In 1970, when my father was fifty
years old (and I was eighteen) he had a stroke as he was riding his bicycle in the mountains of New Hampshire.
Fortunately someone was driving by when he fell, so he was rushed to a hospital in Hanover where they performed
emergency surgery. (Recently, he carried a wooden cube wherever he went to show people the size that was removed from his
frontal lobe.) His struggle to recover his memory, speech, judgement and mobility inspired me to share with him what
I knew of relaxation techniques, breathing exercises, and very basic yoga. I also massaged his back, neck and head.
My father's healing process moved me and deepened
my appreciation for people who face physical, emotional and mental challenges.
A week ago I had the fortune and honor of being present as he was
beginning his transition out of this life. Dying, I have come to understand, is a sacred time, as is being born.
Again, through this healing process, I was reminded of the power
of healing touch, and of the need to be surrounded by people who know you, care about you, and can speak up for you.
The night I arrived from California I was told that his legs had been
red from the knees down since he first entered the hospital two months earlier for a fall which resulted in a broken hip.
I massaged his legs using swedish massage effleurage strokes, and also used energy balancing for his entire body. He
seemed to be struggling physically and emotionally. He was cold, and I gathered eight more hospital "blankets" to cover
him. When I left him sleeping his face was relaxed, almost happy. The next morning my brother was astounded that Dad's legs
were healthy looking in color and warm to the touch.
For the next few days, I shared what I knew with his nurses, with
visitors, other family members (to the point, I am sure, of being a nuisance.) When I had to leave the week before he
died, other members of my family and his Quaker Meeting in Bethlehem took over with a constant stream of visits, and massages!
My regret is that he wasn't getting much of this attention in the previous forty years. Older people and people who
don't fit the norm are often ignored.
I was happy that he was surrounded by love in his last few weeks.
Although most hospital staff are caring people, there are not enough
of them. Some things I noticed:
- He was not getting turned every two hours, thus the pressure sore on
his hip that was infected;
- When I massaged his feet he said his heels were pinching and we noted
that he was on his way to getting pressure sores there. The nurse gave us socks with cushions on the heels, but the
next day there were deep indentations in his ankles, definitely not something needed by a man with circulatory problems.
We threw out the socks and propped his calves with a pillow and left a sign for all staff to make sure heels were not contacting
the bed. No one remembered to check that.
- A few of the staff were not conscious of his need for announcing
their presence, and saying what they were going to do. One time when he was in a deep sleep(or even
perhaps out of his body), a nurse walked over and stuck a spoon in his mouth. It was shocking and upsetting for him
(and for me.)
- It is important to be taking probiotics along with antibiotics to help avoid getting
MRSA, a sometimes life threatening infection
So please, when you know someone is in the hospital, be sure they
have spokespeople and advocates. If you find yourself in a hospital, be sure to get that for yourself.
My father was a conscientious objector during World War II and built
roads in North Carolina, jumped out of airplanes with his parachute to put out forest fires in Montana, and then served as
a medic in Puerto Rico. At some point during the last week of his life I started to see him again as that man, and realized
how hard the last 40 years have been for him. A week ago he even said, "I was one person and then somewhere I lost my
way."
My heart goes out to the veterans of the war in Iraq and Afghanistan
as they return, having to deal with their trauma, without much support from the government or the public. And I imagine
that those with brain damage may feel they have lost their way. I hope that bodyworkers, counselors, healers, shamans,
families, physicians can all work together to help them heal.
As we work together to heal as a nation, perhaps that healing
will expand to include the planet. Then we can find that peace my father worked so hard for.
*More about my father in my mother's book, "You Don't Just Wake Up and Start Talking"
