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Glint replaced Press Ganey as our internal survey provider last year. |
During the weeks of Lent, we will be sharing stories of sorrow, remorse, forgiveness and redemption. In this second week of Lent, we offer a story from the e-magazine “Pulse: Voices from the Heart of Medicine” (https://pulsevoices.org/). This soldier’s story is core to his being and has informed how he has entered into almost every interaction in his life since. His message is, “A split second makes all the difference. And the roll of the dice is ever-present.”
In our intent to listen to our patients and families’ stories, we gradually and sometimes with dragging feet come to listen more deeply to our own. And there find the complexity of guilt, remorse and longing for redemption to all co-habit our spiritual journeys. We are all just walking each other home.
A Soldier's Tale
By: Scott Janssen
"You ever work with vets?" asks the young man sitting across from me in the hospital waiting room.
He's been sitting there all morning. So have I. Since 5:30 a.m., my father-in-law, age eighty-eight, has been undergoing surgery to remove a tumor in his lung. The surgeons just sent word that they've finished, and my wife and her mother have gone to the post-op room to see him.
Waiting for them to return, my wife's sister and I have been talking about her son, who's thinking of joining the Air Force.
"Warn him about the recruiters and their shiny promises," I say. "Tell him they're all a bunch of liars."
"That's for damn sure," the man says.
We smile at each other and chat for a bit, then my sister-in-law starts messing with her cellphone, opting out of the conversation.
The man tells me that he was in the Army for twenty years, including combat tours in Iraq and Afghanistan.
As we talk, he says things like "You know all about that, don't you?" and "You know how the Army works."
"I've never been in the military," I say. He looks surprised.
"What do you do?"
"I'm a hospice social worker."
That's when he asks whether I work with vets.
"Lots of them," I answer.
"Combat?"
"Yeah."
"Do they talk about it?"
"Some do; some don't."
He gives me a hard look. "Bet you've heard some bad sh@!, eh?"
I nod.
He looks around to make sure no one is listening. My sister-in-law is absorbed in her cellphone. An older guy snores in the corner.
The man leans toward me. I see he's starting to sweat; his hands are getting shaky. He's carrying something, wondering if it's safe to share it.
"You're right, I've heard lots of rough stuff," I say. "But it can help to talk with someone who knows how to listen."
"I have a counselor at the VA," he says, skepticism edging his voice. "I tell the guy the same stuff every time I go in....I don't know why I can't shake those memories."
"Traumatic memories are different from ordinary memories," I say. "Is talking with your counselor helpful?"
"I don't know," he says. "Funny thing is, the stuff that eats me up the most is more about what didn't happen than what did."
I ask if he's talked with any of his buddies about it. He says no, only his counselor. "I think he thinks I'm nuts."
"What do you think?" I ask.
He looks around again, feet nervously tapping the floor like he's ready to bolt.
"Can I tell you something?"
I nod and inwardly start grounding myself, so I can hear whatever's clawing to get out of him. If he senses that I can't handle it without flinching or judging, the moment--and maybe an opportunity for some kind of healing--will be lost.
The story he tells isn't what I'm expecting.
"I was a gunner for a Humvee crew," he says. "We were bringing up the back of a caravan that was running through a stretch of desert. I saw the dust cloud of a car that was racing toward us."
He tells how he trains his gun on the car and starts praying for it to veer away. He calculates how close to let it get before he opens up with his fifty-caliber machine gun. He waves the car away, shouting, "Back!"
It keeps coming.
He feels his finger tighten across the trigger, watches the car cross that invisible line where his training kicks in and tells him to blow it away. But he doesn't. He holds fire, then sees the driver's face--it's a women. She suddenly realizes what danger she's in and slams on the brakes, sending a couple of kids in the back seat tossing forward.
When he gets done talking, he's rocking back and forth, sweating and tapping a fist into his thigh. I'm puzzled, wondering what's got him so jacked up.
I lean toward him, take a deep breath, then say, in a way that could be taken as either a statement or a question: "It's as intense now as it was then?"
He nods. "Can't shake it. Think about it all the time."
As we unpack it, he acknowledges that things worked out. He and his buddies were safe; the woman and her kids were safe.
"Why do you think it keeps hooking you?"
"If I'd followed my training, I'd have killed them. I didn't do my duty."
"If you'd followed your training," I say, "the woman and her kids are dead, and you've got another kind of memory chasing you day after day."
He pauses, then says: "My buddies were counting on me. I could've gotten them killed. I let them down."
As we talk, it becomes clear that he walks around with a near-constant awareness that life--everything he knows--can change in a heartbeat. Maybe you have time to act, maybe you don't. Even if you have time to act, there are things you cannot know, control or predict. If the car had been carrying attackers, holding fire might have gotten him and his buddies killed. But if he'd opened fire, there'd have been a horrific bloodbath.
Some might explain his hesitation as intuition or some kind of providential intercession; others might chalk it up to nerves. For this guy, the whole thing is arbitrary.
"The dice roll one way, you're screwed," he says. "They roll the other, and your life goes on. I was lucky that time, that's all. Maybe next time my luck will run out." Clearly, the incident has seared into his mind how quickly the bottom can fall out of everything.
"I have lots of other stories," he adds. "One time a mortar shell landed right next to me, but it turned out to be a dud. Another time, a guy I knew was sick on the day when his unit got ambushed. Several of them got killed--including the guy who was working the radio in his place. It's a game of inches, man. It can all change, just like that." He snaps his fingers for emphasis. "The life you know could be gone."
Saying this last line, he motions toward post-op. I turn and see my wife and mother-in-law heading our way.
We stand up, still talking, then reach out and shake hands. As we do, he says, nervously, "My wife's in surgery right now. It's not good."
He looks worried. I feel my throat clench.
I think about saying, "These folks here are a crack team, man. Everything they can control, they will. She's in good hands."
But I don't. On one level, it's true; on another, it's the kind of easy reassurance people offer to keep from admitting that he's right--there are always things we can't control.
I want him to know that he's not carrying it alone: When I walk away, I'll be taking some of it with me. So, rather than saying anything, I give him a knowing look.
He holds out his arms. We hug, then I walk off with my family to meet with the surgeon who'll tell us what he found during the operation.
As we head down the hall, I think about my father-in-law and wonder which way the dice will roll.
About the author:
Scott Janssen is a hospice social worker and member of the National Hospice and Palliative Care Organization's trauma-informed care work group. His book Standing at Lemhi Pass: Archetypal Stories for the End of Life and Other Challenging Times explores the use of storytelling with hospice patients and families. "I think a lot about the guy in this story, wondering what happened to him and his wife, and hoping that the dice are always loaded in their favor."
Acknowledging our sorrow for things both done and un-done,
The Mercy Spiritual Care Team
To view previous reflections from Mercy's Spiritual Care Department, click here and here.
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Questions? Call the Human Resources department at ext. 793750.
The Iron Horse Bicycle Classic takes place from May 24-26. The event has supported Mercy Health Foundation for Mercy’s greatest needs over the years. This year, it will help to maximize fundraising efforts for Mercy’s $4 million Heart and Vascular Campaign. There is still time to gather friends and family and register for this event to complete a fundraising team from Mercy.
Riders are asked to fundraise a minimum of $400, which includes the $104 registration fee, but you don’t have to stop there. As a bonus, the person who raises $1000 or more gets entered into a drawing for a grand prize. The person who raises the highest amount overall will win yet another grand prize!
Rider registration also includes:
Associates are invited to attend a meditation class from noon to 1:00 p.m. Friday, March 29, in Mercy's Wellness Center, Suite 144 of the Medical Office Building.
Monk, meditation teacher and psychotherapist Jivan Das Maharaj will lead "Simple Practice, Peaceful Mind: A Guided Meditation Practice for Daily Life". Participants will learn the easy, accessible and practical use of meditation for daily life. Jivan Das has been teaching meditation and transformation to people of all ages and walks of life for more than 18 years. He lives and works in Durango and teaches internationally.
Questions? Email Jolie Ensign, wellness coordinator, at JolieEnsign@Centura.org.
Registration is now open for the FREE 5-week International Association of Infant Massage course. The course will take place April 9 to May 7 from 3:30 to 4:30 p.m. in Suite 144, Mercy's Wellness/Fitness Room located in the Medical Office Building.
The infant massage course provides massage instruction and handouts that build on each other over the duration of the course. Class size is limited and participants are asked to commit to five sessions, though there will be opportunities for make-up classes. The role of the instructors is to facilitate and help enhance acceptance, respect, empathy, communication and trust, through the gentle gift of touch between infant and parents. Benefits include: interaction, stimulation, relief and relaxation. As parents add to their loving and gentle relationship with their baby through massage they learn and respond to their baby’s nonverbal cues, promoting bonding. Infant massage provides stimulation of mind/body awareness and language development. It may help with relief from gas/colic, and physical and psychological tension. Relaxation may be demonstrated by improved sleep patterns, and improved ability to calm oneself. Benefits for parents may include: better understanding of their baby, relaxation, positive-quality time activity, and improved sleep.
To register:
Be sure to check the Rewards tab in your Code You account to view your health screening results and make sure you’ve completed the steps to earn full wellness incentives. A green checkmark will appear next to each activity completed. Please allow 24 hours for completion check mark to appear. | |
Mercy physicians, providers and associates give back to the community in so many ways, including volunteering for the 9Health Fair. This opportunity will be here before you know it, so please sign up to volunteer if you are able. Both medical and non-medical volunteers are needed. Thank you in advance for living out the mission of Mercy both at work and in the community.
WHEN: Saturday, April 13
WHERE: Escalante Middle School
WHO: We need medical and non-medical volunteers
WHY: This program helps keep Colorado’s communities healthy, and it is possible only because of the contribution of time and talent from volunteers like you!
To sign up, visit https://www.signupgenius.com/go/5080d4aa5a72d6-2019. For more information, email Jolie Ensign at JolieEnsign@Centura.org or call 764-2701.
Mercy is a proud sponsor of Durango DEVO. The mission of Durango DEVO is to develop each individual, in a traditional team setting, into life-long cyclists. There are more than 900 kids in the program, more than 70 coaches and a group for every age, ability level, and interest.
Volunteers are needed for DEVO’s annual Bike Swap on Saturday, April 20, at the Chapman Hill Ice Rink and Pavilion. Volunteers are also needed for setup on Friday, April 19. As a volunteer, you get early access to the bike swap on Saturday morning from 6:30-7:30 a.m., before the general public. Please arrive 10 minutes early for your shift to check-in with the volunteer coordinator and put on a volunteer t-shirt. Dress warmly for your shift, the Chapman Hill Ice Rink can be very chilly.
To volunteer, visit www.signupgenius.com/go/30e0448a5ae2ca6fd0-2019.
Donations are welcome with 20 percent of all sales going to DEVO. For more information, visit durangodevo.com/bike-swap.
Thank you for supporting this community program!
Centura Health wants to reward you for referring! We want to remind associates that we’ll pay $500 for full-time referrals and $250 for part-time and Centura Health Flex Team (formerly the float pool).
Here is a listing of a few current positions we would like your help to fill (You will receive $500 for full-time referrals, and $250 for part-time or PRN referrals for the following positions.):
- Interventional Rad Tech - Full-Time (Days)
- CNA Ortho/Spine - Per Request Needed (Variable)
For questions about our referral program, please call (800) 390-4166.