The Best Medicine

It is not surprising that this new chapter of life battling cancer began in the Mother Church of the Diocese of Covington and landed me in our Catholic hospital for ten days. St. Augustine of Hippo once said, “The Church is a hospital for sinners, not a museum for saints.” This took on new meaning for me in May. My hospital stay showed me a stronger connection between the Catholic Church and hospitals. I have to admit that I hadn’t really considered it before, but historically hospitals were founded by religious orders, and the whole concept of tending to the sick and infirm is at the heart of the ministry of the Church.

All of the hospitals in northern Kentucky are Catholic hospitals affiliated with St. Elizabeth Healthcare. Our bishop serves on the board of directors. Each facility is highly rated and committed to upholding the Catholic teachings regarding the sanctity of life. I have found that under the patronage of St. Elizabeth of Hungary the hospitals are a part of my spiritual home. God is doing great things there and Jesus is very present in all the rooms and departments.

If we were to gage our perception of medical care from television we would think that spiritual care is none existent. How often I have watched the medical staffs in the fictional St. Elsewheres of the television world thinking the kind of care most needed was spiritual care from a priest or minister referencing the Bible. Except for Fr. Francis Malcahy from the battle grounds of the M*A*S*H 4077, there have been very few instances of television patients receiving spiritual care while their medical needs are met.

Prayer is the Best Medicine

This is why Dr. Bernardon’s care of me in the Emergency Department was so surprising to me. He was the first person to convey to me the importance of my faith in my healing. He was the ED doctor who ordered the CAT scan that showed the large mass on my left ovary. I remember that he held my hand, prayed with me, and told me “prayer is the best medicine” as we discussed for my road ahead to discover the true nature of my illness. What a surprising comfort it was to have my spiritual care continued and encouraged by my doctor!

In the wee hours of the morning I was transported from the ED in Covington to the Medical Intensive Care Unit at St. Elizabeth in Edgewood. I spent the next ten days there (four in the MICU and six in the Transitional Care Unit.) There I experienced the same level of medical and spiritual care. Because I was anemic and there was a concern that I had a GI bleed, my gastroenterologist Dr. Gregory Salzman was called in. I love him. He has shared with me several times our common faith. He is a joyful soul who sings in the operating room and watches EWTN while on the treadmill. He ordered a colonoscopy, and it is a true testament to his character that I still like him after he put me through that.

My night nurse Deana was an angel. A young lady with a beautiful smile and an efficient bedside manner, Deana had to see me at my worst and help me through my difficult colonoscopy preparation (it took two failed GoLightly drinks, three to four enemas, and an ng tube to complete). I felt comfortable with her, comfortable enough that late at night, when all my visitors were gone, she was the one I expressed my fears and shortcomings to. She held my hand, wiped my tears, and encouraged me through those difficult nights. It was Deana who prayed over me before they wheeled me down the hallway for a D&C before my family and Dan had arrived.

The Great Physician

Throughout the hospital there is ample evidence of the Catholicity of the hospital without being off-putting to people of other faiths. The centerpiece of the main entrance is a large crucifix hanging from the ceiling. Each hospital room has a crucifix on the wall. There are posters and paintings with scripture passages and images of Jesus in various areas. I especially noticed the image of the Great Physician in the pre-op surgery room. The image of surgeons and nurses working on a patient with Jesus guiding the hands of the main surgeon hangs in the main walkway so that patients and medical personnel alike can be encouraged. I found inspiration from this when I was waiting during an unexpected delay before my

hysterectomy.

Every day begins and ends with prayer over the general intercom heard in the hallways. This is not a traditional prayer, but a general, spontaneous prayer for all those needing healing and those who care for them tailored to the time of day. The staff made sure that I received Holy Communion every day. Most days a priest stopped by after having said daily Mass in the chapel (which was I could view on the television). Outside each patient’s hospital room there is a placard that indicates the kind of food, visitors, care, etc. that he or she is to receive. It can also be marked “communion”. I like that they consider it just as important to note the Spiritual Food of our Lord as it is if the patient is restricted to clear liquids.

And I received visits from the clergy. My parish priest came to visit twice and offer his prayers and blessing. A former pastor who has retired stopped by.  I received the sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick again from the priest who gave me my first Holy Communion in second grade. That was a sweet memory.

Be Not Afraid

 

And the chaplains visited me. Deacon Tom Dushney came to see me three times. I had never met him before, but he regularly visits the patients at St. E. His last visit was the morning of my hysterectomy. He came early in the morning before anyone else arrived. He brought me a gift he called a “Comfort Cross”. It is shaped so that a person’s hand can easily wrap around it. He told me that he had asked God for a Bible passage to share with me.  He was given, “Be not afraid. I am always with you.” Tears streamed down my face. These were tears of joy, as I recognized those words. St John Paul the Great spoke those words to us upon his election as pope. I have long considered him to be my Holy Papa and those words, heard on the morn of my surgery to discover if I had cancer, were the most welcome balm. I clutched that cross. As I went into surgery, I told Mom to put that cross in my hand so I would be holding it when I woke. Every night I go to sleep holding my Comfort Cross. I know that the Lord is with me and I have not felt abandoned by my God.

The Very Best Place to Start Battling Cancer

The Cathedral Basilica of St. Mary of the Assumption.

At just about every stage of my life, the Catholic Church has been front and center. I was raised to be an active parishioner. I went exclusively to Catholic schools. As a teenager, I thrived in youth ministry activities. My father is a deacon in our diocese. At Thomas More College I pursued secondary education and theology degrees. Afterwards, I embarked on more than a decade and a half career as a Catholic School teacher. I have found my closest social and dating circles among the Catholic community. My boyfriend and I met and fell in love among these friends. The Catholic Church is my home; when I walk in the doors every Sunday I am showing up for the family dinner, and I feel an embrace that rivals any stereotypical Italian, Irish, or German Sunday dinner.

A Dream Date

On May 19 my boyfriend Daniel and I attended the ordination of the two newest priests in the Diocese of Covington. The Cathedral Basilica of the Assumption of St. Mary is a jewel worthy of its own blog entry, and I will explore it more in the future. It’s enough for you to know that any pontifical liturgy held there is done with attention to detail, reverence and love for all that is Divine. Afterwards we went to the reception and enjoyed hobnobbing with prominent people from the diocese. I was feeling fine, especially since I was attending this fancy function with the love of my life and my parents. It felt so good to have Daniel by my side and have him be known already by so many people. I have always loved the ritual, the sacramentality, piety, and overall dignity of special ceremonies of the Catholic Church at the diocesan level, and I dreamed of finding the man who would be in love with the Lord and His Church enough to attend such things with me. Participating that night was Daniel’s idea in the first place. That he took off half a day of work to make it in time meant the world to me. I was exceedingly happy that night and had no idea of the road ahead.

The First Signs I Was Ill

It wasn’t until early the next afternoon that I started to feel the cramping. I really just thought it was typical menstrual pain, so I took a nap and felt a bit better. Daniel and I decided that we would go to 4:30 Mass at the Cathedral Basilica since Mom and Dad were both there and it is my parish. On Sunday he and I were hoping to go to the visitation of a friend’s mother. We had a busy day planned, and I would not let feeling uncomfortable get in our way.

The ribbed ceiling from behind the altar

It wasn’t until Mass was under way that I realized something other than typical monthly pain was going on. During the opening song I found myself unable to stand, sit, or kneel without feeling like I was going to faint. I laid down in the pew with Mom at my feet and Daniel at my head. It was an interesting perspective for experiencing Mass. The ribbed gothic ceiling was so high above me, and rainbow light streamed through the upper stained-glass windows. I knew the window of St. Anthony, my patron, was above me. I said all the liturgical prayers, listened to the readings and homily, and even mouthed the words to the Communion hymn. During the first reading I heard how the apostles went about curing the paralyzed and crippled, and I mentally raised my hand “I’m here!”

He Came Down To Me

Occasionally Daniel would ask me if I wanted to leave. Since I still felt faint anytime I tried to sit up and reasonably good while lying down, I wanted to wait until after Mass. Leaving during Mass would cause a commotion, and I am not a person who likes drama. I figured I was in the very best place to be at that moment. How many times in recent years had I felt as if I were in Heaven, like the Lord’s front porch steps were right there at the altar of the Cathedral Basilica? It didn’t get any better than that! During Communion Daniel and Mom informed Dad, who was assisting as the deacon, I wanted to receive the Eucharist. He brought me Jesus’ Body to me as I continued to lay in the pew. It was one of the most spiritually enriching experiences I have had (and I’ve had many) at the Mother Church of the Diocese of Covington. It was the first time I had ever received Jesus while in need of physical healing. I needed His touch like any beggar from one of the Gospels, and I got to have Him come dwell within me! My Lord and King came down to me, little me, lying in the pew. The grace I received then stayed with me in the next ten days and beyond.

After Mass, one of the ushers who was an EMT and a parishioner who was a cardiac physician assessed me and recommended that an ambulance be called. Fr. Twaddel, who was the chair of the Philosophy Department at Thomas More College and well-known to my family, came over to give me the Sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick. This was the first time I received the sacrament, and I am glad that Father was the one to give it to me. The EMTs put me on a stretcher, and I was wheeled out the north transept to the ambulance. After determining that I was anemic and not just suffering from dehydration, the ambulance took me to the nearest medical facility about three minutes away.

No Place Like Home- Redefined

My first ever ambulance ride as a patient took me to St. Elizabeth Emergency Department in Covington. I was nervous leaving the bosom of my beloved Cathedral. I was a stranger to emergency rooms, vital signs, consent forms, and regular needle sticks. I had the three most important people in my life with me, as Mom, Dad and Daniel were immediately at my side in the ED. Really all it took to put me at ease were the words of the ED doctor. He told me, “The very best medicine you have is prayer.” And he then prayed with me for peace and healing! I was astonished to find that my doctor was as concerned with my spiritual and emotional health as my physical health. I was still Home.

The very best medicine is prayer and the sacraments.