A tribute to hospital staff who astonished us . . .

[Finished just before I received the emergency call about which I just posted.]

Dave, Jonelle, Sarita and I talked about this several times over the last week and a half/two weeks: The staff in the Labor & Delivery and Neonatal Intensive Care Units at St. Joseph Hospital/Denver absolutely stunned us. At one point, Dave and Jonelle said, "They have reestablished our faith in the medical profession."

I said, "What? . . . Why?" --And part of my question arose from knowing (or sensing I knew) how well Jonelle had been cared for during her last delivery in which she had had to undergo an emergency C-section to save her life.

What we discovered, partially by pure observation, partially by conversation, were--among many other points, I'm sure--these things. And I want to list them by way of tribute.

Overall: the staff of St. Joseph's Labor & Delivery and Neonatal Intensive Care Units communicate effectively. But this is how that looked to this observer:

• To quote the doctor who pulled us aside on Saturday evening and sat and talked with us for half an hour (or, at least, to convey the gist of what he said): "We have a saying here: 'We are here to treat the entire family' . . . because the whole family is involved in what is going on." Therefore, our questions and concerns were important to him . . . and to the other staff members. --He . . . and they, all . . . communicated that message through their actions. Consistently.
  
  We, all of us, were important to them. And they proved that.
  
  How?
   
• As they walked into the room (while Jonelle was in the hospital), and when we walked into the NICU (when we would visit there), they made sure to greet us, to identify who they were, why they were there, and what their roles were . . . and, though it was not so noticeable to us, they made sure to identify each one of us and to acknowledge who we were and why we were present. --This was something we noticed immediately, within minutes of first entering the recovery room following Jonelle's surgery. Just the act of identifying themselves by name . . . and honoring us--and themselves--by making sure we all understood each other's roles.
   
• They listened intently to whatever we had to say, whatever questions we had.
   
• They looked us in the eye--each one who asked a question--as they answered our questions. There was no looking around, no "being distracted" with "other duties" that might call.
   
• They communicated thoroughly.
   
• They communicated knowledgeably.
   
• They communicated as much as we wanted to know and in a patient and astonishingly unhurried manner.
  
  --It was clear: Our questions mattered.
   
• They communicated in a manner that honored the hearer--whether it was any one of us who was a member of the family, or it was another member of the staff. --I never saw anyone "talk down" to someone else.
  
  All of the above meant,
   
• There was amazing unity among the staff. We saw no dissension or distance between doctors and nursing staff. They fully honored one another as fellow professionals and human beings.
  
  Continuing with the theme of excellent communication:
   
• They told us [and now I am speaking primarily in behalf of Jonelle and Dave] . . . --They told us what they intended to do and why they intended to do it . . . before they did it. Always. Consistently.
   
• They fully explained what they were going to do if we ever had any questions.
   
• There was no sense on our part that we needed to "shut up" and simply acquiesce to their treatments.
   
• We, all of us, were an integral part of the treatment process.
   
• They were all well-informed of what was happening. (Noticeable: Every shift, the staff who were coming on made sure to engage in a thorough debriefing from and by the staff who were departing.
   
• They were well-educated about the issues they were dealing with. They could speak knowledgeably with us on whatever topic was of concern. And yet even as (for example) one of the nurses fully explained a matter, she would offer--indeed, make the effort--to pull in a doctor: "_______ asked ________. Would you mind explaining it to him [or her]?" --What an amazing experience to hear virtually the same explanation, in slightly different words, from two different sources! What wonderful confirmation of competency!

Much of what I have said here, at this point, seems so reasonable.

But, as Jonelle and Dave noted, these are not typical of what they experienced 20 months ago at another local hospital.

*******
One more observation.

I believe it was Saturday night, as four of us were gathered around Gracie Lou, as tears were flowing, as prayers were being said . . . it struck me what a difficult job these staff members--especially the NICU nurses--have during times of deep distress and stress on the parts of the families.

How do you know when to speak up? How do you know when to be silent? How do you know when to maintain a distance when the family needs to be left alone and, yet, to "be there" for them when they need someone to buoy them up?

How do you know when to speak words of encouragement and hope (when, otherwise, the family would be given to potentially needless despair) . . . and when to speak words that communicate about the potential gravity of a situation (lest family members hold out wildly inordinate optimism)?

I am astonished at how the staff of St. Joseph Hospital did all of these things . . . and did them well.

Thank you to all the staff at St. Joseph who touched our family. You have blessed us deeply!

An era passing: I shed some tears this morning . . .

I get on the Sonlighters Club forums only very occasionally anymore. ("Back in the day" I used to spend hours there every day.)

This morning I went to one of my favorite Sonlighters Club forums (Lifelong Learners) and read the "farewell address" of one of the Sonlight moderators, one of the forums' very early participants, a woman whose services I urged Sonlight to acquire as a moderator specifically because I had seen how thoughtful and well-spoken she was.

Tracy has served as a moderator so long, I don't even recall when she began her duties. Probably about eight years ago, I would guess.

Well . . . her time of service seems to have come to an end as of this last weekend. And I happened to stumble upon her summary, goodbye post as a moderator.

I thought her insights were well worth repeating here. Through her moderating work, she helped to establish as practice (not always followed, but ever-more-intentionally pursued) what I expressed as a principle of communication I seek to follow in my own life and attempted to integrate into the Sonlight Curriculum. Specifically: "Seek first to understand, and then to be understood."

Sadly, I'm afraid, for too many of us--especially in the Christian community--the emphasis is entirely the other way 'round. (Indeed, I'm afraid, too often the matter of understanding is neglected completely in our headlong rush to make sure we "preach the 'Good News'"!)

Anyway. The following is an excerpt from Tracy's "Farewell Address" that made me cry:

On this, my last day as a Sonlight moderator, I’d just like to say, “Thank-you!” to each and every last one of you that has ever posted on the Sonlight forums, to those of you who lurked, to those of you I’ve spoken to on the phone, and with whom I have had email conversations. You’ve changed me in deep and lasting ways, and I am grateful to you.

You’ve made me lose sleep, miss meals, say bad words, and yes . . . scream in frustration. You’ve also inspired me, challenged me, taught me, shaped me, pushed me, stretched me, encouraged me, prayed for me, and been my friends . . . even when you didn’t know it was me that you were encouraging. Thank you for good times and bad.

I’ve had to learn to articulate just what it is that tends to make communication spiral out of control. Even though on good days, many of you have inspired me by your ability to look past your differences and reach out in genuine acts of loving charity toward someone with whom you completely disagree. I’ve had to learn to pinpoint, define, and express what pushes people to lash out. And in the end, you’ve changed me. Perhaps, not so much my opinions with regard to politics and religion and parenting and Harry Potter, and breast-feeding (or not), but in my ability to look for and express common ground where it can be found and to have a real affection for those with whom I disagree on substantive issues . . . like eggplant. To that end, you’ve helped me be a better co-worker and parent. To learn to articulate a principle is to become a better teacher of it both to oneself and to others.

I like to think I am a better person today, than when I started this job. You’ve challenged me and stretched me.

On the bad days, I’ve had to sit down and define just what made a post charitable or uncharitable completely independent of whether or not I agreed with the opinion expressed therein. That was hard and it taught me a lot. Many, many of you have taught me through your fine examples how to have a controversial opinion and express it with charity. If I have ever managed to express in words, how to communicate charitably; then, it is because I have seen so many fine examples of how to do it during my time as a Sonlight moderator. Through that exercise, I’ve learned to be more charitable in the way I express myself (I hope) in all aspects of my life and shockingly (to me) in many ways, I am more charitable than when I started work as a moderator and not just in the ways I express myself. By that I mean, I don’t just say things charitably but I AM more charitable. I am grateful to you all beyond words for that gift to me. . . .

From the bottom of my heart that you’ve all had a hand in enlarging . . . Thank you.