I always park in the same spot.
This is due to either my love for routine and ritual OR a deep pathology around control over chaos. I suppose it’s most likely a little of both.
Nevertheless, I pull into my usual spot overlooking trees and construction, take a deep breath, gather my things and walk into the hospital.
I feel that my workday begins the moment I step away from the car. Perhaps, it’s a chaplain thing, but even as I’m walking in, I feel a sense of responsibility. The way I carry myself, the way I look at others — this is all part of the role. I strive to be a joyous presence in these halls, and I don’t take joy lightly.
So, I slowly make my way to the Spiritual Care office, smiling and nodding along the way.
We have a morning meeting at 8 am each day. This involves one of my colleagues leading us in a short meditation or reflection, followed by any announcements that need to be shared with the group.
And, then, I sit.
My office is dark. Actually, it’s an office with three cubicles, but I’ve taken ownership over the ambience. I like low light — it has something to do with shadows.
I surround myself with religious paraphernalia. There’s a Buddhist thangka to my left, Islamic calligraphy to my right and a Byzantine icon of Jesus in front of me. I love these images and the traditions that go along with them — this is my happy place.
Now, it’s time for correspondence.
I enjoy communicating with people over email. It’s like writing little letters that arrive instantly on my doorstep. An inquiry about most anything can quickly become an excuse to ask someone how his/her day is going.
What a gift!
A patient’s chart gives me a starting point. I look for situations that stand out — young people in the ICU, drug overdoses, long hospital stays — and, of course, Spiritual Care consults.
Then, barring any groups or meetings, I’m off to the floors.
Henri Nouwen, a Catholic Priest and theologian, is famous for saying, “the distractions are my work.” As I walk through the hospital, I invite distractions (unless I’m on my way to an immediate need). A large part of the work of a chaplain is being available. It sounds simple, and it is. We don’t know where the need is going to be at any given moment. All we can do is be open.
When I do make it to one of the ICUs where I have been assigned, I begin with the staff. Even if there is a specific patient I would like to see, I talk to the nurse first. This way, I can check in with them and discover how the patient is doing medically.
As hospital employees, chaplains are authorized to access patient medical information and must comply with confidentiality laws outlined in the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act (HIPAA).
When it is time to step into a patient’s room, something changes — senses are heightened, the heart slows and time seems to stop. In those spaces, everything matters. Perhaps, it’s the look in a mother’s eyes or the soft desperation of a husband who has just learned that his wife of 50 years is going to die. Small details are paramount in moments of crisis, and I don’t want to miss a thing.
Stepping out of the room, I take a breath. In order to move on, everything that I have taken in must be released. After all, it’s not mine to carry.
And this is the process — I move from nurse to nurse, checking in, catching up and asking how patients are doing. On the way, I speak to patients and families, doctors, nurse aids, respiratory therapists and EVS staff.
Some conversations last an hour or more, and some last a few minutes. But I don’t judge the quality of a conversation by its length. Nor do I judge it by its depth. A conversation is a conversation; I’m simply there to be present — to listen.
I try to pay attention to my energy level between encounters. Being present takes a lot out of me, and, after a while, I need a break. When I begin to feel my energy fade, I return to the Spiritual Care office — my happy place — and enjoy a cup of coffee.
I return to the floor to check on other patients, talk to more staff, smile and nod and make sure I am available for needs as they arise. There are days when I have meetings, groups or educational responsibilities, and if this is the case, I spend time on the floor when I can. But, no matter how packed my schedule, I strive to be open to distractions.
The day winds to a close, I have crossed items off my list (personally, I love a list) and I have visited as many people as I can.
I turn off the light in the office, place a hat on my head and walk to my parking space.
About Andy Ross, MA
Andy Ross, MA, received a BA in Religious Studies from NC State University and an MA in Contemporary Spirituality from Loyola University Chicago. After training for two years under the minister of a spiritual community here in Raleigh, he was ordained in a shamanic ceremony, receiving the woodpecker as his totem animal. Andy spent years as an independent minister before entering the Clinical Pastoral Education program at WakeMed. He is currently a staff chaplain in the CVICU and is passionate about staff care, interfaith education and Star Wars. Andy lives in Wake Forest, NC with his wife, two daughters and a cat named Pants.
About WakeMed Spiritual Care
The crisis of hospitalization often raises complex issues for patients and families, which can generate a swirl of emotions including anxiety, anger, grief, guilt and fear.
Chaplains are available to offer compassionate support and spiritual guidance for you and your family members during a hospital stay. The ministry offered is interfaith with respectful care to people of all belief systems.
Learn more about our available services.
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