The Protector Losing Control
Very often Chaplaincy interactions can be intense, uncovering awful dark emotions and feelings, thoughts and words. And yet, it is our place to be present in these moments, calm and supportive, attentive and reflective, a listener.
Sitting in a small upright armchair against the wall is a middle-aged man, alert and orderly, but resting, reading. Immaculately dressed in good-quality pyjamas, it’s almost as though he’s at some European spa. On first glance, he doesn’t appear sick, until I notice the clear hospital IV line dangling from his sleeve, connecting him. His bed is well made, and the bedside table is uncluttered.
When I approach, he speaks with a strong clear European accent. “Earlier this year, the doctors told me I had cancer… I came here in January first. Now, I’ve already been a few times.” he sighs.
After a moment, I pose the question, “How does it feel, having to come and go from here?”
“What can you do? Have to accept it you know. I’ve was given my ticket and can’t even give it back, or swap it! He’s still controlled, but obviously speaking from some deep pain.
“Hmmm, a ticket you can’t swap… What is it you don’t like about this cancer; what’s the hardest part of this journey?” I reflect back.
Without hesitation he responds, “The journey. It’s long and it’s painful. If this were a heart attack, angina or something…” his voice trails off as he seeks his next words, “…well, you know, it’s over and done with, it’s finished. But, this cancer, it is a long slow painful thing.” He pauses for some moments. “I’ve seen others with this, and I don’t want it, I don’t want this. I don’t want this cancer.”
His pain was palpable as I reflect back, “The journey, the pain, the long duration of this?”
Now with pain swelling in his eyes and voice, “Yes, it goes too long! But what you can do? My family, they don’t want to…, they don’t want me to talk about this big sadness for me.”
“Can you speak with your wife about this sadness?”
“Yes, I talk to her. And, understand me please, my wife, she is a good wife. And the marriage is good too; I don’t complain about her. But, I go up and then I go down, and when I go down I want her to leave me quietly alone”, he pauses for breath. “But, what does she do, she keeps at me, she doesn’t leave me to be quiet. And, lots of people have told her,” now he sounds annoyed and agitated, “but she just don’t leave me alone.”
I’m curious to know, what does he need? “Does she speak with you and engage with you in meaningful conversation?”
Still sounding annoyed, “Yes, she does, but then she don’t just leave me to be quiet and to be alone.”
“So, you just want to be left alone. I wonder if she wants to ‘fix’ you?” I reflect back.
“Yes! That’s just want she wants! She wants to fix me. I don’t want to get fixed.” And now, his sadness thinly veiled, “Then we fight. I don’t want to hurt her. You understand me, she is a good woman, a good wife to me.”
“Yes, I’m sure your wife is a good woman. It sounds to me like this has already been a difficult journey for you.”
His frustration floods back, “My kids—my son, my daughter, they come in here… When they heard about this cancer—I told them, ‘Don’t do that! Don’t come in here to me!’ “
“What were they doing?”
“They were crying. I don’t want them to be crying.”
“What happens when they cry?” I gently explored.
“They get upset. It upsets me when I see them cry.” Now, he’s upset telling me. “I don’t want them to cry for me. My daughter, she went outside around the side of our house but, I could see she was crying, I knew she was upset.”
Once more, I gently probed, “What do the tears mean?”
“They’re upset but, they don’t need to cry for me! It upsets me!” he says with deep emotion.
“Sounds like you are protecting them.”, I say, “You have been the protector for the family; a strong protective gate. Do you want to save them from pain?”
“Yes!”, he blurts out, “They don’t need to cry; I hurt them with this.”
Now, gently, quietly, “And, you don’t want to hurt them. You have never wanted to hurt them, have you?”, I ask.
“No, I don’t want to cause pain.”, he finally admits, as if realising he’s lost control.
I try to reframe for him, “This thing… this cancer… It’s not you causing them the pain. You haven’t caused their pain. It is this thing, this unwanted cancer ticket that causes the pain. It’s not you causing the pain.”
“Yes.” Now, he’s emotionally flat, resigned, this long painful journey, exhausting. “I am very sorry for this, for these tears.”
And then, suddenly our time is done as he wrests back control, firmly closing the door on his painful world as he moves the conversation along to something else mundane.
If you identified with what you read, need help, or know someone who needs help call 0421 224 070.
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