Giving Back

“Life is a gift, and it offers us the privilege, opportunity, and responsibility to give something back.”

-Anthony Robbins

The Power Of Presence

"I believe in the power of presence...

Presence is a noun, not a verb; it is a state of being, not doing. States of being are not highly valued in a culture which places a high priority on doing. Yet, true presence or "being with" another person carries with it a silent power — to bear witness to a passage, to help carry an emotional burden or to begin a healing process. In it, there is an intimate connection with another that is perhaps too seldom felt in a society that strives for ever-faster "connectivity."

I was first hurled into an ambivalent presence many years ago, when a friend's mother died unexpectedly. I had received a phone call from the hospital where she had just passed away. Part of me wanted to rush down there, but another part of me didn't want to intrude on this acute and very personal phase of grief. I was torn about what to do. Another friend with me at the time said, "Just go. Just be there." I did, and I will never regret it.

Since that formative moment, I have not hesitated to be in the presence of others for whom I could "do" nothing. I sat at the bedside, with other friends, of a young man in a morphine coma to blunt the pain of his AIDS-related dying. We spoke to him about his inevitable journey out of this life. He later told his parents — in a brief moment of lucidity — that he had felt us with him. Another time I visited a former colleague dying of cancer in a local hospice. She too was not awake, and presumably unaware of others' presence with her. The atmosphere was by no means solemn. Her family had come to terms with her passing and were playing guitars and singing. They allowed her to be present with them as though she were still fully alive. With therapy clients, I am still pulled by the need to do more than be, yet repeatedly struck by the healing power of connection created by being fully there in the quiet understanding of another. In it, none of us are truly alone.

The power of presence is not a one-way street, not only something we give to others. It always changes me, and always for the better."

Debbie Hall has been a psychologist in San Diego's Naval Medical Center Pediatrics Department for 12 years. She volunteers for the Disaster Mental Health Team of her local Red Cross. http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=5064534

Ronald McDonald House Delivery

For Valentines Day, my husband & I delivered 10 dogs to the Ronald McDonald House in Salt Lake. They have three homes and they provide housing to families with sick children. We've asked that these dogs be given to the siblings of the patients. The ones who are shuffled back and forth between the hospital and the RM House as parents struggle to attend to their sick child's needs.

Information on the Ronald McDonald House

(http://www.rmhcslc.org/)

Few medical crises are more devastating or frightening than a child with a life-threatening disease or an unexpected injury or illness. Few situations place greater stress on parents and families. And while tremendous advances have been made in treating seriously ill children, the families’ financial and emotional burdens remain. The Ronald McDonald House was created to help ease some of these burdens and is the only charity of its kind in our region.

Without Ronald McDonald House Charities of the Intermountain Area, many families would have nowhere to turn. The Salt Lake Ronald McDonald House is the cornerstone of our organization, providing a home-away-from-home for more than 1,700 families annually while their children are being treated at Primary Children’s Medical Center, Shriner’s Hospital, University of Utah Medical Center or LDS Hospital.

The Ronald McDonald House is a home for forty-five families each night. . .a place where they can break away from the hospital, yet be available at a moment’s notice. . .or a place where children being treated as out-patients can live with their parents, brothers and sisters. Just as important, it is a place where parents can meet and talk with other families who are experiencing some of the same fears and concerns, and establish a mutual support system so critically needed at this time.

Since our opening in 1988, we have served 30,000 families from all over the world. The cost of housing families is approximately $60 per night. Families are asked to share in the cost of their stay by contributing $10 per night; however, their extensive medical expenses often preclude even this modest amount. No family is turned away because of an inability to pay.

Simple contributions:

• Pop Tabs - they collect only the tabs because they are small and easily stored. Unlike the can, tabs are paint-free, which increases their value and profit in the recycling process.
• Inactive Cell Phones
• Wish List Items (http://www.rmhcslc.org/pageview.aspx?id=11954)
• Provide dinners

Check out additional details on ways to support the Ronald McDonald House. http://www.rmhcslc.org/pageview.aspx?menu=3382&id=12355

Feel the JOY in giving!

The Hospital Window

Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window.

The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back. The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation.

And every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window. The man in the other bed began to live for those one-hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside.

The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color of the rainbow. Grand old trees graced the landscape, and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.

As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene.

One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man couldn't hear the band - he could see it in his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words. Days and weeks passed.

One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only tofind the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away. As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.

Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the world outside. Finally, he would have the joy of seeing it forhimself.

He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed. Itfaced a blank wall. The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window. The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall.

She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you."

Author Unknown

Thank you Steph for sharing this story with me. It's such a great reminder of the importance of encouraging & uplifting those around us.

“Listening to someone's story ... is key to healing and diagnosis.”

This article was posted on http://www.npr.org/. I thought it was so powerful, I wanted to share it. Dr. Alicia Conill is a clinical associate professor at the University of Pennsylvania School of Medicine.

"Studies have shown it takes a physician about 18 seconds to interrupt a patient after he begins talking.

It was Sunday. I had one last patient to see. I approached her room in a hurry and stood at the doorway. She was an older woman, sitting at the edge of the bed, struggling to put socks on her swollen feet. I crossed the threshold, spoke quickly to the nurse, scanned her chart noting she was in stable condition. I was almost in the clear.

I leaned on the bedrail looking down at her. She asked if I could help put on her socks. Instead, I launched into a monologue that went something like this: "How are you feeling? Your sugars and blood pressure were high but they're better today. The nurse mentioned you're anxious to see your son who's visiting you today. It's nice to have family visit from far away. I bet you really look forward to seeing him."

She stopped me with a stern, authoritative voice. "Sit down, doctor. This is my story, not your story."

I was surprised and embarrassed. I sat down. I helped her with the socks. She began to tell me that her only son lived around the corner from her, but she had not seen him in five years. She believed that the stress of this contributed greatly to her health problems. After hearing her story and putting on her socks, I asked if there was anything else I could do for her. She shook her head no and smiled. All she wanted me to do was to listen.

Each story is different. Some are detailed; others are vague. Some have a beginning, middle and end. Others wander without a clear conclusion. Some are true; others not. Yet all those things do not really matter. What matters to the storyteller is that the story is heard — without interruption, assumption or judgment.

Listening to someone's story costs less than expensive diagnostic testing but is key to healing and diagnosis.

I often thought of what that woman taught me, and I reminded myself of the importance of stopping, sitting down and truly listening. And, not long after, in an unexpected twist, I became the patient, with a diagnosis of multiple sclerosis at age 31. Now, 20 years later, I sit all the time — in a wheelchair.

For as long as I could, I continued to see patients from my chair, but I had to resign when my hands were affected. I still teach med students and other health care professionals, but now from the perspective of physician and patient.

I tell them I believe in the power of listening. I tell them I know firsthand that immeasurable healing takes place within me when someone stops, sits down and listens to my story."

"Each day is a gift--don't take life for granted!"

In 2005 my dad was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. The cancer was found in his chest and my dad, Frank, went through chemo and radiation to win the battle. The outcome looked promising.

After almost three years of being cancer free, Dad started to feel sick again. In November of 2007, his P.E.T. was clean, no cancer. But in April of 2008, the cancer was back and it was now throughout his body. He went through two different rounds of aggressive chemo without it doing anything to the cancer. The doctor’s decided they had to be more aggressive with his treatment and decided to do a stem cell transplant.

There was a small complication though, dad had heart problems within the last three years and had had a splint put into his heart. So, there was some concern about his heart. Dad, who is now 73 years old, was only supposed to be in the hospital for two weeks but it turned into a little more than two months. His counts would not come up and he was having a hard time eating and keeping things down. But again the stubbornness in him prevailed.

At the family New Years Eve dinner, everyone went around saying what they were grateful for, Dad was grateful for making it through 2008. He still had his sense of humor.

Dad was again cancer free for about one month and then the cancer was back. It was again throughout his body surrounding his internal organs. Again my dad was in it to win the battle. On January 15, 2009, Dad went in for what he thought was a blood check. The doctors had decided that they needed to take a drastic measure and it had to be quick. They wanted to give Dad a super bomb chemo treatment. He was told that if the treatment was not done that day he would possibly have four weeks to live. If he survived the folllowing 72 hours of treatment he may live six months. The way this treatment attacks the cancer, there was some fear with the effect it would have on his internal organs, especially his heart. Before the chemo was given they put a lot of fluids into his body to give a buffer to all his organs.

The doctors were all amazed at how well Dad did and he was sent home on Sunday afternoon. The treatment had already started shrinking the cancer. But again Dad couldn’t really eat or keep food down.

Since the last round of chemo my dad has had to be hospitalized twice and is having a hard time winning his battle. Hospice has been called in to give help and comfort. Although this has been a hard journey, our faith has given much comfort and strength to our family. We have been very blessed and know that this is not the end. The last time I was with my dad he let me know that each day is a gift and not to take it for granted. He has been a great warrior during this battle.

When Judy offered the blanket, I wasn’t sure I should take it but then she mentioned it was in a camouflage fabric and I knew that it was meant for my dad. Dad served for 20 years in the Navy and was being cared for at the military hospital in San Diego, CA. At his last hospital stay he was given a camouflage beanie to keep his head warm. The blanket was a wonderful gift of friendship and encouragement.

Jenna Ellingson

Salt Lake City, UT

Trust in the Lord

Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.
In all thy ways acknowldge him, and he shall direct thy paths.

Proverbs 3:5-6