"What grounds has it given me for doubting all that I believe? I knew already that these things, and worse, happened daily. I would have said that I had taken them into account. I had been warned—I had warned myself—not to reckon on worldly happiness. We were even promised sufferings. They were part of the programme. We were even told, ‘Blessed are they that mourn,’ and I accepted it. I’ve got nothing that I hadn’t bargained for. Of course it is different when the thing happens to oneself, not to others, and in reality, not in imagination." from "A Grief Observed" by C. S. Lewis, Madeleine L'Engle
Tuesday, December 27, 2016
Serious illness....
"Bereavement is like a serious illness. One dies or one survives, and the medicine is time, not a change of scene." from "The Mistletoe Murder: And Other Stories" by P. D. James
Listen....
It's amazing all the the little things you miss. A smile, a look -- it's just empty. I can't imagine missing someone more. Intellectually, I know to loose Bill -- my partner or the unimaginable loss of a child....I can believe those losses would be even more overwhelming than the loss of my dad....but still. I wish I would have listened more. I wish I would have asked more....I miss his wisdom so much. I miss his love and approval. I think I spent a lot of time trying to prove I didn't need him, just so he could be proud of me. Does that seem weird or backwards? I needed him....because I didn't need him. Ha. Talk about a twist. Maybe not. I would think we as parents want our children to succeed on their own. I know my dad wanted that for me. And for the most part I think I did do okay....although I still feel like I flounder on an hourly basis. But I may have paid a price of giving up too much by trying to prove I could do it myself. Times that I could have gotten advice....times I should have asked and then been still until I could hear what he had to tell me. Which....ironic as it might seem -- what would he tell me....Listen.
Saturday, December 3, 2016
Rearranged
"I can't believe she's gone," said Hazel, sitting down as though her legs had given way. Loss was like that, Gamache knew. You didn't just lose a loved one. You lost your heart, your memories, your laughter, your brain and it even took your bones. Eventually it all came back, but different. Rearranged.
The Cruelest Month by Louise Penny
Wednesday, October 19, 2016
Notes from the week it happened.....
My dad was sick.
Wednesday night....My brother called me to say my dad was sick and he thought I should know. My dad had been sick before....he'd had a bout of the flu around Christmas time. This seemed similar to me. I wasn't sure why it merited a call.
Thursday morning....my dad sent me text -- responding to an earlier request I'd sent. He let me know that he'd been in bed since Tuesday evening. He told he he thought he'd been getting better but had fallen three times about midnight and that it now hurt to roll over in bed. He figured he'd maybe cracked a rib. But he still offered to host the Attorney General at his coffee group. I asked if he needed help getting to the doctor. He said he planned on waiting until Friday to see if there was a change. My last text to my dad was..."I don't think that's a good idea. Why suffer. It's not noble."
Thursday, my brother takes my dad to the doctor. The doctor notes an elevated white count but no cracked rib. Sends dad home.
Thursday evening, my dad is in unbearable pain. He asks for an ambulance to take him to the hospital. (this is incredibly not typical). My brother goes with him. I leave work early and go sit with my mother. My sister plans to come home from California. After we get word from the hospital -- it's his gall bladder -- it's severely infected. They will start to treat infection and then remove it once the infection is better....in maybe 5-6 weeks.
I leave to go home but go to the hospital first. I've never seen my dad in such pain. It's gut wrenching. They prepare to take my dad to put in a port and a drain...then they will move him to ICU. There is nothing to be done but sit and wait....so my brother and I head home. In the parking lot, Randy tells me...."You know, I'm fully committed to him being immortal"
Friday morning, prior to the start of my work day, I head to the hospital. To my surprise, dad is sitting up in ICU....looking really good. We chat briefly and then the ICU doctor comes in on rounds. Everything is looking good, he says....other than his gall bladder and a gall stone the size of a golf ball...Surgery should wait....means pain will stay for a while longer....but safer to wait. They will be sending him to the regular post surgical ward. He's doing great. On track to be released maybe Monday. I talk to my mom after the doctor was there. I have her talk to my dad. I brought him his pajamas in a banana bag...an inside joke between my mom and dad. Then I leave so he can rest.
Friday afternoon, my sister arrives
Saturday morning, I head to the hospital again prior to work. Dad is in the regular wing now. I wait outside his room for a bit because he's trying to go to the bathroom. I don't want to embarrass him. He sits in the chair for a while. We visit briefly. I tell him about being stung by a wasp that morning at the gas station. The new doctor comes in on rounds again. They are talking about sending him home maybe even tomorrow or Monday. Good news.... After the doctor leaves, it's clear dad is uncomfortable....pain. He needs to head back to the bathroom. I tell him I'll leave. I let the nurses know as I leave.
Sunday morning before 6....the phone rings. Bill answers. It's my sister. Dad is gone.
Wednesday night....My brother called me to say my dad was sick and he thought I should know. My dad had been sick before....he'd had a bout of the flu around Christmas time. This seemed similar to me. I wasn't sure why it merited a call.
Thursday morning....my dad sent me text -- responding to an earlier request I'd sent. He let me know that he'd been in bed since Tuesday evening. He told he he thought he'd been getting better but had fallen three times about midnight and that it now hurt to roll over in bed. He figured he'd maybe cracked a rib. But he still offered to host the Attorney General at his coffee group. I asked if he needed help getting to the doctor. He said he planned on waiting until Friday to see if there was a change. My last text to my dad was..."I don't think that's a good idea. Why suffer. It's not noble."
Thursday, my brother takes my dad to the doctor. The doctor notes an elevated white count but no cracked rib. Sends dad home.
Thursday evening, my dad is in unbearable pain. He asks for an ambulance to take him to the hospital. (this is incredibly not typical). My brother goes with him. I leave work early and go sit with my mother. My sister plans to come home from California. After we get word from the hospital -- it's his gall bladder -- it's severely infected. They will start to treat infection and then remove it once the infection is better....in maybe 5-6 weeks.
I leave to go home but go to the hospital first. I've never seen my dad in such pain. It's gut wrenching. They prepare to take my dad to put in a port and a drain...then they will move him to ICU. There is nothing to be done but sit and wait....so my brother and I head home. In the parking lot, Randy tells me...."You know, I'm fully committed to him being immortal"
Friday morning, prior to the start of my work day, I head to the hospital. To my surprise, dad is sitting up in ICU....looking really good. We chat briefly and then the ICU doctor comes in on rounds. Everything is looking good, he says....other than his gall bladder and a gall stone the size of a golf ball...Surgery should wait....means pain will stay for a while longer....but safer to wait. They will be sending him to the regular post surgical ward. He's doing great. On track to be released maybe Monday. I talk to my mom after the doctor was there. I have her talk to my dad. I brought him his pajamas in a banana bag...an inside joke between my mom and dad. Then I leave so he can rest.
Friday afternoon, my sister arrives
Saturday morning, I head to the hospital again prior to work. Dad is in the regular wing now. I wait outside his room for a bit because he's trying to go to the bathroom. I don't want to embarrass him. He sits in the chair for a while. We visit briefly. I tell him about being stung by a wasp that morning at the gas station. The new doctor comes in on rounds again. They are talking about sending him home maybe even tomorrow or Monday. Good news.... After the doctor leaves, it's clear dad is uncomfortable....pain. He needs to head back to the bathroom. I tell him I'll leave. I let the nurses know as I leave.
Sunday morning before 6....the phone rings. Bill answers. It's my sister. Dad is gone.
Triggered....
So....this past summer, my daughters and I have been binge watching the Gilmore Girls. We hadn't caught an episode for a while....and last night we had some time together so I started us on the episode where we left off in the middle. It had been long enough that I'd forgotten. Richard was in the hospital with a heart attack and Emily was calling their lawyer to have him fax a copy of the will and checking on if Richard had a DNR.
Bess told me one of their substitute teacher's had a puzzle ring like Grandpa's but she couldn't remember how to do it anymore.
I held Bess as we both cried. I held Evie's hand after Bess had to leave the room and go shower.
We've loved watching the Gilmore Girls. I knew the actor playing Richard Gilmore had died in real life and that they would pay tribute to him in the upcoming "A Year in the Life" episodes....I wasn't sure I would be able to watch them....I knew I wouldn't be able to watch them without a lot of kleenex. Hearing the actors say so many of the things we'd heard....We'll be moving him out of ICU today and then just another night and he should be able to come home...
This time for the Gilmores, there will be a happy ending. Come November, Richard will be gone too...officially.
Obviously, a fictional loss is just that...but it reminds us of real loss.
How not to say the wrong thing...Comfort In, Dump Out
Op-Ed
How not to say the wrong thing
It works in all kinds of crises -- medical, legal, even existential. It's the 'Ring Theory' of kvetching. The first rule is comfort in, dump out.
When Susan had breast cancer, we heard a lot of lame remarks, but our favorite came from one of Susan's colleagues. She wanted, she needed, to visit Susan after the surgery, but Susan didn't feel like having visitors, and she said so. Her colleague's response? "This isn't just about you."
"It's not?" Susan wondered. "My breast cancer is not about me? It's about you?"
The same theme came up again when our friend Katie had a brain aneurysm. She was in intensive care for a long time and finally got out and into a step-down unit. She was no longer covered with tubes and lines and monitors, but she was still in rough shape. A friend came and saw her and then stepped into the hall with Katie's husband, Pat. "I wasn't prepared for this," she told him. "I don't know if I can handle it."
This woman loves Katie, and she said what she did because the sight of Katie in this condition moved her so deeply. But it was the wrong thing to say. And it was wrong in the same way Susan's colleague's remark was wrong.
Susan has since developed a simple technique to help people avoid this mistake. It works for all kinds of crises: medical, legal, financial, romantic, even existential. She calls it the Ring Theory.
Draw a circle. This is the center ring. In it, put the name of the person at the center of the current trauma. For Katie's aneurysm, that's Katie. Now draw a larger circle around the first one. In that ring put the name of the person next closest to the trauma. In the case of Katie's aneurysm, that was Katie's husband, Pat. Repeat the process as many times as you need to. In each larger ring put the next closest people. Parents and children before more distant relatives. Intimate friends in smaller rings, less intimate friends in larger ones. When you are done you have a Kvetching Order. One of Susan's patients found it useful to tape it to her refrigerator.
Here are the rules. The person in the center ring can say anything she wants to anyone, anywhere. She can kvetch and complain and whine and moan and curse the heavens and say, "Life is unfair" and "Why me?" That's the one payoff for being in the center ring.
Everyone else can say those things too, but only to people in larger rings.
When you are talking to a person in a ring smaller than yours, someone closer to the center of the crisis, the goal is to help. Listening is often more helpful than talking. But if you're going to open your mouth, ask yourself if what you are about to say is likely to provide comfort and support. If it isn't, don't say it. Don't, for example, give advice. People who are suffering from trauma don't need advice. They need comfort and support. So say, "I'm sorry" or "This must really be hard for you" or "Can I bring you a pot roast?" Don't say, "You should hear what happened to me" or "Here's what I would do if I were you." And don't say, "This is really bringing me down."
If you want to scream or cry or complain, if you want to tell someone how shocked you are or how icky you feel, or whine about how it reminds you of all the terrible things that have happened to you lately, that's fine. It's a perfectly normal response. Just do it to someone in a bigger ring.
Comfort IN, dump OUT.
There was nothing wrong with Katie's friend saying she was not prepared for how horrible Katie looked, or even that she didn't think she could handle it. The mistake was that she said those things to Pat. She dumped IN.
Complaining to someone in a smaller ring than yours doesn't do either of you any good. On the other hand, being supportive to her principal caregiver may be the best thing you can do for the patient.
Most of us know this. Almost nobody would complain to the patient about how rotten she looks. Almost no one would say that looking at her makes them think of the fragility of life and their own closeness to death. In other words, we know enough not to dump into the center ring. Ring Theory merely expands that intuition and makes it more concrete: Don't just avoid dumping into the center ring, avoid dumping into any ring smaller than your own.
Remember, you can say whatever you want if you just wait until you're talking to someone in a larger ring than yours.
And don't worry. You'll get your turn in the center ring. You can count on that.
Susan Silk is a clinical psychologist. Barry Goldman is an arbitrator and mediator and the author of "The Science of Settlement: Ideas for Negotiators."
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)