Although it seemed like forever, I have to admit that the medical board was pretty good about getting my license done. After they received all the information they needed, it was only another week until my license was approved. That’s pretty darn quick for these parts! It was lovely to finally get word that I had been approved, and the staff here actually had my license put on the plane and hand-delivered to me because they didn’t want any question that I was licensed.
So I started work Thursday, September 20, 2007 . . . and what a day it was. Kevan and I got to my office early to complete the preparation of my office, which included hanging pictures. I had received compliment after compliment about the color I had chosen, and I was relieved. When we first started painting over the aqua color, the paint took on that yellow/brown/green baby poo color to my complete chagrin. I assumed it would take two coats to cover but, alas, there was not going to be enough paint. To my ultimate delight, it only needed one coat and once the paint had dried, the paint was the color I had, indeed, chosen. As I was pulling off the paint tape, it grabbed a corner of paint on the highly-enameled door and pulled the new latex off like a balloon! A little touchup should do fine.
So as my first patients arrived, the hospital/clinic came alive. It was an interesting experience. I was new and the office looked new, which seemed to create a sort of carnival atmosphere or perhaps better described as an “open house.” Everyone stopped by to welcome me and look at Liz’s photographs hanging on the wall. I had to explain each picture and then, of course, go through the family photograph and name each individual, where they are living, and what they do.
As we finally got down to the business at hand, I saw three 18 month-old babies with sore throats, earaches, and rashes, and then the usual adult complaints of gout, high blood pressure, and diabetes. I saw 10 patients before lunch . . . pretty good for my first day! Things had quieted down around 11 AM, so I walked down the hall to our hospital rooms to see if anyone had been admitted, and sure enough a gentleman was receiving an IV of antibiotics. As I was visiting him, I heard quite a commotion in the hallway as our ambulance arrived, so I went to help. There in the hall were probably 15 firefighters and police along with a very, very distraught mother.
I pushed my way through the crowd and into the emergency room, only to see a young boy being moved to the hospital bed while the medic reported no breathing and no heartbeat. With heart in throat, I stepped forward to be helpful. After all, this was what I have trained for and, as Kevan would put it, “You can’t complain now . . . this is exactly what you’ve wanted for all these years.” The fact that this was a 13-year-old boy created unimaginable stress. We worked on him for 60 minutes using all our medical capability but to no avail.
So I started work Thursday, September 20, 2007 . . . and what a day it was. Kevan and I got to my office early to complete the preparation of my office, which included hanging pictures. I had received compliment after compliment about the color I had chosen, and I was relieved. When we first started painting over the aqua color, the paint took on that yellow/brown/green baby poo color to my complete chagrin. I assumed it would take two coats to cover but, alas, there was not going to be enough paint. To my ultimate delight, it only needed one coat and once the paint had dried, the paint was the color I had, indeed, chosen. As I was pulling off the paint tape, it grabbed a corner of paint on the highly-enameled door and pulled the new latex off like a balloon! A little touchup should do fine.
So as my first patients arrived, the hospital/clinic came alive. It was an interesting experience. I was new and the office looked new, which seemed to create a sort of carnival atmosphere or perhaps better described as an “open house.” Everyone stopped by to welcome me and look at Liz’s photographs hanging on the wall. I had to explain each picture and then, of course, go through the family photograph and name each individual, where they are living, and what they do.
As we finally got down to the business at hand, I saw three 18 month-old babies with sore throats, earaches, and rashes, and then the usual adult complaints of gout, high blood pressure, and diabetes. I saw 10 patients before lunch . . . pretty good for my first day! Things had quieted down around 11 AM, so I walked down the hall to our hospital rooms to see if anyone had been admitted, and sure enough a gentleman was receiving an IV of antibiotics. As I was visiting him, I heard quite a commotion in the hallway as our ambulance arrived, so I went to help. There in the hall were probably 15 firefighters and police along with a very, very distraught mother.
I pushed my way through the crowd and into the emergency room, only to see a young boy being moved to the hospital bed while the medic reported no breathing and no heartbeat. With heart in throat, I stepped forward to be helpful. After all, this was what I have trained for and, as Kevan would put it, “You can’t complain now . . . this is exactly what you’ve wanted for all these years.” The fact that this was a 13-year-old boy created unimaginable stress. We worked on him for 60 minutes using all our medical capability but to no avail.
As the family has not requested an autopsy, we will never know exactly what happened, but as he had a history of asthma and had just completed a mile run in 7 minutes 35 seconds, we are assuming that his airway closed and he died from an asthma attack, although from the conflicting reports in the news, it may have also been a fatal heart arrhythmia.
In a quiet room, I told the mother her son had died and held her tightly while she grieved. I’ve watched movies and television programs where parents have been told of the death of a child or a family of the loss of a loved one, but until you’re the one doing it, I’m not certain you can understand the awesome responsibility of saying just the right thing in the right way while knowing that certainly there isn’t any right way that’s going to make it easier or better. So I held her for a long time and tried to convey my own sorrow for her loss. Her only question was “what happened” as she repeated over and over that he was just fine that morning.
Beyond this boy’s mother, the friend who first asked him if something was wrong and helped him to the school office had not yet been told his friend had passed away. I found him standing outside the emergency department and took him aside to speak with him. I told him that his friend had died. I’ve often wondered how it is that something as inert as eyes can express emotion, but you could see the flash of hurt cross his eyes. I expressed to him my understanding that he had been a good friend to this boy in helping him out and that there was nothing anyone could have done to save him . . . that he in no way had been neglectful or could have changed the outcome. I asked him to come see me on Monday to talk about how his weekend.
Within the hour, family member after family member arrived at the hospital as the news spread through the community. I was a silent witness to a very sacred tradition here. As family members came in to say goodbye to this young man, each one loving caressed his face with their hands and then brushed his cheeks with their own cheeks. It was almost as if each one was taking a small piece of his soul to carry with them. We moved his body from the emergency room into a hospital room where extended family members came to say goodbye. The Priest arrived to perform Last Rites and then the family surrounded this boy’s bed, spilling into the hallway because there were so many, and they said the Rosary. Quietly, with deep spiritual sense, they repeated the Rosary.
I returned to my office just down the hallway as I still had patients to see. What a contrast! From handling a fatal code to seeing beautiful, smiling 18-month-old babies for their well checks. It was so . . . the embodiment of life itself.
From time to time, I would walk back down the hallway to check on the family and friends as their numbers continued to grow. I wanted to make certain I was available to answer any questions that might arise.
As the Rosary was completed, it was time to clean the body. You see on Tinian, there is no mortuary or mortician or medical examiner. Our nurses have been taught to perform these tasks. I attended this ritual so I could learn how to do this myself. It was a quiet, very dignified procedure. Since there is no mortuary, we have a large cold room behind the hospital that is capable of holding two bodies. This young man was placed there, and I learned of the island tradition of burial. This is an island. The indigenous people come from many islands in the West and South Pacific. A body is not buried for nine days. The only reason I could come up with was that this tradition arose from the fact that before airplanes, it would take that many days for family members to arrive from all over the Pacific via outrigger canoes. I imagine this is a very old tradition. Talking to my friends, Florence and Ben, they agreed that this is the reason for the nine days.
A tent is erected behind the hospital, next to the “morgue” where family and friends gather to sit vigil over the body. A beautiful altar has been erected for this young man with local flora and flowers and a picture of him for those who mourn. Many, many friends arrived the first night to pray and say the Rosary.
I spoke with his mother the next day, and she expressed that she is “hanging in there.” We embraced and expressed our sorrow one to the other. She has two older sons who are a great comfort to her.
On the ninth day, we will again clean the body and dress it in preparation for the funeral, which will be held at 10 AM on September 29, 2007. Kevan and I will attend, although I will be on call at the hospital just a half-block away.
I understand that this young man was a very talented singer, an excellent student, and loved by many, many family and friends. I hope to learn more about him.
What a first day! But in the tragedy of death and the hope of beautiful, happy babies, it was verified that I am where I have always wanted to be: a place where I will know and love my patients and become involved in their lives, and a place where I can cry and mourn the loss of my patients without embarrassment because not only are they my patients but my family.
News articles:
Saipan Tribune
Marianas Variety
In a quiet room, I told the mother her son had died and held her tightly while she grieved. I’ve watched movies and television programs where parents have been told of the death of a child or a family of the loss of a loved one, but until you’re the one doing it, I’m not certain you can understand the awesome responsibility of saying just the right thing in the right way while knowing that certainly there isn’t any right way that’s going to make it easier or better. So I held her for a long time and tried to convey my own sorrow for her loss. Her only question was “what happened” as she repeated over and over that he was just fine that morning.
Beyond this boy’s mother, the friend who first asked him if something was wrong and helped him to the school office had not yet been told his friend had passed away. I found him standing outside the emergency department and took him aside to speak with him. I told him that his friend had died. I’ve often wondered how it is that something as inert as eyes can express emotion, but you could see the flash of hurt cross his eyes. I expressed to him my understanding that he had been a good friend to this boy in helping him out and that there was nothing anyone could have done to save him . . . that he in no way had been neglectful or could have changed the outcome. I asked him to come see me on Monday to talk about how his weekend.
Within the hour, family member after family member arrived at the hospital as the news spread through the community. I was a silent witness to a very sacred tradition here. As family members came in to say goodbye to this young man, each one loving caressed his face with their hands and then brushed his cheeks with their own cheeks. It was almost as if each one was taking a small piece of his soul to carry with them. We moved his body from the emergency room into a hospital room where extended family members came to say goodbye. The Priest arrived to perform Last Rites and then the family surrounded this boy’s bed, spilling into the hallway because there were so many, and they said the Rosary. Quietly, with deep spiritual sense, they repeated the Rosary.
I returned to my office just down the hallway as I still had patients to see. What a contrast! From handling a fatal code to seeing beautiful, smiling 18-month-old babies for their well checks. It was so . . . the embodiment of life itself.
From time to time, I would walk back down the hallway to check on the family and friends as their numbers continued to grow. I wanted to make certain I was available to answer any questions that might arise.
As the Rosary was completed, it was time to clean the body. You see on Tinian, there is no mortuary or mortician or medical examiner. Our nurses have been taught to perform these tasks. I attended this ritual so I could learn how to do this myself. It was a quiet, very dignified procedure. Since there is no mortuary, we have a large cold room behind the hospital that is capable of holding two bodies. This young man was placed there, and I learned of the island tradition of burial. This is an island. The indigenous people come from many islands in the West and South Pacific. A body is not buried for nine days. The only reason I could come up with was that this tradition arose from the fact that before airplanes, it would take that many days for family members to arrive from all over the Pacific via outrigger canoes. I imagine this is a very old tradition. Talking to my friends, Florence and Ben, they agreed that this is the reason for the nine days.
A tent is erected behind the hospital, next to the “morgue” where family and friends gather to sit vigil over the body. A beautiful altar has been erected for this young man with local flora and flowers and a picture of him for those who mourn. Many, many friends arrived the first night to pray and say the Rosary.
I spoke with his mother the next day, and she expressed that she is “hanging in there.” We embraced and expressed our sorrow one to the other. She has two older sons who are a great comfort to her.
On the ninth day, we will again clean the body and dress it in preparation for the funeral, which will be held at 10 AM on September 29, 2007. Kevan and I will attend, although I will be on call at the hospital just a half-block away.
I understand that this young man was a very talented singer, an excellent student, and loved by many, many family and friends. I hope to learn more about him.
What a first day! But in the tragedy of death and the hope of beautiful, happy babies, it was verified that I am where I have always wanted to be: a place where I will know and love my patients and become involved in their lives, and a place where I can cry and mourn the loss of my patients without embarrassment because not only are they my patients but my family.
News articles:
Saipan Tribune
Marianas Variety
4 comments:
Terri,
Thank you for sharing this moving experience. You handled this situation with so much dignity, sensitivity, and love. I am sure that the people of Tinian are grateful that you and Kevan are there.
My prayers for the family, relatives, and for all of you, the care givers.
Please take care, too.
cinta
Hi Terri,
Send me an email. david (at) marianaseye (dot)com
David
David:
Tried to email twice and it keeps getting returned.
tclawson@terriclawson.com
Terri
Hi Terri,
My mom sent me the link to your blog. I look forward to keeping up with all that you do in Tinian. I can see that you are already impacting their lives for the better.Thank you for sharing.
Mandy
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