To Mourn with those who Mourn: Life as a CNA
On Saturday nights, I go into work. Saturday is my CNA day, and I actually really enjoy it. Sometimes I want to scream and pull my hair out, but most of the time I just want to kiss the old ladies on the cheek and hold their wrinkly hands. There have been certain times, however, when I just want to hold the people close, and cry with them.
As a CNA in long-term care/psychiatrics/rehab, I see much more sadness than I care to see, and it breaks my heart. But I also LOVE being able to replace some of that sadness with LOVE.
One reservation that I had about going into medicine was that I would become desensitized to suffering. But, as I've pondered this, I've realized that in order to really administer to people {not just physically, but emotionally, and mentally} you have to mourn with them.
This past Saturday, and during the past 5 months really, I have learned what it means to mourn with those who mourn. I was scheduled to work on the tracheostomy unit--a unit I had never set foot on since my training days 5 months ago. I was definitely scared, but also a little excited for the challenge.
As I began entering the rooms, I realized again how much heartache this world holds. People--EVERYWHERE--were laying in hospital beds, hooked up to a half dozen tubes and machines. Tracheostomies, oxygen machines, feeding tubes, colostomies, catheters, pulse-oximeters, heart-rate monitors, morphine jars hooked to their pick-lines. . . And most of these people were totally out of it. Mentally, they were totally absent. Not all of them, but many. All day, I rushed in and out of the rooms that held these people who were barely there, and I couldn't help but think about their spirits. Where were they? What happens to a spirit when it's in limbo, contained by a body that's present physically, but absent emotionally, mentally. . . ? I don't know. But it brought a whole new meaning to both Christ's and Alma's words,
I have worked with many bodies who's spirits have since passed on. And I can tell you from experience, there is a remarkable difference between an empty body and a living one. A body is nothing without the spirit that gives it life. But a spirit without its body. . . What about that? Are these people's spirit trapped in a suffering body, longing for a not-so-distant home, or holding on for fear of life after death? I know this is a touchy subject, and one that really makes me think. My heart aches for those who suffer.
Working as a CNA has really changed my life. I have sat by the bedside of a man who's heart raced, fast and light, like a frightened bird, until his spirit finally returned home to the God who gave him life. I have cried with an elderly mother who found out only minutes earlier that her son had died. I have hugged and cried with a mentally and physically disabled 13 year old girl whose parents abandoned her as a newborn baby. I have kissed the wrinkly cheeks of a 90 year old woman, who has no family left. I have witnessed the effects of paralysis from the C3 vertebra down. I have conversed in the early morning hours with a 50 year old man, ravaged by schizophrenia, who cries for death in the depths depression and emptiness and loneliness. I've witnessed the indefatigable spirit of a 23 man who looked death in the face during a serious motorcycle accident. I've walked with a man who hadn't walked on his infection-ravaged foot for months, maybe years. I've witnessed more suffering and reality than I ever realized existed, and I thank God for these experiences that He has given me. He has taught me, through these absolutely amazing people, what it really means to mourn with those that mourn. It's not to feel sorry for them, to pity them, but to walk side by side with them, yearning to understand their pain, and help bring them the peace that only Christ can give.
And yet, I think of Christ, who worked among the sick and the afflicted, the sinners and the outcasts, despised and rejected of men Himself. Surely He witnessed much sadness, also working many miracles as a true light in a dark world. I know it's going to be a long time until I can be like Him, but I'm thankful for the experiences that give me greater glimpses into the life of the Savior of the World, the Man whose life and birth we celebrate this month.
I pray I never forget.
As a CNA in long-term care/psychiatrics/rehab, I see much more sadness than I care to see, and it breaks my heart. But I also LOVE being able to replace some of that sadness with LOVE.
One reservation that I had about going into medicine was that I would become desensitized to suffering. But, as I've pondered this, I've realized that in order to really administer to people {not just physically, but emotionally, and mentally} you have to mourn with them.
This past Saturday, and during the past 5 months really, I have learned what it means to mourn with those who mourn. I was scheduled to work on the tracheostomy unit--a unit I had never set foot on since my training days 5 months ago. I was definitely scared, but also a little excited for the challenge.
As I began entering the rooms, I realized again how much heartache this world holds. People--EVERYWHERE--were laying in hospital beds, hooked up to a half dozen tubes and machines. Tracheostomies, oxygen machines, feeding tubes, colostomies, catheters, pulse-oximeters, heart-rate monitors, morphine jars hooked to their pick-lines. . . And most of these people were totally out of it. Mentally, they were totally absent. Not all of them, but many. All day, I rushed in and out of the rooms that held these people who were barely there, and I couldn't help but think about their spirits. Where were they? What happens to a spirit when it's in limbo, contained by a body that's present physically, but absent emotionally, mentally. . . ? I don't know. But it brought a whole new meaning to both Christ's and Alma's words,
"And now, as ye are desirous to come into the fold of God, and to be called his people, and are willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light; Yea, and are willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, and to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places that ye may be in, even until death, that ye may be redeemed of God, and be numbered with those of the first resurrection, that ye may have eternal life."
I have worked with many bodies who's spirits have since passed on. And I can tell you from experience, there is a remarkable difference between an empty body and a living one. A body is nothing without the spirit that gives it life. But a spirit without its body. . . What about that? Are these people's spirit trapped in a suffering body, longing for a not-so-distant home, or holding on for fear of life after death? I know this is a touchy subject, and one that really makes me think. My heart aches for those who suffer.
Working as a CNA has really changed my life. I have sat by the bedside of a man who's heart raced, fast and light, like a frightened bird, until his spirit finally returned home to the God who gave him life. I have cried with an elderly mother who found out only minutes earlier that her son had died. I have hugged and cried with a mentally and physically disabled 13 year old girl whose parents abandoned her as a newborn baby. I have kissed the wrinkly cheeks of a 90 year old woman, who has no family left. I have witnessed the effects of paralysis from the C3 vertebra down. I have conversed in the early morning hours with a 50 year old man, ravaged by schizophrenia, who cries for death in the depths depression and emptiness and loneliness. I've witnessed the indefatigable spirit of a 23 man who looked death in the face during a serious motorcycle accident. I've walked with a man who hadn't walked on his infection-ravaged foot for months, maybe years. I've witnessed more suffering and reality than I ever realized existed, and I thank God for these experiences that He has given me. He has taught me, through these absolutely amazing people, what it really means to mourn with those that mourn. It's not to feel sorry for them, to pity them, but to walk side by side with them, yearning to understand their pain, and help bring them the peace that only Christ can give.
I pray I never forget.
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