Magical, Oh So Clinical

On the job, I feel like the person described in Supertramp’s 1979 hit called “Logical Song.”  The song describes a happy existence that is later in life replaced with an impersonal emotionless one. The difference on my job is that both halves of the excerpt quoted below are true simultaneously, every day. Part of me is the chaplain who with no agenda engages in dialogue with patients, reacting on the fly to whatever they wish to share. I am there sometimes facing the most intense emotions and sometimes I am there to savor life with them or just sit with whatever mundane moment is in progress. But then a separate part of me goes to my office to document the visits. Documenting involves a very strict set of rules and I have to write out a description of the visit in a detached tone. There are countless lists of things to put check marks by, and there are some words I must use no matter what the visit was like, for example, “A trusting relationship is being established.”

The first lines of the “Logical Song” symbolically correspond to the actual visits:

“When I was young, it seemed that life was so wonderful,
A miracle, oh it was beautiful, magical.
And all the birds in the trees, well they’d be singing so happily,
Joyfully, playfully watching me.”

Even in hospice, sometimes patients look back to “wonderful” and “beautiful” memories, and ponder the miracle of existence. They communicate this to me and I feel the poignancy of it and am in awe that they are letting me in on this ultra-personal dimension of their being.

The next lines correspond to the completely structured paperwork I must do:

“But then they sent me away to teach me how to be sensible,
Logical, responsible, practical.
And they showed me a world where I could be so dependable,
Clinical, intellectual, cynical.”

The song actually says “clinical!”  Yep, that is a part of who I am. When I forget to put in a certain detail or do not do it on time, my supervisor may say, “You are out of compliance.” Ouch! (She does like and appreciate me, though, it’s not that she doesn’t.)

On one level, this may seem to be too painful a conflict. I have seen budding chaplains who found they could not reconcile these disparate identities, and ended up leaving their jobs, or doing one part well and the other not well at all. On another level, I try to see the paperwork as two things: superficially, it can be a nice neutral break from the intense emotions and deep thoughts I must respond to: Good! I can do something mindless for a little while. Beyond that, I think of it as the tax I must pay for the privilege of being present with people who are giving of their most intimate selves, who are revealing to me their innermost beliefs as they risk getting nothing back in return.