Storytelling is Powerful
“After nourishment, shelter and companionship, stories are the thing we need most in the world.”
This website has stories to share and there will be more as time goes on. It is said that people tend to remember stories better than facts. Stories serve many purposes and have contributed to our very survival as a species. “Sitting around the table telling stories is not just a way of passing time. It is the way that wisdom gets passed along.” 1 Stories can offer perspective and reinforce values and cultural traditions. For the narrator, telling and retelling a story may be a process through which experiences can be absorbed, distilled, and given a sense of meaning. A story can say – this is who I am and this is what matters to me.
Whether oral, written or on screen, storytelling can also be a form of entertainment. “A good story engages our curiosity, emotions, and imagination, and ultimately lives on to inspire us.” 2 Especially during difficult times though, telling stories can be highly therapeutic. Sharing an emotional experience with someone who will listen, can be cathartic. When grieving, telling stories about the death of a loved one can help make believable what may feel unbelievable and offer a way to make sense out of profound loss. “As long as we keep telling stories about the people we have lost, they’ll never go away”.3 They can be re-storied back into the world. “The difference between hope and despair can be a different way of telling stories from the same facts.”4 Is the glass seen as half full or half empty?
Listening to the stories people share, especially when they are dealing with serious illness and mortality, offers them the opportunity to frame or re-frame their story. There may be no way to fix what has happened or will happen and there may be no need for words. Providing a safe haven for the telling, however, is a gift, a gift of compassion. Being heard is an incredibly powerful tool for healing.
Patrick’s Story:
The anxiety was palpable as Patrick answered the door to meet with the hospice nurse in his apartment. He had asked one of his brothers to be there with him for additional support. He was in his robe and pajamas and had some difficulty ambulating back to the couch to lie down, using the walls and furniture for support. Patrick was a Vietnam War Veteran and had retired from a career as an FBI undercover agent. He had been down a long road with cancer. He blamed chemical exposures during the war for his own cancer and the early death of one of his brothers. After many years of treatment for his cancer, he was struggling to accept the fact that his oncologist no longer had other options and that hospice appeared to be the next step.
During the visit, he began to talk about his life. He described how he and his brothers were a handful for his mother to raise, going off to Vietnam, not having a family life given his line of work, and that golfing and cigars always made him happy. His career had demanded strength and nerves of steel and, at one point, he searched with determination for an article written about one of his most dangerous assignments. He seemed compelled to tell his story, after losing so many things that had helped shape his identity and sense of dignity.
The visit from hospice had come about after a recent and disturbing encounter. Patrick had gone to the emergency room with upper respiratory symptoms a few days earlier. When the physician came in, he said: “Well, looks like you’re a frequent flyer”. Patrick was puzzled and asked him what that meant. He bluntly replied that Patrick had had several emergency room visits and hospitalizations which made him a ‘frequent flyer’. He continued, without any warning or prior relationship with Patrick, to add “what you really need is hospice”. To simultaneously hear the word hospice and the label of ‘frequent flyer’ was devastating to Patrick. He immediately followed up with his oncologist who admitted that he had been reluctant to discuss hospice but, was planning to at their next appointment. He agreed that hospice could be helpful and offered to set up an introductory meeting.
For Patrick, the loss of control over his life and his body were threatening his very personhood. He was so much more than the man in pajamas struggling to get to and from his front door. It was imperative for him to share his legacy as a strong and capable man. This helped him establish a common ground and begin to acknowledge what was happening to him. As he talked, he was able to share how humiliating the experience in the emergency room had been for him and then admit, “I am terrified to die”. This was at the core of his suffering and indicated that there was much more to his story.
The Rest of Patrick’s Story:
Revealing his deepest fear came only after Patrick had the opportunity to put it into perspective with the life he had lived, to frame his story and know that he was being heard. As hospice was explained to Patrick and the role that the team could play to support him, there was a visible change in his body language. He began to relax, just a little bit. He had been relying on his oncologist for years and was worried that he was going to be abandoned. Hearing that he would not be alone was reassuring. The goal would be to make the most of the time he had while also assisting his brother as the primary caregiver. Patrick agreed to receive hospice services in his home and was able to finish his story with the support of the chaplain.
1) Rachel Naomi Remen (1996) Kitchen Table Wisdom, Riverhead Books, NY, NY.
2) https://tedxsydney.com/news/why-are-we-so-compelled-to-tell-stories/
3) Jeph Loeb
4) Alain de Botton