Sitting with one another in our sufferings. | Reflections by Fellow Katie Brown '21

This summer I worked as a nurse intern at Duke Cancer Center and this school year I have spent many of my weekends working as a nursing assistant at UVA Hospital. Like a lot of future nurses, I remember writing in my college application and telling people I wanted to be a nurse to help people through their most difficult times. And in a weird way, it seemed almost glamorous to me. However, when I actually began my new job, I quickly realized there was nothing glamorous about suffering.

My main job at the Cancer Center was bringing patients back to a patient room, gathering a patient history, and taking vitals. Though our interactions were often short, patients often confided in me how terrified they were: terrified what a cancer diagnosis would mean for them and their family, terrified to see if the treatment plan was working, and terrified to hope that today would finally be the day they qualified for a clinical trial.

After they would finish talking and the room fell silent, I was often struck by feeling like I needed to say something. And it is so so tempting to fall into phases such as “It’s going to be okay”… “Well, at least you’re at Duke now”… “You’re so brave.” Phrases that we think will make people feel better but, in the end, just minimize their suffering. I even remember realizing that the normal “How is your day going?” when first meeting a patient isn’t always the best question to ask. I quickly grasped that they have been dreading this day, and I never wanted to make them feel like they had to pretend to be okay or say “It’s good” on what really was one of their hardest days.

I quickly realized there really was nothing to say in these deeply painful moments. In reality, it was awkward, uncomfortable, hard, and painful. I would pass them tissues to wipe their eyes and then I sometimes would slip into the bathroom to wipe the tears forming in my own eyes before having to call back the next patient.

This year through my job and living through a global pandemic that has impacted my own life as well as the lives of the people around me so deeply, I have realized the importance of creating spaces where people can be honest about their suffering. For me it has been a year of learning to listen and cry with others and to recognize that I don’t need to offer up an explanation or be afraid that I won’t say the right thing.

Kate Bowler in her book, “Everything Happens for a Reason and other Lies I’ve Loved,” helps provide light on how to think, how to feel, and how to love each other in a world that is broken. She beautifully writes, “What if rich did not have to mean wealthy, and whole did not have to mean healed? What if being people of ‘the gospel’ meant that we are simply people with good news? God is here. We are loved. It is enough.” As Christians we are called to sit with each other in our sufferings while helping each other feel seen, known, and loved.