Spiritual Care Practitioners | A “Jedi of Impotence”

How to interact with a person in psychosis who is in great pain? How to support parents who have just lost a baby? In their daily lives, Pierre-Alexandre Richard and Dominique Nguyen, workers at the Douglas Mental Health University Institute and at the CHU Sainte-Justine, must tame powerlessness and cultivate “a space of freedom of speech”.

Pierre-Alexandre Richard will always remember his “first time”. He was an intern at the Royal Victoria Hospital. “The first person who left in front of me was a schizophrenic. He had cancer. When the nurse called me on the on-call pager, she told me he was a believer. At his request, I read him a psalm from the Bible and he passed away… I interpreted it as that he did not want to die alone,” he says.

Pierre-Alexandre Richard worked at the Heart Institute, but since 2016, he has been a spiritual care worker (ISS) at the Douglas Mental Health University Institute.

“I like being in psychiatry,” he says.

His office is at the entrance of the main pavilion. His hoodie reads “spiritual care”. Its goal: to be seen and to let people know that you can use its services.

When Pierre-Alexandre Richard obtained his baccalaureate in religious sciences, those around him wondered what it was going to be for. It was during a reception at the end of his studies that he discovered the job of ISS, thanks to Robert Rouleau and Michel Nyabenda. “Two priests who led the fight for the non-denominational turn,” he points out.

“I found it so misunderstood that I wanted to make a documentary. But when I started shooting, I had a revelation: I have to do this in life. »

Taming helplessness

Many relatives, including his father, said to Pierre-Alexandre: “I wouldn’t be able to do your job.. »

“I often say that I am a Jedi of impotence”, launches the main interested party.

“The strongest bonds I create are with patients I’ve seen the worst of. They are grateful not to be judged. »

His job ? “I create a space where it’s okay to talk about spirituality and religion. A place where it’s okay to be unsure of your beliefs. »

And the definition of spirituality? “For me, spirituality is all about meaning. I see it as a distinctive feature compared to other living beings. Our brain is made to create meaning all the time. »

“At Douglas, I have time to build a bond,” continues Pierre-Alexandre Richard. I see patients over the long term. »

The latter are comfortable talking to him about conspiracy theories. To tell him that they don’t want to be vaccinated. To confide in him that they have been watching spiritual warfare videos since the death of a parent.

The most rewarding part of his job? “Intimacy. When someone feels safe to speak with me. It means he trusts me. »

“All I want is to be heard”

We are in the basement of the Sainte-Justine University Hospital Center (CHU). Dominique Nguyen shows us the “havre”. “A place where people can gather and do what is consistent with their spirituality or religion,” he says.

There is notably a Muslim corner, a Jewish corner and a Catholic corner. “My office is right behind it,” he says, before opening the door.

Dominique Nguyen has a calm and extremely soothing voice. “I grew up in a family where spirituality is important. Buddhist and Christian spirituality. »

Dominique Nguyen was born in Montreal. His parents are boat people who fled the communist regime in Vietnam. His two brothers and his sister were born in Asia, but he, the youngest, was born in Montreal and grew up in Quebec.

“I’m a lot like my father, who was fascinated by big questions of meaning […] With us, there was a place for things that we do not see with the eyes of the body, but with the eyes of the heart. Things that are not measurable, but which bring a lot to our life. »

Dominique Nguyen studied philosophy and theology at the University of Montreal. He then did an internship in Joliette to become ISS.

Why Sainte-Justine? When he saw friends having children, he saw how parenthood raised spiritual questions. Being a parent often rhymes with projects and the future. “But we should not miss the fact that this is not always the case…”

Dominique Nguyen has a lot of experience in neonatology.

“The medical community is very technical with precise plans. Spiritual care is a space of freedom of speech. We explore meaning. The plan does not come from us, but from the people,” he says.

“It’s very humanizing,” he continues. I often hear: “My family members all have an opinion. All I want is to be heard. » »

Dominique Nguyen is often called upon to perform rituals, especially when a baby dies prematurely. He notably played the guitar for parents for whom music was important.

“Rituals are important. It’s a way of talking to each other. We are beings of the senses and the rituals mobilize the five senses. A minute of silence, a handshake… it’s a ritual. It’s not scratching in the bobo, it’s sharing the burden, recognizing an existence, ”he insists.

Two female models

In 2011, chaplains officially made way for spiritual care workers (ISS) in the health network, so much so that women had to carve out a place for themselves in a male environment. Among them, Joëlle Anna St-Arnaud and Annick Bélanger, who wish to have their profession recognized, especially among young people.

“When I started, it was mostly men and priests who were in office, says Joëlle Anna St-Arnaud, a worker for ten years. They were used to being moral authorities in their midst. It was not easy to make his place. »

Joëlle Anna St-Arnaud wants to “break the prejudices that spiritual care is religious”. She also wants her profession to be recognized at its fair value.

Last February, she had the initiative of an open letter published in The dutyco-signed by several of her colleagues, in which she was sorry that the ISS were excluded from the incentive measures announced by the government of François Legault to retain the personnel of the health network.

“We infer that the ministry ignores the quality of spiritual care providers,” she wrote. Why exclude those who have been present at the bedside of people at the end of life, including people who have died from the virus and their loved ones forced to say their final farewells in a restricted way? »

see death up close

In her life, the Montrealer has rubbed shoulders with death more than others. “A little too much,” she says.

When she was a teenager, her father died on a bicycle, hit by a train on his way to work. “In my early twenties, I also got to know the health network, because I had thyroid cancer. And I was marked by the spiritual and immigrant journey of my Chilean family. »

It’s a lot of experience for a young woman, but Joëlle Anna St-Arnaud has made sense of it. “I have traveled a lot because of my background and it opened me up to the journey of others…”

Two years ago, an ISS colleague close to her took her own life. It was another big test. She then left the hospital where she worked to make the jump to pediatrics. “I wasn’t sure about all the emotional engagement in pediatrics, but I like it,” says the mother of two.

She mainly supports parents of very young children. “In accident cases, there is a lot of guilt,” she adds. A mother from abroad who gave birth to twin girls in Canada – with many complications – was relieved not to be judged. “She felt that I saw her as a mother who wanted the best for her children. She knew she could tell me anything. »

Finally, Joëlle Anna St-Arnaud adds that “spirituality is not just in death. It is in everyday life and in our openness to the world”.

The many faces of grief

Annik Bélanger agrees. On her LinkedIn page, the spiritual care worker from Bas-Saint-Laurent writes this: “Grieving is not necessarily the death of a person, but also the choice to leave a romantic relationship or to friendship, changing jobs, retiring or any other change that leads to pain or a sense of loss. »

Annik Bélanger works as an ISS in a CHSLD and in a private clinic. It’s not as a woman that she stands out like ISS, she says jokingly. It’s more because of his tattoos and his boots D^r Martens.

It was while working in the field of homelessness in Sherbrooke that she noticed how beliefs are important “anchors” for people. After studying religious studies, the mother of three wanted to become a prison chaplain, but preferred the non-denominational approach to spiritual care intervention.

She didn’t think she liked working in a CHSLD so much. No longer being independent in your home is a great loss, she says.

Recently, she accompanied an atheist man in the process of medical assistance in dying. Over the course of their discussions, they ended up comparing the passage towards death to a parachute jump. “For him, this image ended up being reassuring. He asked me if I was going to wait for him downstairs. »

“I like talking heart to heart. Helping people to go through what they are going through and find meaning…”

Annik Bélanger says she saw a young athlete who had a degenerative disease and who lost the use of her legs. She told him about the possibility of doing Paralympic sport. It lit a light at the end of the tunnel.

The ISS would also like the intervention in spiritual care to be done more with young people.

She proudly announces that she is taking part in a pilot project in her region as part of the brand new government program Open Air, which aims to support 12 to 25 year olds. The spiritual accompaniment of young people will be integrated into the mental and physical health services offered in the Bas-Saint-Laurent.

“For me, it’s extraordinary,” she concludes. Spirituality needs to be considered more in society. »