conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Elisabeth, Kebler-Ross, Expanding with the genre: Politics & Social Sciences, Sociology?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Living with Death and Dying'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the first five paragraphs for this book
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Living with Death and Dying
  So, here it is, modified and with added material from those who have had the experience on a very personal basis. May it add comfort and courage to those who are still afraid to talk about something as natural as the birth process itself.
  Both birth and death involve great changes and adjustment, often inconveniences and pain, but also joy, reunion, and a new beginning. If it were not for our inner knowledge that we are on this earth plane for a relatively short time, then why should we strive for perfection, for love and peace, if it were not for the desire to leave this place a little bit better, a little bit more human than when we entered it?
  We make progress in our society only if we stop cursing and complaining about its shortcomings and have the courage to do something about them. It is painful to admit our own fears, sense of guilt and shame, inadequacy, and low self-esteem; however, it is the brave one who admits these, the strong one who will fight his own negativity, and the trusting and faithful one who will see the light at the end of the tunnel.
  We have moved from institutional care of the dying to a new and healthier way of caring for them in their own environment; at home they are surrounded by their families and in control of their own needs and wishes, which is almost impossible to achieve in the best of hospitals.
  It is important to understand that the material herein is not really new. Yet there are millions of people who still have the illusion that a patient is "better off" if surrounded with an air of "all is well"; that is, if we visit terminally ill patients only with a smile on our face and cheerful, superficial conversation or silence. We have no problems getting them the very best in physical care and attention, but most often neglect their more painful emotional and spiritual turmoil.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: five more paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Within a month N. called long-distance to ask if she could visit us for a weekend. I reluctantly said yes. I resented her request for many reasons, but Meredith had developed such an attachment for her that I couldn't really refuse.
  The visit was a near disaster. Some of its events are detailed in "The Team" interview that follows. But for all its pain, it was the beginning of an intense relationship among the three of us. Later we all faced death together.
  Meredith maintained a remission for a year after her initial hospitalization. During that time we made frequent out-patient trips to Houston, where we often saw N. without her white uniform and in the new patient role. Her family offered us a place to stay. We accepted, and we saw them often.
  During that year Meredith did well and lived a relatively normal life. N. got sicker and sicker. Three times I said goodbye, convinced she would not survive the next treatment or next surgery. She not only survived but is seemingly cancer-free today. A rare success story considering the extraordinary obstacles she had to overcome.
  And I survived. I had hidden for many months the symptoms that told almost at the time Meredith first became ill, that I had multiple sclerosis. Until I couldn't hide them any longer.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Swap the first and the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Until I couldn't hide them any longer. called long-distance to ask if she could visit us for a weekend. I reluctantly said yes. I resented her request for many reasons, but Meredith had developed such an attachment for her that I couldn't really refuse.
  The visit was a near disaster. Some of its events are detailed in "The Team" interview that follows. But for all its pain, it was the beginning of an intense relationship among the three of us. Later we all faced death together.
  Meredith maintained a remission for a year after her initial hospitalization. During that time we made frequent out-patient trips to Houston, where we often saw N. without her white uniform and in the new patient role. Her family offered us a place to stay. We accepted, and we saw them often.
  During that year Meredith did well and lived a relatively normal life. N. got sicker and sicker. Three times I said goodbye, convinced she would not survive the next treatment or next surgery. She not only survived but is seemingly cancer-free today. A rare success story considering the extraordinary obstacles she had to overcome.
  And I survived. I had hidden for many months the symptoms that told almost at the time Meredith first became ill, that I had multiple sclerosis.Within a month N.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the last four paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: In my five-day live-in retreat workshops as well as in our Shanti Nilaya Growth and Healing Center, thousands of health professionals and lay people come to seek help with their fears and bottled-up emotions.
  It is an opportunity for them to drop their masks of efficiency and professionalism, of the stoical front and avoidance of painful memories. In a safe environment, assisted by a highly trained staff, they are able to relive traumatic experiences, face old fears, guilt, and shame, and emerge with a sense of greater empathy and inner freedom.
  Unless every hospital and clinic, every business office and household, has a safe room where emerging negative and painful emotions can be openly expressed, we will never have enough facilities (counseling centers and growth and healing retreat centers) to gratify all the needs of our population.
  If we could externalize our own fears and share our own unfinished business, we would not have to resort to prescribing Valium—which really does not sedate the survivor but sedates, unfortunately, our own conscience.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Swap the first and the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: If we could externalize our own fears and share our own unfinished business, we would not have to resort to prescribing Valium—which really does not sedate the survivor but sedates, unfortunately, our own conscience.
  It is an opportunity for them to drop their masks of efficiency and professionalism, of the stoical front and avoidance of painful memories. In a safe environment, assisted by a highly trained staff, they are able to relive traumatic experiences, face old fears, guilt, and shame, and emerge with a sense of greater empathy and inner freedom.
  Unless every hospital and clinic, every business office and household, has a safe room where emerging negative and painful emotions can be openly expressed, we will never have enough facilities (counseling centers and growth and healing retreat centers) to gratify all the needs of our population.In my five-day live-in retreat workshops as well as in our Shanti Nilaya Growth and Healing Center, thousands of health professionals and lay people come to seek help with their fears and bottled-up emotions.