Chiron’s Light: The Healing Light Series, #1

By Regina Bogle

Human vulnerability—an experience that few wish to face but none can avoid. When encountered, the deeper questions involve how we will react and, ultimately, how we will respond. For the soulfully-driven individual, there are choices to make.

 

The ancients addressed such questions and choices through myth. For the Greeks, the story of Chiron embraced the concept of the Wounded Healer. His tale continues to offer guidance in our current times, as told in the story of Chiron's Light.

 

St. Raphael's Hospital, an inner-city health center for thousands of local residents, must tackle its serious financial dilemma: how to restore fiscal viability in a world of increasing health demands and expensive technological treatments. Its staff—particularly its hospice coordinator, Tara Lakelyn, and a newly hired internist, Alex Haskins—find themselves caught in the throes of their hospital's slow but certain death. The administrators of St. Raphael's have contracted with Peter Holmes, a financial consultant, hoping that his fresh perspective will offer new solutions. As the threads of their individual journeys interweave, they each discover a shared history, find love and healing on many levels, and envision a future of bright possibilities. How will St. Raphael's administration respond?

 

Chiron's Light bridges time and place as it both entertains the reader and invites deep reflection. Issues relating to how we live and how we die, how we love and how we heal, are addressed in very real human ways that elicit laughter, tears, insight, and wonder. If we but pause to notice, Chiron's light shines for us all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Regina Bogle
• Release date: Nov 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781943190294

Book preview

1

Wednesday, First Week

Many strands of undulating light, each one a different color, swirled all around her. Every shade of violet, blue, green, pink, yellow, orange, and red—so many sparkling cords of light, she could not count them if she tried. The shimmering spectacle took her breath away. She tilted her head back, hoping to identify their source, but their radiance was so bright she could not.

She spun around in childlike wonder as her senses thrilled to the beauty of it all. Some of the colorful wisps shone brightly. Others in the background conveyed a duller, murky quality. Some swelled rhythmically like waves in the ocean, while others appeared rather linear and stiff. She noticed that the more rigid strands also bore the darker, denser features. The bright ones evoked a precious elegance in their flow.

She tried to reach for a shimmering blue strand—a blue like the clearest of skies, one of her favorite colors—but it eluded her. Instead, stiff, murky, brown and grey strands advanced in her direction. It almost seemed as though they specifically intended to approach her. Then they actually came forward, pushing the shimmering strands into the background. They began to wrap themselves around her, tightly. She screamed!

She awoke just as her alarm toned 6:30 a.m. She slammed the snooze button and lay awake for several minutes, trying to understand what had just happened.

As the grogginess of sleep suddenly ended, but the clarity of day-consciousness had not yet set in, she felt a momentary floating in the in-between state that knows not who, what, where, or when one is. Her first clear sensations came from her body: tense, alert, heart racing, ready for self-protection. Then her mind came online as she realized she had just awoken from a dream—dare she call it a nightmare? She recognized herself lying in her own bed in her blue-, white-, and violet-decorated bedroom. Her precious feline companion, Cordelia—Cordie, for short—sat upright at her side, staring at her as if to make sure all was well. With that realization, Cordie curled back into her own slumber, making space for her human parent’s deeper reflections.

Tara took a conscious, deep breath into her core. With soulful awareness she greeted the day, even if somewhat ambivalently. She realized she had woken from a dream that made no sense to her…yet. She did keep a journal of her dreams, so she promised herself to record it before she left for work.

As she slowly relaxed into the comfort of her blankets, she began to think through her day, trying to identify why she had such a sinking feeling inside her. Her work as hospice intake coordinator for St. Raphael’s Hospital beckoned her to an eight-plus-hour day filled with consultations, meetings, and encounters with people who anticipated the end of their lives. Those near death often struggled with fears, regrets, grief, anger, unresolved longings, and physical pain. Only the latter would respond to medication. All the emotional heartaches and distress would need a human touch, an authentic connection, to address and hopefully resolve those hurts during what little time remained. Tara readily acknowledged that she found these encounters, although poignant and sometimes painful, to be so much more meaningful and easier to deal with than the administrative aspects of her work.

As she scanned the day, she realized that her eleven o’clock meeting filled her with a heaviness she couldn’t shake. She had been mulling it over for days without receiving any inspiration for how to cope with the issues that would arise and the expectations that would come her way. With only a few hours remaining before the appointed time, she could do nothing but pray. On this morning, she chose to direct her prayers to Raphael the Archangel, the patron of healing. After all, it was his hospital, and heaven knew it needed serious help.

She finally pushed aside the covers and made her way out of bed without disturbing Cordie. Oh, to be a cat, she thought. Maybe Cordie could manage this meeting better and Tara could purr for her when she returned home! If only…

Tara greeted her mirror image, barely noticing how her slender five-foot-eight-inch frame, wrinkled nightshirt, disheveled brown hair, and smooth complexion belied her fifty-seven years of life. Still preoccupied with her nightmarish awakening, she showered, ate her usual breakfast, quickly jotted down her dream, and checked her messages as part of her morning ritual before leaving for work. As she gathered her purse and carry-all bag, she noticed her divorce papers still lying on the table, waiting for her signature. She had to admit that they probably added to the current heaviness on her heart, but, given the day’s agenda, they would have to wait. She knew she would sign them…eventually.

She patted the now awake and exploring Cordelia on her head and told her to take care of the house in her absence. She looked forward to seeing her later!

2

Wednesday, First Week

Streaks of September sunlight dawned over the distant mountain silhouette as Alex Haskins made his way through city traffic to his destination, St. Raphael’s Hospital. A sensitive man by nature, he had never found a reason to pretend otherwise. His unimposing, not quite six-foot stature, handsome features, and kind eyes effortlessly befriended most people instantly. These qualities also eased his transition to his new position as an internist at St. Raphael’s.

After only two weeks there, he realized with some surprise that what little desire he’d had to make a good impression had already abated. He would arrive early this morning but not by design. The cry of his young granddaughter had awakened him prematurely and set his day in motion.

Alex perceived his situation as unusual. Typically, a daughter having a child without a partner might move in with her parents, but he had decided to relocate to help her instead. His wife had died several years ago from cancer, and he never quite managed to recover from the loss. Theirs wasn’t the closest of marriages, he had to admit, but they had raised their daughter together. Providing an intact family for his child had always felt important to him, not having had that experience himself. Still, attending to his wife during her long hours, days, years of need had taken its toll. Starting over and moving to a new location, especially to help his daughter, seemed like a good idea at the time.

Sophie, his granddaughter, was teething now and woke often in the night. He often came to consciousness hearing his daughter, Karli, make her way to Sophie’s bedroom to provide the needed comfort. Sometimes Alex would offer to take turns with her, but Karli always seemed to get there first. He himself had been a doting father, so nurturing came naturally to him. Karli had those mother hormones pumping through her, however; he knew better than to interfere. Instead, he helped her in other ways that she appreciated beyond measure.

As Alex continued to reflect on his life, he gratefully acknowledged that at least he still loved his work. At fifty-nine healthy years of age, he had witnessed the practice of medicine surrender to many changes, not all of them positive for the soul of humanity. Yes, the technology made some diagnoses easier to render, and some of the consequent procedures saved more lives, but few people reflected on the purpose of it all from a philosophical or spiritual point of view. Alex had always valued the human aspects of practicing medicine, and he witnessed them slowly slipping away.

This morning’s 11 a.m. meeting typified the current medical dilemma. Medicine had become a business, and when it didn’t turn a profit, the bean counters would insist that changes be made. Those changes usually involved requiring healthcare staff to work harder, faster, and more mechanically in order to meet insurance company expectations for reimbursement. Those expectations were designed by other bean counters who made sure their respective insurance companies remained profitable. To actually provide care for the sick and the dying fell lower and lower on the financial priority list with each passing year.

This morning’s meeting would highlight a bean counter showdown. No one told him about this when he signed on, of course, but he had to admit that in his current mental and emotional state, he had never even thought to ask. Business had never been his priority; he only wanted to care for patients and pay his bills. This assembly’s outcome would affect both concerns.

During the meeting, each department would have to present their numbers for patients served and income generated. The administration would ask questions and take notes. Financial cuts loomed on the horizon and might include the elimination of some specialties altogether. Decisions about which departments would survive the transition and whose jobs would be maintained would be made soon after.

Alex didn’t know the staff or his colleagues well enough yet to have a sense for how this would go. He fully realized that, having just come on board this sinking ship, he might be one of the first asked to bail. Fortunately, no one would expect much of him during this meeting, so he would be free to simply watch it unfold. Afterwards, he hoped to know whether he should be looking for employment elsewhere.

Traffic at dawn flowed with a measure of peace that quickly eroded as the sun’s rays filled the city streets. He tried to calm himself by focusing on his breath, something he had learned to do while his wife lay dying. He suddenly realized that he was anticipating another death of sorts, so he quickly invited himself to keep an open mind. After all, each day offered the opportunity for a pleasant surprise. He might have to work hard to find it, but he had promised himself a year or so ago that for each and every day, he would make that effort.

3

Wednesday, First Week

Doctor Frederick Hull graduated medical school and quickly pursued an MBA, having realized that the business aspects of medicine would define its future. He truly did care for people, but he came to appreciate that being around sick people didn’t really suit him on the short and longer term. Instead, he worked his way up the ranks and accepted the position as President and CEO of St. Raphael’s Hospital, an inner-city healthcare facility that supported almost every specialty and included inpatient beds and outpatient offices, wings for mental health, physical rehabilitation, labor and delivery, pediatrics, gerontology, oncology, cardiology, surgeries of every sort, radiology, and hospice.

He had tried over the past five years to bring this struggling institution to financial solvency, to no avail. Hospitals in the suburbs attracted those with better health insurance and the ability to cover any outstanding debts. In contrast, St. Raphael’s cared for patients who relied upon public assistance or, worse, had no insurance, leaving more unpaid balances than the budget could forgive. Something had to change, so the board of directors decided to hire yet another consultant. Their chosen candidate, a young man with nothing more than a background in communication technology and a more recent Master of Public Health degree, would be coming to offer his assessment and recommendations. Dr. Hull held little hope for the outcome of this project and even less respect for the training of the man hired to complete it.

Fred arrived at his office early that morning, even before his secretary. His restlessness betrayed his anxiety; he knew that board members would participate in the eleven o’clock meeting. His reputation at the hospital had suffered over the years as his efforts to cut costs impacted employees and patients alike. No one liked to do more with less, yet he could see no other way. Diagnostic machinery, technological updates, electronic records, all had a price tag. Arranging for similar numbers on each side of the equal sign proved to be a formidable task.

Fred paced back and forth, walking his thoughts as the morning minutes passed. His finely tailored, pinstriped suit and distinctive moustache did their best to offset his short stature, portly frame, and balding crown. At sixty-four years of age, he had to admit that he was tired of it all. Yet, to quit now would end his tenure in failure. He simply could not let that happen without another thrust of effort. He would find the energy for it somehow and hope to make it work.

In the midst of these musings, his secretary had arrived, surprised to find him there before her. She quickly set to work retrieving messages and preparing his schedule for the day. Already, there were calls to return from board members with questions in anticipation of the meeting. The hired consultant would arrive at 10 a.m. for a briefing, attend the 11 a.m. meeting, then organize his schedule and begin working on the project that afternoon. Fred also imagined that he would be hosting their guest for lunch. This day would feel endless, he had no doubt.

As if on cue, his secretary respectfully knocked on his door, and with that Fred’s day formally began.

4

Wednesday, First Week

Tara began each day with a routine visit to her office in the administrative wing of the hospital. The updated census of the hospice unit and a list of referrals greeted her along with the usual pile of administrative memos that had surely felled a few trees. The hospital hoped to convert to a computerized system for such things over the course of the next month. That would require an additional learning curve and scheduled classes to figure it out. Tara anticipated this with a degree of dread. While she loved trees and gladly supported their longevity, technology had never been her forte.

Next, she went to the hospice unit to meet with the staff and listen to the morning report. It helped her to know what issues had arisen in the night so that she might receive feedback regarding those referrals she had accepted to the unit. She could also address any concerns with staff in a proactive way. Her background in nursing gave her a meaningful appreciation for the complex dilemmas faced by patients, their families, the nurses, and the many supportive personnel involved in the day-to-day services provided to those who were dying. As she would later assess patients in the hospital for referral to the unit, she would know what was needed and available to best coordinate their care.

On this particular morning, Tara noted a referral from the rehabilitation unit. These referrals were not only rare but always challenging. After fifty- seven years of living and thirty-five years of nursing, she still experienced a deep inner struggle whenever she considered the suffering of these typically paralyzed patients. To live with one’s mobility dependent upon a wheelchair and Hoyer lift, one’s breathing aided by a portable ventilator and daily suctioning, a limited ability to feed oneself, bowel and bladder functions diverted through mechanical means, and a host of other bodily dysfunctions—all of it defined a reality that clashed with her conception of what it means to be fully alive.

Whenever Tara received a call from the rehabilitation department, she would find herself obsessively questioning what might motivate a person to endure such relative powerlessness. Whether these patients chose to live like this to avoid their fear of death, or because they had great courage, Tara also understood that their daily confrontation with a tenuous survival would inevitably bring them to death’s door. Despite her own inner struggle, she silently renewed her commitment to give each person her best care, no matter how challenging the task.

Tara decided to approach this referral by first consulting with the patient’s doctor. Given the probable complexity of healthcare needs, Tara opted to defer this potentially complicated process to the afternoon. Just then her pager alerted her to an urgent call from the Emergency Department. Her expertise was needed for a nursing home resident, an elderly gentleman whose sudden deterioration signaled the finality of his days on earth. His daughter had come to be with him and to help with his transition to hospice care. Tara would need to facilitate that referral and decide where those services would best be offered. She proceeded to the Emergency Department immediately.

After receiving a report from the nursing staff about the patient’s condition, Tara found his daughter Patricia sitting at her father’s bedside. Now in his eighties, Mr. Koblansky lay motionless on the gurney. Someone had propped up his head to aid his breathing, still sonorous in its ebb and flow from his body. His eyes were closed. Patricia gently wiped away a tear from her exhausted face as she gazed at her father, seemingly remembering days long gone by. Tara entered respectfully and greeted Patricia gently.

Tara explained her role in the hospital hierarchy and asked Patricia if she knew anything about hospice or the referral the Emergency Department doctor had made. Patricia acknowledged her familiarity with the program, having experienced hospice services for her mother, who had lived and died in another town. The nursing home had resisted her request to provide similar services for her father until now. Patricia expressed her frustration, knowing how much he would have appreciated that kind of loving attention while he could still consciously enjoy it. She doubted that he would rally enough to notice it now. At the very least, however, hospice services would end all the blood tests, pill-taking, and other painful procedures.

Tara nodded with compassion and understanding. The medical culture still did not appreciate that the end of life is as sacred and wondrous a process as is birth. Actually, the medical culture didn’t value much about human life as sacred. Instead, it focused on keeping people alive—as if death were the enemy—at any cost, unless that cost amounted to actual dollars that no one wanted to spend. Additionally, many physicians considered a referral to hospice as an admission of failure. Consequently, they usually delayed the process until the very end. Nursing homes had their own perspectives on hospice care as well. Tara had heard Patricia’s story too many times.

Tara had to identify the imminence of Mr. Koblansky’s passing and whether the nursing home or the inpatient hospice unit would be the best setting for his care. Patricia explained that her father had multiple medical problems, suffered chronic back pain, and had struggled with breathing problems for the last several years. She hoped her father would find comfort in his last days. While he might appreciate having his friends and familiar staff members at his side, Patricia admitted that she didn’t trust the nursing home’s capability to provide the comfort care he needed. Tara acknowledged her understanding of Patricia’s concerns. She indicated that she would make a few phone calls and review his record to make the best determination. Patricia expressed her gratitude and agreed to wait for Tara’s recommendation.

With luck Tara would be able to make this decision before the eleven o’clock meeting. She simply needed the right people to answer her calls and provide the needed information in a timely manner. She reviewed her patient’s medical record then spoke with a nurse on his floor at the nursing home. She detected stress in her colleague’s voice and heard her words clearly. Patricia had been correct in her assessment. The hospice unit had a bed available, and they could manage Mr. Koblansky’s needs without undue difficulty. Fortunately, this decision was clear.

Tara gave Patricia the news that her father would be transferred to the hospice unit. Patricia received this with a sigh of relief, quickly followed by an effusion of tears that now streamed down her cheeks. Yes, her father would receive comfort care. And yes, it was the end.

Tara felt Patricia’s sadness deeply as she gently touched her shoulder in a gesture of consolation. Patricia sobbed into her hands; Tara waited quietly. Presence was all that mattered now. Patricia would no longer feel alone with her grief and her worry. She now had experienced companions for the journey. She could let others attend to the details of her father’s physical comfort, thereby allowing her to be with him more fully. Patricia wiped her face as Tara offered her a tissue. Their eyes met with deep knowing.

This soulful connection made it all worthwhile for Tara. She explained the transfer process to Patricia and left her with her father in peace.

5

Wednesday, First Week

Peter Holmes arrived at the office of Dr. Frederick Hull exactly at 10 a.m. His traditional navy-blue suit clung to his broad shoulders and six-foot-two-inch muscular frame while his neatly trimmed, dark brown hair and bushy beard lent a confusing blend of respect and rebellion to his presentation. Peter greeted Dr. Hull’s secretary, Dorothy, kindly and took a seat as directed. He accepted her offer of coffee with gratitude, knowing this would be a very long day.

During his commute to St. Raphael’s, he had questioned for perhaps the thousandth time why he had agreed to this consulting position. His work experience to date included several analytical and executive positions but never with a hospital. To his credit, he had managed the finances of a small start-up communications technology company that did grow enormously and quite profitably under his leadership. More recently, he had also complemented his MBA with a master’s degree in public health.

Peter readily admitted it: he liked to be challenged. When a former colleague suggested that he try consulting, he felt ready for a change and decided to take the plunge. His self-confidence about this waxed and waned, however. He recognized his emotional seesaw as familiar, occurring whenever he faced a major transition. As he drove to St. Raphael’s, accompanied by his residual doubts, once again he chose to honor his decision. He would focus on the positives.

His former employers, owners of the communications technology company, gave him rave reviews, citing his creativity and his ability to envision possibilities often overlooked by others. They even quoted his favorite expression, We’ll figure it out, noting how he consistently delivered on this prognostication by using his excellent problem-solving skills. It also helped that a board member of the hospital knew one of the tech company owners quite well.

St. Raphael’s had not fared well with those who viewed medicine through the lens of a traditional business model. Perhaps they would do better with someone who brought a beginner’s mind and a track record for achievement based on that practice. The selling feature that clinched the deal came directly from his former employer’s assessment: Peter Holmes is a creative thinker. He has a heart, but he’s not a pushover…and he truly understands the impact of numbers on a human life.

Peter sat in the waiting room, drinking his coffee for perhaps ten minutes before Dr. Hull opened his office door to greet him. They shook hands briefly before entering Dr. Hull’s domain. Peter remained discreet as he quickly assessed his host with the eye of a poker player anticipating the cards in the other’s hand. Remembering his high school success in this regard also boosted his confidence; it had served him well throughout the course of his thirty-five years.

He recognized Dr. Hull’s defensiveness immediately, along with his host’s assessment that Peter brought nothing but youthful arrogance to this project of trying to save St. Raphael’s from financial ruin. Fortunately, Peter had enough self-assurance to know that his own inability to predict the outcome had nothing to do with his worth in the matter. He also knew that Dr. Hull’s attitude would make the work more difficult unless he could acknowledge Peter as a potential ally. Peter recognized this as his first and most important challenge. He quickly applied himself to the task.

Peter scanned the office looking for something to compliment and hopefully share as an interest, human to human. On a side table he noticed some photographs, one in particular of a young man wearing the football uniform of his favorite university team. Peter asked Fred about the photo and learned that it portrayed his son, soon to graduate from that institution. Peter managed to hide his inner sigh of relief as he enthusiastically began to discuss the team’s last season. Fred, taken off guard, shared his obvious pride in his son’s accomplishment. They talked football and higher education for several minutes as the tension between them eased. Peter knew it could resurface at any moment, certainly when topics became more threatening, but for now, this marked a good beginning. He too began to relax.

At 10:50 a.m., they agreed to proceed to the auditorium for the meeting. First, Peter would be introduced to the hospital community; then, he would listen to the various department heads report on their financial status and profitability. He downed what little coffee remained in his cup and followed his host to