Tuesday, April 8, 2008
WHAT DO I KNOW ABOUT DEATH AND HOW SACRED IS LIFE, REALLY?
I FOUND THIS IN MY DIARY FROM BURUNDI September 2005. I'M WRITING IT HERE AS I WROTE IT THEN.
How sacred is life, really? Oh how we talk and point the finger at the relative by the grave who shows no emotion. The daughter who does not cry, the wife who sheds no tear. Immediately suspect of something- cheating, lying or living a lie. All the lies lying in the mind of the observer, hmmm. Anyway the tears are never really for the dead only for and from the living - sadness yes, but a life well-lived should bring as many smiles as tears.
So what do I know about death? I lived through the fear of AIDS of dying myself and lived to see my young friends die and I continued to grow older than they ever did. I caught up and overtook their ages frozen(so wrong!) where they fell. And all of us so young then to have to die and see them die...
And so I became a nurse and soon find myself among the dying and see my first real live corpse, a chinese lady as I remember. Nothing there! And nothing so 'sacred' I could see. That was interesting seeing just a shell.
Growing as a nurse opening to meet the grief that comes at unplanned endings. The almost sinful joy I found at meeting loved ones at the edge and learning as I tried clumsily to comfort. Every death a lesson surrounded by waves of grief radiating out. Lifting me often. Tides of life.
September 11th my eyes looked into those of a young woman burned in an instant of terror in terror. Less than a week later I drag her mother screaming with grief and disbelief to the emergency room as her daughter died. What did I know?
And years later here, now- I watch as beautiful pale black children sink and die from malaria too late to treat or save, eyes focussed elsewhere. The breathing stops when all other systems are exhausted.
And the African mothers and fathers what do they know about death?
" Oh they're used to it", "it doesn't affect them like it does us", "they have more children anyway". Really. If I only knew what they know about death.
What do I know?
How sacred is life, really? Oh how we talk and point the finger at the relative by the grave who shows no emotion. The daughter who does not cry, the wife who sheds no tear. Immediately suspect of something- cheating, lying or living a lie. All the lies lying in the mind of the observer, hmmm. Anyway the tears are never really for the dead only for and from the living - sadness yes, but a life well-lived should bring as many smiles as tears.
So what do I know about death? I lived through the fear of AIDS of dying myself and lived to see my young friends die and I continued to grow older than they ever did. I caught up and overtook their ages frozen(so wrong!) where they fell. And all of us so young then to have to die and see them die...
And so I became a nurse and soon find myself among the dying and see my first real live corpse, a chinese lady as I remember. Nothing there! And nothing so 'sacred' I could see. That was interesting seeing just a shell.
Growing as a nurse opening to meet the grief that comes at unplanned endings. The almost sinful joy I found at meeting loved ones at the edge and learning as I tried clumsily to comfort. Every death a lesson surrounded by waves of grief radiating out. Lifting me often. Tides of life.
September 11th my eyes looked into those of a young woman burned in an instant of terror in terror. Less than a week later I drag her mother screaming with grief and disbelief to the emergency room as her daughter died. What did I know?
And years later here, now- I watch as beautiful pale black children sink and die from malaria too late to treat or save, eyes focussed elsewhere. The breathing stops when all other systems are exhausted.
And the African mothers and fathers what do they know about death?
" Oh they're used to it", "it doesn't affect them like it does us", "they have more children anyway". Really. If I only knew what they know about death.
What do I know?
- N'DJAMENA
Dusty sand roads unpaved, generators loudly running( kind of like lawnmowers in the summer of my youth) women with colored fabric covered heads and bodies and yes-the men in full-length whatevers and an insane looking wind of white cotton wrapped around their heads. Two women selling peanuts under a plastic sheet construct. A man being diligently hand shaved of his head hair. Many man-made scars on the dark faces I meet. These fascinate me as an echoing of past pains and an underlying nativity of a deeper different sort.
Dusty sand roads unpaved, generators loudly running( kind of like lawnmowers in the summer of my youth) women with colored fabric covered heads and bodies and yes-the men in full-length whatevers and an insane looking wind of white cotton wrapped around their heads. Two women selling peanuts under a plastic sheet construct. A man being diligently hand shaved of his head hair. Many man-made scars on the dark faces I meet. These fascinate me as an echoing of past pains and an underlying nativity of a deeper different sort.
EVERYDAY IS AN ADVENTURE
Greetings Nurslings- I am now truly back in NYC. I am right smack bang in the middle of interviewing for a job as a Nurse Practitioner. My fears of recruiters being 'put off' by my strange resume of late are calmed somewhat by the wonderful reactions of those who have called me for interviews. I think it is certainly seen by more enlightened recruiters as an insight into one's manifold capabilities. So in effect you tend to be picked up by the more progressive recruiters-which is what you want, n'est-ce-pas? I am hoping to have some exciting news to share with you soon.
I have thoughts on BLOGs from the field. Lately they have proved extremely problematic for NGO's as employees have posted personal observations. information and opinions which can in fact cause grave repercussions. Even before I arrived in N'djamena I decided not to write a live Blog during my time in Chad for various reasons but I did keep a little diary. I have decided that now I am going to share pages of my thoughts written as I navigated my mission along with photos. I also may include passages from my first mission to Burundi as on reading them they have a power which brings me right back to the place I was. ALL my musings add to my contemplation of NURSING and how this chosen profession is ripe for enlightened change and expansion.....
I have thoughts on BLOGs from the field. Lately they have proved extremely problematic for NGO's as employees have posted personal observations. information and opinions which can in fact cause grave repercussions. Even before I arrived in N'djamena I decided not to write a live Blog during my time in Chad for various reasons but I did keep a little diary. I have decided that now I am going to share pages of my thoughts written as I navigated my mission along with photos. I also may include passages from my first mission to Burundi as on reading them they have a power which brings me right back to the place I was. ALL my musings add to my contemplation of NURSING and how this chosen profession is ripe for enlightened change and expansion.....
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