A Dark and Stormy Night

 “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.