Jennifer’s story and Song

“Heart Rubbed Raw” by Kristin L. Davidson and Jennifer Montano-Hernandez. Performed by Hardened and Tempered. Produced by Lloyd Maines. Engineered, mixed, and mastered by Pat Manske at The Zone Recording Studio in Dripping Springs, Texas. ©/℗ 2019 Songs for the Soul, Inc.

Carolyn’s story and song

I grieved the loss of Grammie six years prior to her death. I grieved the loss of her when I learned she was diagnosed with lung cancer. I remember getting that fateful call from my mother. During the call, I shifted into oncology-nurse mode. I was sad, but my focus in that moment was on how my mother, grandmother, and grandfather were doing and what they needed. When we hung up, I fell to the ground and sobbed. It felt like the weight of every person I had cared for with cancer came crashing down on me. My grandmother, the matriarch of our family, had lung cancer. I knew what this meant. It felt like an eternity passed as I lay on the ground. But I couldn’t get up. I could only sob.

Later, when I was reflecting on that moment, I realized that how I grieved the loss of my grandmother was also how I grieved the patients I was caring for. I grieved the loss of them at the moment they were diagnosed with cancer. Is this how I was protecting my heart? Maybe. Was this anticipatory grief? Maybe. Maybe this method was actually a way of dissociating in order to protect my fragile soul that couldn’t handle any more grief and suffering? I don’t know. At the time, I rationalized it as a healthy way of coping with repeat grief. I thought that, if I grieved my patients at diagnosis, I would be able to by fully present for them during their toughest times, because my heart was no longer a factor in the equation. Only their needs mattered; I was simply a vessel for caregiving. I still think that may be true, in part, but I ultimately think I was missing something. There was an essential step that must have been missing, because now I feel stuck in a state of grief.

Somewhere through the years of caregiving I fear I lost my essence, the soul of my work. My open heart that once held space for suffering now feels like a shell, a skeleton of what once was full of compassion and depth. Unknowingly, what I expressed as the cause of my pain, is the exact definition of compassion--that is, to be able to hold and sustain emotional balance while holding patients’ despair in one hand and their hopefulness in the other. I could no longer do this. I had lost hope. Compassion was my professional strength and now it pains me.

No longer being able to do this work also causes me anger. I am angry that I was not taught how to care for myself in a way that allowed me to continue to do my work with the vulnerability of an open heart and with my humanity leading the way. I am angry with our profession that we do not value this enough to teach it in our education. And, ultimately, I am angry with myself for not having the strength to stand up for what I know I needed. Instead, I allowed my heart to be ping-ponged around, throughout the day with no pause or moment of silence to process the gravity of our work. I went from one patient to the next, being present for each of their experiences in life and death and took no time to appreciate how they affected me. Sadly, there is no billing code for self-care.

I don’t believe I am alone in this struggle. Most importantly, I hope to help prevent others from getting to this place. So, my plea is for us to have compassion for each other and ourselves.

“Song for My Soul” by Kristin L. Davidson and Carolyn S. Phillips. Performed by Hardened and Tempered. Produced by Lloyd Maines. Engineered, mixed, and mastered by Pat Manske at The Zone Recording Studio in Dripping Springs, Texas. ©/℗ 2019 Songs for the Soul, Inc.

The maine retreat

Songs for the Soul worked with an interdisciplinary oncology team in Maine during a weekend team-building retreat.

Beth’s story and song (Pop tarts)

by Natalia Zukerman