Forest of the Plains

I used to work reviewing charts of hospital patients to see if they had the appropriate medical level of care to transfer to a skilled nursing facility. I enjoyed most of this job, and especially enjoyed meeting interesting people.

But sometimes it wasn’t very happy. Like seeing children in comas due to accidents or abuse. Or meeting patients that would live for years longer because of the wonders of modern medicine, but their quality of life was very questionable. Or talking to family members who couldn’t process just how bleak their loved one’s future was.

I did not like going to the VA Hospital because the structure was so bleak and depressing. Lots of old men lined up in wheelchairs in the hallways. If the atmosphere didn’t get you, than the bureaucracy would.

Or the stench of the burn units. You only have to smell that once to remember it for the rest of your life.

But one of the most difficult things was to talk to someone who seemed lucid and happy and acted as if nothing was really wrong with them. If you didn’t know better, you would think they were totally fine. But you had read the chart. You knew it said "CA w/ mets". You knew the horrible pain-filled future that was nearly upon them.

This morning someone died. The cancer had metastasized to his bones. The pain was overwhelming and luckily he wasn’t aware of it at the end.

Experiencing the march of death during the Easter season makes us more cognizant of the suffering Jesus endured on the cross. That experience is not one that I would wish upon anyone.