Lourdes Pilgrimage, May 2014
Written by: Emma Baird ’14
I knew my trip to Lourdes would be important. From the moment I knew BC offered
this experience, I knew that I was called to go. I could go through each day and give a play
by play of processions, masses, dinners, and events, but instead I want to talk about two
people. The first was a woman named Lauren. Before the trip, we were given a black book
with our group assignments. Under the purple team was my name under the title of
“Auxiliary,” while Lauren’s was under “Malade.” Malade is the term used in Lourdes for the
sick or disabled who are seeking peace and grace from Our Lady. Some malades had
chronic diseases. Others had terminal diseases. Lauren had a rare type of cancer, and at a
young 30 years old, she had been through a lot. More than a dozen rounds of chemo and
radiation, countless doctors appointments, and several sleepless nights. But even with this
tough history, Lauren was the picture of poise and grace. Immediately upon meeting me
and finding out I was a nursing student, she showed great interest in my life, and always
had wise words of advice. She told me to always remember two things: warm towels and to
live my life fully. Warm towels had to do with my future as a nurse. She gave me great
nursing advice, which I listened to carefully, because she had met so many nurses
throughout her treatment and knew what she, and other patients, appreciate from their
caregivers. She warned me to place warm towels over a patient’s arm before drawing blood
or starting IVs to help the veins come out. While she did mean this advice literally, I think
there was a deeper piece of wisdom in this. She wanted me to always take that extra step
with patients, and that is something I will always remember, and strive to do.
The second statement, ‘to live my life fully,’ was something she showed me as much
as she told me. My favorite story that she told me was about walking through a park with
her husband Curt after another chemo treatment. She saw this fountain and immediately
had the urge to jump in. She told Curt, who, being the wonderful and devoted man he is,
immediately walked over to distract the cop posted nearby. When he got the cop to turn his
back, Lauren, equipped with a chemotherapy weakened immune system and pure nerve,
jumped feet first into the fountain. Since getting back from the trip, Lauren and I have
become pen pals. Her most recent letter from Chicago to me in Boston informed me that
she had added another fountain to her repertoire.
The second person that I want to talk about was a man named Jim. Sitting down to
breakfast with the medical team, wearing my white uniform and veil, each team took turns
giving report on the members of their team, from malades and caregivers to knights and
dames. Many teams had positive comments and little news, until we met up with this one
team. The doctor in charge of the group explained that a man with ALS had begun to
decline significantly from the moment he began the trip. His ability to breathe on his own
and maintain an adequate oxygenation level was becoming more and more of a struggle,
and they knew he needed help. The nurse who was with him overnight reported that his
oxygen saturation, which should be at 100%, had been dropping to 40% overnight. She did
not know how much longer he could withstand this, and as the doctors continued to
discuss plans for treatment, a nurse named Connie asked if I wanted to come with her to
help care for Jim. I followed her to the other hotel, where the medical room was located. It
was a two-bedroom suite, with one bathroom. I immediately got to work. After meeting
Jim’s wife, Donna, I went to the hotel kitchen and got a tray of breakfast foods and a pot of
coffee so the tired couple could eat something. When I came back to the room, both Connie
and Donna had stepped out, and I was surprised that only Jim was in the room. While he
could not speak, I asked him if he wanted anything and went to open the blinds. I turned
around to look at him, and saw that he had his hand out to me. I laughed and introduced
myself and shook his hand. He was in his early fifties, with salt and pepper hair and a thin
frame. Donna came back and I set them both up with the breakfast tray and left them to eat.
The rest of the morning involved getting him up, showered, and then dressed. In the early
afternoon, I left Jim, Donna, and Connie to see my team and go to Mass. He looked so much
better than he had overnight. Perhaps the IV fluid he was getting was doing the trick, I
thought with optimism. I was wrong.
The next morning, Jim’s report from his night nurse was even worse. He was
declining, and she wanted him admitted to a hospital, or to be flown back to the states. The
doctors again began to discuss options and plans. And again, I followed Connie to the other
hotel. From the moment I walked in the room, I knew today was different. Jim’s eyes did
not rise to meet mine when I entered the room. His face was pale and his skin felt warm
and feverish. He did not have the energy to get into the shower, and had no interest in
eating breakfast. Connie told me that he had not urinated in twelve hours, which meant his
kidneys were not working anymore. And if his kidneys were going, so was he.
He was a different person than the kind eyed man I met the day before. Like
yesterday, I got to work, because stopping to think about the situation for too long would
have been overwhelming. Connie sent me to get some medical supplies in the other hotel,
and when I returned, I found one of the Knights kneeling at Jim’s bed, eyes closed in prayer.
Jim was breathing heavily, and Donna, who had been strong and positive throughout this
whole process, was crying into her husband’s shoulder. I dropped to my knees and joined
in the prayer. I could feel God and Our Lady in the room with us, and I was in awe of the
faith shown by these people I had met just days before.
The morning passed quickly. The doctors arranged for an ambulance to bring Jim to
the local hospital. We gave Jim a sponge bath and dressed him in fresh clothes. Our actions
were more for Donna than Jim. She needed to see that her husband had the dignity that he
had when he was healthy. Around noon, as I was brushing Jim’s teeth, the ambulance came
to take him. Three doctors, Connie, and myself followed in a cab. We were not allowed in
his hospital room, so one of the doctors put me in a cab to go back to the hotel to see if I
could be more useful there. Three hours later, Jim died.
I was in Lourdes for less than a week, but in that short time, I learned more about
myself, my faith, and my role as a nurse than ever before in my life. I learned that being a
present, active listener can be the most therapeutic and powerful treatment you have to
offer. I learned to stop to shake my patient’s hand, especially when there is chaos all around
you. I learned about the death and dying process, and that it is okay to cry when you lose a
patient. I saw true faith in God at the hardest of times and how to rely on Him when you are
the most afraid and unsure about what will happen next. I learned about warm towels, and
jumping into fountains. I am so grateful to our sponsor for this experience. It is one I will
never forget and one that will have a lasting impact on how I live as a person and how I act
as a nurse. And for that, I am forever grateful.