Barriers or Bridges?
In my hospital, there is a picture on the wall with the caption, “Every day, in the eyes of a child, you will see everything that makes the journey worthwhile.” This is the first picture I saw when I started my CPE internship almost two decades ago, and I still see it when I come into the hospital today. I am called to the unique work of pediatric chaplaincy, and I knew it the first time I read that quote. There have been so many profound moments along my journey in chaplaincy when I was called upon for support during the most critical and acute times in a family’s life.
One particularly supportive relationship that comes to mind, as I reflect on my 17 years as a pediatric chaplain, was with a family whose child was born with a congenital heart defect. My first encounter with the parents was in responding to an overhead “code blue” in the pediatric cardiac ICU. The patient, whom we’ll call “E,” was only weeks old. E’s mom and dad were standing near the bedside as the medical team was working quickly – performing CPR, giving medicines, drawing labs. Mom and Dad were understandably scared and overwhelmed. I approached the bedside and gently introduced myself to them: “Hi, my name is Samantha. I am the chaplain in this unit, and I am here to offer support for you both.”
Dad immediately responded strongly: “What do I need a chaplain for?! We don’t need you!” My years of experience had prepared me for this response, as families so often think of the chaplain as the symbol of death. My presence ignited this father’s fear that his child could die and that must be the reason I was there. The challenge with this encounter was that it was clear that the mother was grateful for my presence. Wanting to honor both Dad’s reaction to my presence as well as Mom’s receptiveness, I assured the parents that I would remain available but also give them space at the bedside. I stepped into the background and continued to provide a presence for the family as well as the medical team.
The patient was stabilized and the parents were invited to come closer to the bedside. With their sigh of relief came their tears. After giving them some private time together, I entered the sacred space at the bedside, and I re-introduced myself as a part of their care team.
I knew that it would take time to nurture the relationship with this child’s father and to gain his trust. Every day as I rounded in the unit, I would briefly stop by the bedside, engaging the parents in conversation about their day and night. And I would always say hello to E as well.
A few weeks after the initial cardiac arrest, E coded again. Before I made it to the bedside, my phone rang and it was a call from E’s nurse saying, “E is coding and the dad is asking for you.” Wow. All those seemingly insignificant moments built the bridge to this moment. When I arrived at the bedside, E’s dad wrapped his arms around me and asked me to pray.
Unfortunately, E did not survive this event. I am grateful to have been present that day to support the parents – to bear witness to their love for E. I was reminded in this encounter of how adaptable chaplains have to be on a daily basis. We show up for the crises but also the liminal space of the unknown. And where others see barriers, we often see an opportunity to build a bridge.
