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She is a small, 91-year-old white patient sitting on a chair by her bed, with her daughter in another chair reading a book. “I’m Rev. Alberts, Hospital Chaplain making my rounds,” I said with a smile. The patient, not relaxing her stare, ordered, “Sit down and talk to me.” Her daughter responded by immediately giving her chair to me, and then sat on the bed. I pulled the chair up closer to the patient as my aim was to possibly establish some closeness with her.
“You’re listed as a Christian,” I said. “What does that mean?,” she demanded. “Whatever it means to you,” I replied. “I don’t go to church,” she said. Her daughter then explained, “Mom was a Catholic, and my dad was an Episcopalian, and my sister and I were raised Episcopalian. So I listed her as Christian.” I responded to the patient, “I assume that is what it means to you then.” She continued to stare at me.
I moved to the patient’s condition: “How are you doing today?” “Not good at all,” she replied. I hate hospitals. I don’t want to be in this damn place.” I answered, “If you hate hospitals, I can see why you don’t want to be here. My father hated doctors. But the hospital is a good place to be when you need the treatment it provides.” Her look indicated my common sense was neither informing nor comforting. 
The patient’s daughter was again very helpful: “Mom has lived alone for 20 years, ever since dad died. And until now, at age 91, she has never been in a hospital. Three days ago she fell and broke her hip in three places, and is in a lot of pain. And now she is sitting in a chair, which is remarkable.” “I can see why you don’t like it here, with your pain and what you’re dealing with,” I said, and added, “But it’s still a good place to help with the healing.” She replied,” People who don’t like hospitals want to get better just to get the hell out of here.” I acknowledged with a smile, “People have different reasons for getting better, and that’s probably one of them.”
Thinking about the patient’s age and living alone and taking care of herself for twenty years, I said, “You have a lot of grit.” “No I don’t,” she answered. I continued, “The fact that you have lived alone and provided for yourself all these years, and are now sitting here three days after breaking your hip in three places tell me you have a lot of strength.” “What do you mean by strength?” she challenged. “You have been able to deal with a lot in your life and in living alone too, I’m sure.” Her daughter followed my words with, “Mom has a lot of grit.”
I moved to the patient’s challenging questions: “I appreciate your questioning of me. Words can be empty. You want them to having meaning and not words that really don’t say anything. You ask good questions. I appreciate that. You come across as cranky in ways. But I believe any crankiness helps you deal with things and is part of your strength. May you continue to be blessed with it.”
I began to end the visit by shaking the patient’s hand. As she held my hand, she said, “Oh, your hand is cold,” and she continued to hold it. My reply was trite: “Cold hands warm heart.” But my smile filled in the meaning. She then continued holding my hand with both of her hands, and I could feel the tenderness of her fingers. Then she gently cradled my right thumb with her fingers and asked, “How does that feel now.” I replied, “Much warmer. Thank you.” Such kindness and power in the hands of this 91-year-old woman with a broken hip. At that moment her daughter looked into her mother’s eyes and said, “Ah, I can see a little sparkle now.” I looked into the patient’s softening face and hint of a smile and said, “So can I.”
Christmas is about thawing each other out.
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Bill Alberts is a hospital chaplain at Boston Medical Center. Dr. Alberts is a nationally known writer and an occasional contributor to Counterpunch. In addition, he is convener of the New England Chapter of CPSP. He can be reached william.alberts@bmc.org
Posted by Perry Miller, Editor at December 22, 2009 6:03 AM
