Preparing Philippine for surgery cannot be done through words alone, though we explain to her what lies ahead. Everything about her exists in the realm of the invisible, which is why we turn to the Invisible to prepare her. It is in Faith and the Sacrament of the Sick that we find what we believe is the most fitting way to help her through this passage. This allows us to gather around her in strength and to experience the Sacrament as a family—a balm of consolation. I give this practice such weight because I have felt its profound comfort myself before surgery. The relief it brought to my own fear was so real that allowing Philippine to receive this sacrament feels like the greatest gift I can offer her as she faces the ordeal of anesthesia, that plunge into darkness and risk; the shock of hospitalization, torn from everything familiar; possible pain and exhaustion. We invite our closest friends to pray with us and for us, and their support sustains us deeply.
The second thing we have learned to protect is our presence with her—while also protecting our own strength. For several years now, we no longer stay overnight at the hospital with her. This has been an important way of preserving our energy.
Yet we remain with her as much as we can, trying to be there during meals, when she is able to eat. Usually her father is with her in the morning at wake-up time and in the evening, while I visit during the day. Some might say such efforts accomplish little, that it makes no difference whether we come or not. But Philippine's life itself poses a question: Is she merely a "vegetable," and is it absurd to care for her? Or is she a human being who needs love? If the latter is true—and we believe it is—then our loving presence always matters, even without tangible proof. And the fatigue eases, sometimes, when we see a smile that tells us she is content.
Our presence is valued by the hospital staff, often uncertain how to read Philippine's needs, struck by her handicap and her silence. They prefer us there to help interpret her condition: how she feels, whether she is in pain, what she might need.
Finally, the last hospitalization forced me to face the question of death itself—always in an unsettling way—and to say yes again to Philippine's life, trying once more to hold onto trust.
Sophie Lutz, 2011
Ombres et Lumiére, n. 180
