less tightly than before. I told her that although nothing more could be done for her body medically, in accepting her situation, she would see that all kinds of things would become possible for her as a person and as a spirit incarnated at that moment in a dying body.There was nothing more I could say, so I mumbled ‘I’m sorry,’ turned and left the room, feeling as if I had failed her in her hour of greatest need.”

“I returned the next day and found someone I almost didn’t recognize. The nurses remarked that she had become a joy to serve, asking questions and trading little stories with them. She was the same way with me, too. It was as if the person I’d been accustomed to seeing had died and left. I got the awesome feeling that I was staring at the raw, beautiful soul of a person who had been liberated from the fear of death and had accepted life writ large.”

“A few days later she passed on, I’m told, with a peaceful smile on her face.”