“It was a
dark and stormy night” is the introductory line from a novel written by
Victorian author Sir Edward George Earle Bulwer-Lytton. It is now widely regarded as the epitome
of the worst way to begin a novel or short story. But it really was a dark and stormy night before my first
day at Parrish Medical Center.
I had finished my five and a half year tenure at
Cape Canaveral Hospital on Thursday, September 2nd as the hospital
evacuated in advance of Frances, the second hurricane of the
season. At Parrish
Medical Center, the hospital was preparing as well
and the staff hunkered down to ride out the storm, locked in for the duration.
Frances would prove to be a slow
mover and the lockdown a long one.
September 6, 2004,
my wife and I were shopping for a few things at CVS on the corner Wickham Road
and Parkway in Melbourne, FL. Hurricane Frances, had just passed, leaving most
of the area without power and some of the area devastated by the damage. A
tornado, spawned by the storm, had swept through Wickham Park, destroying a quarter of a large
apartment complex next to our neighborhood. We were spared any significant
damage, but like most everyone else, we had no power. CVS had power and AC! We
were taking our time looking around, cooling off, getting a few things we
needed, and again my phone rang.
“Hi, Jerald. This is Roberta Chaildin from Parrish.
Listen, we have been on lockdown because of the hurricane for 92 hours and the
strain is showing. I know you’re not supposed to start until tomorrow, but could
you come in today?”
I arrived early afternoon, dressed in khakis and a polo
shirt that had the Association of Professional Chaplains logo on it. I chose it
because the word “Chaplains”was easily
readable on it, and since most everyone I would meet that day would have no idea
who I was.
There wasn’t a whole lot I could do, other than “Presence
Ministry.” There was no way to fix the stress felt by 90+ hours of lockdown or
the stress of not knowing the condition of their homes or the stress of a second
blow on top of the one two-weeks prior that had already left the area covered in
blue tarps.
Ten years have passed and I’m still convinced that
presence, “being consciously and compassionately in the present moment,”
(Miller, The Art of Being a Healing Presence, p 12) is one of the most
powerful things we can bring to our work with patients, their families and just
as importantly, to each other.
Jerald
All opinions expressed herein are strictly my own and do not necessarily reflect those of Parrish Medical Center.
