I Found Hope Working in Hospice Care 我在臨終關懷工作中發(fā)現(xiàn)希望

凱特蘭·蘭熱爾/文　賀婷婷/譯

In the year between finishing undergrad and beginning grad school， I volunteered with a hospice organization.

在本科畢業(yè)和研究生入學之間的那年，我在一個臨終關懷組織做義工。

I was only 22 years old and wasnt qualified to do much， but I could be a “friendly visitor” to patients. I could be a companion on the journey toward death and new life—a safe friend without bias， solely present to offer consolation and support.

我那時只有22歲，許多工作還勝任不了，但我可以充當病人的“友好訪客”。在他們走向死亡與新生的旅途中，我可以做他們的同伴——一個不帶偏見的可靠朋友，出現(xiàn)僅為提供安慰和支持。

When someone is given a prognosis from a doctor that they will live for six months or less due to an illness or medical condition， they are a candidate for hospice care. Hospice is holistic by design—it incorporates a larger network to care for and educate the patient and their family as they look toward death and dying.

如果醫(yī)生預測某人因某種疾病或身體狀況，最多只剩六個月的壽命，那么這個人很可能要接受臨終關懷。臨終關懷本身就是個整體方案——病人及其家人面對死亡或瀕死之際，臨終關懷會動用方方面面的力量來照護和指導他們。

While the person who is dying still receives active medical attention from nurses and doctors for their physical bodies， hospice recognizes that we also need care as emotional， social， and spiritual beings. Because of this， hospice teams are also comprised of chaplains， social workers， and volunteer “friendly visitors”.

臨終病人的身體依舊會得到護士和醫(yī)生的積極護理與治療。與此同時，臨終關懷認為我們同樣需要情緒、社會、精神意義上的關懷。因此，臨終關懷團隊成員也包括神職人員、社工、“友好訪客”志愿者。

Why did I enter this volunteer work to spend time with people I did not know as they neared death？ When I was in college， two of my great-grandmothers died and I was unable to be with them in their final days because I was separated by the span of states between California and Indiana. I prayed for them and we spoke on the phone， but I ached to see them and spend time with them as they neared the end of their lives.

我為什么會加入這支義工隊伍，花時間陪伴我完全不認識的臨終病人？我讀大學期間，曾祖母和曾外祖母離開人世。因為加利福尼亞州與印第安納州相隔甚遠，我沒能在她們最后的日子里陪伴她們。我為她們禱告，也與她們通了電話，但我渴望見見她們，在她們走向生命終點的路上陪伴她們。

Something that brought me comfort was hearing about who cared for them—they called hospice workers their “angels.” Outside of our family， they were loved and cared for by folks in palliative and hospice care. I wanted to be a companion like that for someone elses mother， grandmother， father， or friend.

讓我感到欣慰的是聽她們講述照護她們的人——她們稱臨終關懷工作者是她們的“天使”。除了家人，她們還得到了姑息關懷和臨終關懷工作者的關愛與照護。我也希望為別人的母親、祖母、父親或朋友提供陪伴。

One thing I learned in journeying with people toward death was the value of sharing their treasured stories. Patients I visited varied from being fully aware of themselves， their stories， and surroundings to being totally nonverbal， but each friend I journeyed with was a unique encounter in some way. Like Dorothy.

陪伴人們走向死亡的道路上，我意識到一件事，那就是分享病人的珍貴故事有其價值。我探訪過的病人各不相同：有的清楚知道自己是誰、經(jīng)歷過什么、現(xiàn)在在哪里；有的則完全說不出話。然而，在某種意義上，每次與一位病人朋友相伴都是一場獨特的邂逅，比如我與多蘿西。

Dorothy was my closest friend while I was a friendly visitor with hospice. She was an 89-year-old woman who grew up in Missouri. She was a teacher， lover of Jeopardy， and independ-ent spirit. Every conversation started with her saying， “So， what do you know？” and ended with her telling me that she loved me. Most of our time was spent with me sitting next to her bed， talking about life.

我擔任臨終關懷“友好訪客”期間，多蘿西是我最親密的朋友。她是一位89歲的老太太，在密蘇里州長大。她當過老師，愛看智力競賽節(jié)目《危險邊緣》，具有獨立精神。我們每次聊天都始自她那句“說說你都知道什么？”而結(jié)束時她會說她愛我。我們一起度過的大部分時間里，都是我坐在她床邊，與她談論生命。

One day， I visited her just before lunchtime in the nursing home. Dorothy said she needed to “put her face on”—she asked me if I would put on her lipstick and comb her hair. I was caught off guard as I did not typically take care of her physically. But Dorothy wasnt embarrassed or shy in asking for my help.

一天，我午飯前去療養(yǎng)院探訪多蘿西。她說她需要“化妝”，問我能不能幫她涂口紅、梳頭發(fā)。我有些措手不及，因為一般不是由我來護理她的身體，但是多蘿西向我求助時并沒有顯得尷尬或難為情。

Per her instruction， I fetched her lipstick and comb from her bathroom. Standing at her left side， I did my best to apply pink color to her thin lips and brush her hair that had been matted down by laying in bed all day， every day. She looked at me， smiled， and was ready to go.

應她的要求，我從她房間的浴室里拿來了她的口紅和梳子。我站在她左邊，盡我所能地給她薄薄的嘴唇涂上粉色口紅，再梳順她因日復一日全天躺在床上而纏成團的頭發(fā)。她看著我笑了笑，準備好吃午飯了。

This simple moment of helping with her comb and lipstick in a nursing home room， getting ready for lunch， became sacred space. It was a moment of remembering that we belong to each other， as Saint Mother Teresa would say. Through Dorothy， I experienced the gift of kinship—the gift of vulnerability that lets us enter into one anothers lives and stories.

在療養(yǎng)院的房間里幫她梳頭發(fā)、涂口紅，做好吃午飯的準備，這簡樸的瞬間成了神圣的時刻。正如圣特蕾莎修女所說，這是用來銘記我們屬于彼此的瞬間。通過多蘿西，我收獲了一份名為親密關系的禮物——這禮物也是一份脆弱感，能讓我們走進彼此的人生和故事。

When youre looking at the end of your life， it becomes important to live and speak with honesty. Depending on where someone is in their journey toward death， the ability to look at yourself and your life can be a freeing experience; it can also prompt fear or defensiveness. For most folks in hospice care， death is a process by which our bodies， minds， and abilities slowly change. In many cases， what was once known as normal is taken away.

如果你面臨生命的終點，誠實地活著、誠實地表達自我就變得格外重要。在走向死亡的路上，掌握審視自己與自己人生的能力可能會是一種釋放自我的體驗，也可能會觸發(fā)恐懼或自我防衛(wèi)心理，視一個人所處的階段而定。對大多數(shù)接受臨終關懷的病人來說，死亡是身體、心靈、能力慢慢改變的過程。很多時候，從前的尋常事也變得難以企及。

One man I visited could no longer eat food orally， but only through a tube that entered his body in his abdomen. The first time I was present for his “mealtime，” when a nutrition shake was poured into the tube， I felt uncomfortable—like I was seeing something far too intimate for a near stranger.

我曾探訪過一個無法再用嘴吃飯的病人，食物只能通過胃造口管送入他的身體。第一次現(xiàn)場看著他“進食”，就在液體營養(yǎng)物質(zhì)注入管子的時候，我覺得很不舒服，好像我眼見的場景對與他幾乎毫無關系的人來說過于私密。

There is a profound vulnerability in this kind of physical honesty. Usually， we want to shield our imperfections， insecurities， and challenges from others， but dying does not allow for such dishonest protection.

這種身體問題的展露無遺透著深深的脆弱感。通常，我們都想掩蓋自身缺陷、心中不安、所遇挑戰(zhàn)，不想讓他人看到，但是死亡不允許人如此虛偽地自我保護。

My friend did not go to communal mealtime at the nursing home because it was too difficult for him to be able to eat. So he missed socializing there and was instead isolated in his room. Though he was mobile and would pop into the hallway for the newest goings-on， the inability to share a meal with others was a lonely experience. We did not have much in common and our conversation was rarely smooth， but we became odd companions. I was empowered to advocate and care for him because he let me into his life—he shared with me the things he struggled with and what gave him comfort.

我的這位朋友不去療養(yǎng)院的公共就餐區(qū)，因為對他來說在那里吃飯?zhí)^困難。于是，他錯過了在那里社交的機會，只能獨自關在房間里。雖然他行動自如，偶爾也會到走廊看看最近有什么情況，可無法與他人共同進餐讓他感到孤獨。我們倆沒有太多共同之處，聊起天來也難說暢快，但后來我們成了一對不同尋常的伙伴。我能替他表達，也能照護他，因為他讓我走進了他的生活——他與我分享自己掙扎之事、感到安慰之物。

Being in need is often a synonym for weakness， but the process of dying reveals something different. Being in need and depending on others allows for intimacy. Being honest about our own needs allows us to know and be known. We come to experience a depth in relationships that is otherwise unimagined by the rush of everyday life that leaves us independent—and closed-off.

需要幫助常常是虛弱的同義詞，但是走向死亡的過程卻展現(xiàn)了不同的一面。需要幫助、依賴他人就能產(chǎn)生親密關系。坦白說出自己的需求能讓我們了解自己，同時讓別人了解我們。我們由此能體會到人際關系的深度——在匆忙的日常生活中無法想象這種深度，只會忙于自顧、陷入封閉。

The process of dying is often messy， full of fearful uncertainty， and a tumultuous road of ups and downs. But it can also be beautiful—filled with sacred and sacrificial love， peace beyond common understanding， and hope. As we ask big questions about how to live meaningful lives， it is also worth meditating on what it looks like to die a dignified and beautiful death.

走向死亡的過程往往是一團糟，盡是可怕的不確定之事，一路亂亂哄哄、起起伏伏。然而，這一路也可以很美——充滿神圣的奉獻之愛、超乎常人理解的平和，還有希望。圍繞如何過有意義的人生，人們會問出各種重大問題，其實怎樣美麗并有尊嚴地死去也值得我們思考。

（譯者為“《英語世界》杯”翻譯大賽獲獎者；單位：廣東外語外貿(mào)大學南國商學院）