Some things make me squirm
16/03/13 03:40
I’m not particularly squeamish about medical procedures and events. When I donate blood, plasma and platelets, the person drawing blood always says, “If you want to look away this would be the time.” I look. There is nothing particularly mysterious or painful about watching the needle go through my skin and into the vein. I watch them draw blood at the lab when I have my annual physical. I have watched a number of medical procedures and minor surgeries over the years without any negative effects. When our children were small, I would often be the one to take them to the doctor because Susan found it difficult to have them cry over a particular procedure. Our son had some complex treatments on his legs and feet when he was tiny and he particularly did not like the sound of the cast saw when it came time to remove casts. I would hold him with my wife trying not to listen from the waiting room. It didn’t bother me.
I worked for several years as a volunteer Emergency Care Technician and ambulance driver when we lived in North Dakota. I helped pick up the victims of car accidents, people who had fallen and broken bones and shattered joints, those suffering from acute medical conditions that caused intense pain and discomfort. I’ve cleaned up vomit and blood on multiple occasions. I’ve sat with people as they died and sat with bodies after death. I’ve seen a lot of things that should not be described in this blog.
I’m not writing this out of some desire to brag or to make others feel uncomfortable, only to say that there are a lot of things that bother others that don’t seem to have a negative effect on me.
But there are a few things that I’d prefer not to look at.
I remember holding the hands of a 14-year-old girl who had made a suicide attempt as the emergency room physician carefully stitched up the cuts with tiny stitches so that the scarring would be minimal. The procedure was very neat with almost no blood in sight. It was not as gory as other procedures I had watched. But as I sat there I suddenly realized how close we had come to losing this precious young one. I sense the overwhelming depression that had overtaken her because of events in her life that were beyond her control. The particular medical procedure I was watching was not bothering me, but the total situation. I had to excuse myself and go sit in the hallway with my head between my knees to keep from fainting. I had a wave of nausea that had to pass before I could return to the room. There was no point of fainting and causing more problems for the ER staff. The doctor thought that I didn’t have the stomach to watch stitches being applied. There was more to it than that.
That event was more than three decades ago. The young woman is approaching her 50th birthday. The intervention that we pulled off that night was a success. She has gone on to help countless other people deal with stressful situations and find reasons to live. But I still get a sort of funny feeling when I think about that night and how affected I was.
For whatever reason, I have a squeamish reaction to the process of embalming. I’ve toured the preparation rooms in the funeral homes of our town. I know the funeral directors and have quite a bit of knowledge of their profession. I have cousins who are funeral directors and I am not bothered by the smells of the chemicals used and I am not unfamiliar with the tools that are employed. But I have no desire to watch the process. It is not a rational feeling, just one of those things that seems to have an impact that is a bit greater than I would expect. I have accompanied bodies to the crematorium. I have viewed the furnace and the equipment employed. I have scattered ashes on numerous occasions, including the cremated remains of loved ones. That doesn’t seem to bother me.
Yesterday I read an article about the arrival of the coffin bearing the remains of Hugo Chavez at a military museum in Caracas Venezuela. In the article it was reported the Ernesto Villegas, the country’s Information Minister, announced that the government has dropped plans to embalm Mr. Chavez for permanent display. I heaved a sigh of relief when I read that news. I’m not sure why. I never met Mr. Chavez. I know only what I have read and what I have read leads me to believe that he and I would have had some major disagreements. I don’t have much association with the grief of those who are mourning. I am sorry for anyone who dies of cancer and for his or her family. I wouldn’t wish such a thing for anyone. But in some sense Mr. Chavez was just another cancer victim who happened to be on the world stage as the leader of a wealthy oil-producing country to me.
I read, in that same article, the Mr. Chavez had said he would like to be buried in his hometown in Barinas. I think that would be nice.
In our family, it has fallen to me to take care of the pets that have died. I have buried them in our back yard. I choose a place, near the garden, where I know that there will be plenty of water to support surface plants, but where I also know I won’t be later digging. Then I dig a simple grave, wrap the pet in an old towel and bury it. We usually say a prayer and shed a tear or two as the process goes on. Then I fill in the grave and plant a few daisies.
A similar procedure when my time comes would be fine with me. But I’m sure the State of South Dakota, while allowing the burial of pets in your back yard, would frown at the burial of relatives. Still, I’d like the procedure to be as simple and plain as possible. I trust God with the elements of my body. I’d like them returned to Creation as quickly as possible when I am no longer living. I don’t like the idea of display, though I am sensitive to the needs of grieving relatives and understand that sometimes seeing is believing.
We are talking about such topics in our “5 Wishes” adult discussion group this Lent. I think it is a healthy conversation. I know it has gotten me to think.
If possible, I’d like to avoid traumatic memories for those who survive me. But I’m thinking that I’ll be beyond my squeamishness by that time.
I worked for several years as a volunteer Emergency Care Technician and ambulance driver when we lived in North Dakota. I helped pick up the victims of car accidents, people who had fallen and broken bones and shattered joints, those suffering from acute medical conditions that caused intense pain and discomfort. I’ve cleaned up vomit and blood on multiple occasions. I’ve sat with people as they died and sat with bodies after death. I’ve seen a lot of things that should not be described in this blog.
I’m not writing this out of some desire to brag or to make others feel uncomfortable, only to say that there are a lot of things that bother others that don’t seem to have a negative effect on me.
But there are a few things that I’d prefer not to look at.
That event was more than three decades ago. The young woman is approaching her 50th birthday. The intervention that we pulled off that night was a success. She has gone on to help countless other people deal with stressful situations and find reasons to live. But I still get a sort of funny feeling when I think about that night and how affected I was.
For whatever reason, I have a squeamish reaction to the process of embalming. I’ve toured the preparation rooms in the funeral homes of our town. I know the funeral directors and have quite a bit of knowledge of their profession. I have cousins who are funeral directors and I am not bothered by the smells of the chemicals used and I am not unfamiliar with the tools that are employed. But I have no desire to watch the process. It is not a rational feeling, just one of those things that seems to have an impact that is a bit greater than I would expect. I have accompanied bodies to the crematorium. I have viewed the furnace and the equipment employed. I have scattered ashes on numerous occasions, including the cremated remains of loved ones. That doesn’t seem to bother me.
I read, in that same article, the Mr. Chavez had said he would like to be buried in his hometown in Barinas. I think that would be nice.
In our family, it has fallen to me to take care of the pets that have died. I have buried them in our back yard. I choose a place, near the garden, where I know that there will be plenty of water to support surface plants, but where I also know I won’t be later digging. Then I dig a simple grave, wrap the pet in an old towel and bury it. We usually say a prayer and shed a tear or two as the process goes on. Then I fill in the grave and plant a few daisies.
A similar procedure when my time comes would be fine with me. But I’m sure the State of South Dakota, while allowing the burial of pets in your back yard, would frown at the burial of relatives. Still, I’d like the procedure to be as simple and plain as possible. I trust God with the elements of my body. I’d like them returned to Creation as quickly as possible when I am no longer living. I don’t like the idea of display, though I am sensitive to the needs of grieving relatives and understand that sometimes seeing is believing.
We are talking about such topics in our “5 Wishes” adult discussion group this Lent. I think it is a healthy conversation. I know it has gotten me to think.
If possible, I’d like to avoid traumatic memories for those who survive me. But I’m thinking that I’ll be beyond my squeamishness by that time.