Illuminating the Gems of Our Lives
Turns out, when it comes to discovering what matters most, people are a lot like geodes.
I’m often asked: how can I support my mom … dad … sister … brother … daughter … son … grandparent … (fill in the blank) to join a conversation that inherently repels so many? Reflecting deeply on this question, I began asking myself, what attracts my attention, no matter the circumstance? What compels me to look with curiosity? Wonder? So much so that whatever is sparkling eclipses any fear or trepidation? And that’s when it dawned on me: Sparkles! It seems humans are inherently drawn toward things that shine, sparkle, glimmer and gleam: the sun’s reflection dancing on ripples of water; stars’ timeless twinkling on a moonless night; and, faceted gems of every color refracting light into millions of rainbows. Which quickly led me to ponder the fascinating facets of geodes.
Three features of geodes are especially intriguing: First, when you crack one open (with skill and the proper tools), they are astonishingly beautiful! Second, no two are alike. And third, the outside never tells you what’s on the inside. Just like people! Turns out, when it comes to discovering what matters most, people are a lot like geodes. This inspired me to create a set of cards called, (you guessed it), Geode Cards, designed to look like beautiful cracked open geodes. Each card has a single written word and unique artwork intended to spark each word’s possible meaning. The facets inside, what I refer to as the gems of each geode, represent individual core values. Like the core of a geode, our core values are formed and solidified early in life. Yet, in varying light, the facets reflect, glow and sparkle differently. Because life, like light, is dynamic. What matters most at any given point may change even though the core itself does not. Using these cards to excavate our unique “gems” makes it possible for everyday conversations to begin to shine light on what matters most. Once illuminated, these gems become our guideposts, helping us to find our way whenever the light grows dim.
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Joy is a budding healthcare professional. She met her husband during her pharmacy training. Just as she was about to start her career, she was diagnosed with advanced cancer. Despite the most sophisticated medical therapies and a will that would render Superman deficient in steel, Joy is approaching the end of her young life. Each time her cancer invades another part of her body, she returns to the hospital. Increasingly debilitating cancer-directed treatments are provided. Exploring Joy’s wishes, or more specifically, her needs, are not part of the treatment plan.
Whenever I’m consulted to help alleviate the symptoms associated with serious illness, I’ve come to appreciate that when physical symptoms are present, people are pretty much completely distracted and unable to engage in any other type of conversation. Which is why aggressive symptom management is core to every hospice and palliative care program.
Yet, even as symptoms become well-managed, our palliative care team continues to struggle to connect with Joy.
Her room is dark and the shades are drawn. Joy is in bed and welcomes our visit with a simple, smile-less "sure" to our request for permission to enter her room. While introducing ourselves we gently offer to untangle the hospital-issue white sheets twisted around her hospital-issue flimsy white blanket and the five pillows propped under her head, shoulders, arms and hips.
We offer to bring more blankets.
Joy declines stating, "They really aren't that warm, even the warmed ones."
We nod with understanding.
It is close to 11 a.m. A tray of food is on the table next to her bed with a growing collection of unopened condiments.
We move chairs to circle close to her bed and sit.
Joy remains silent.
Our chaplain bravely breaks the silence with a question, “I heard you’re interested in yoga and wonder if you’d like to try some bed yoga to raise your spirits?”
Joy shrugs, "Maybe."
Her level of engagement is like that of a teenager being asked by their algebra teacher if they want to answer the math question posted on the board in front of their classmates.
Our social worker tries next.
"Joy, last week you mentioned that you like to internally process information. I wonder if we can offer you some written information on our services?"
Joy shrugs again, this time adding, "No thanks."
We sit in silence for a few minutes before I interject, "Joy, may I ask a question?"
Joy offers a slight nod.
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