The Kumm-Hanson's visit Iceland Part 2: Blue Lagoon

Day 2 we ventured to the Blue Lagoon. We purchased tickets in advance for the first opening of the day, as was recommended. When we first arrived, the parking lot was mostly empty as was the lagoon. We purchased the basic entry pass, although upgrades can be purchased that give you use of a towel, a bathrobe & flip flops. We brought all of our own items & were just fine. 

Icelandic pool etiquette states that you take a full shower with soap before getting into a swimsuit. The harsh water of the lagoon dries out your hair quickly, so it's recommended to put lots of conditioner in and tie it back. Also, bring sunglasses and drink lots of water.

There are different parts of the lagoon that are warmer than others, as well as a swim up bar & shallow places to sit. There are also saunas & steam rooms and a waterfall that massages your shoulders. 

The Kumm-Hanson's visit Iceland, Part 1

After an uneventful Red Eye flight from Minneapolis on Delta we landed in Reykjavik. Clearing customs was a breeze and we walked outside to catch our shuttle bus to the city. I booked our tickets in advance on Grey Line tours. They make it very easy to arrange drop off and responded quickly via email when I had a question. We were staying in a friend's home in the suburb of Kopavagur, so we were dropped off at the Hotel Smari and took a taxi to the house. The picture above is the view from the home's balcony. 

Our first day was mostly spent napping and venturing out to get groceries. We picked up food for a couple weeks at Kostur, which appears to be the Icelandic version of Costco, except doesn't require a membership. We were able to purchase a lot of familiar brands, Cheerios, almond breeze milk, etc. as well as some new favorites, Skyr and amazing fresh Icelandic tomatoes and cucumbers. A great option for gluten free groceries is Hagkaup. 

We also went on a long walk in the evening and met this new friend, a yellow lab who followed us for 45 min. 

On standing in the midst of trauma

As a chaplain who responds as part of the trauma team at my large regional trauma center, I occupy a strange role. While the rest of the trauma team rushes to put on lead vests and gowns and masks and hats, I stand quietly. 

When a patient arrives by air or ground I listen to report from the paramedics, listening for our patient's name, age, location & whether or not their family knows where they are. I work with police and other EMS workers and charge nurses to find and notify family members. But a lot of the time I just stand quietly. 

Early in my career, I struggled with not having a "task" in the midst of trauma response. But an emergency room tech at the hospital where I worked in Colorado stated it best, "chaplains represent comfort. You remind us that God is with us in this mess. You help us keep going." 

In a trauma response I care for patients, but I also care for staff. 

Recently I responded to an extraordinarily difficult trauma. The traumas that involve grave injuries with little chance of survival wear on medical staff. It causes our staff pain when a patient is unidentified and their family doesn't know where they are. This situation involved all of these factors. 

I just stand in the pain with our staff and remind them that they are cared for. I believe that my calming and quiet presence is a steadying influence. That my "care through proximity" for the team contributes to resilience. I'm available if they need me, and they know my face for future situations. I accompany physicians when they notify family members that their loved one has died. I exude a quiet strength, and like caring for my patients, my message is, "I am here with you." 

On the incarnational nature of chaplaincy

A.Kumm-Hanson, Iceland 2016

My work as a chaplaincy is intensely incarnational.  By this, I mean I continually encounter God in the flesh.

"Incarnate" has latin origins, "in" mean into and "caro/carn-" meaning flesh.  It has theological connotations in the Christian belief system, but we usually only speak about a God incarnate around the time of Christmas, with Jesus as a newborn baby. It is uncomfortable to think about God as a human body. A body that sweats and eliminates and requires food and water.

As a hospital chaplain, I am never removed from humanity in all its bodily manifestations.  I see what the body is capable of doing to repair itself, and all the ways that it can fail. I smell the sharp metallic smell of fresh blood. I smell bodily odors of every kind.  I smell the earthy smell of birth and the earthy smell of death. I hold the hands of patients who are swollen with IV fluids, with a gentle touch so that I do not exacerbate their edema. I stroke the foreheads of newborn babies, with skin so soft they don't yet seem made for this world. I use my brain, certainly, but chaplaincy is primarily the use of my body.

Walking into a room and meeting another person wherever they are. To show up and shut up and be present. To move through the human desire to say something to make it all okay and just be. To be a reflection of God-in-flesh to those who are suffering.

Also, my patients reflect God to me. People who are dying share visions of angels and whispered messages from the hereafter. Patients who are undergoing intensive rehab therapies after a stroke speak of wrestling with God in the dark hours like Jacob and emerging with a limp, but having touched God.

Chaplaincy is not a cerebral ministry of long hours spent in a pastor's study in preparation for preaching. It is holding hands through bed rails and wearing isolation gowns and being willing to literally stand in suffering with God's beloveds. It is not about translating Hebrew or Greek from ancient texts, but about translating scripture into something now that matters to the mother who is delivering her stillborn child or the son losing his father to cancer.

The theology of the cross is particularly apparent to me in my hospital work. This theology holds that God's love for all of creation is most clearly seen in the act of dying on the cross.  That God did the most human thing of all, which is to die. The theological conviction that shapes my ministry as a chaplain is that God knows what it is to suffer and to die, and there is no place that God is unwilling to go, even death. This is good news for all of us who feel immersed in suffering, our own or that of others.

Because to be human is to be made in God's image and to carry God's likeness.  We are the incarnate God to one another.

Adventures in the Icelandic Emergency Medical System

I am currently on my honeymoon in Iceland. As part of our adventure, we decided to go caving. We explored a cave that had been created by a lava flow, that was approximately 1km long and easily accessible. We were provided with helmets and headlamps

And our guide led us through a beautiful cave. We crawled, scooted & shimmied through stunning formations of lava. On my way out of the mouth of the cave to the car, I stepped into a hole that went up to my thigh. I caught myself with my hand. I heard a crack, but didn't think too much of it. 

By the next morning, my finger looked like this:

Bent, purple and swollen. We arranged an online consult with a physician service in the USA called Dr On Demand, through our insurance company. I FaceTimed with a Dr in Maryland who instructed me to go to an Icelandic emergency room based on pain in a specific area of my hand, the "snuffbox", or navicular area. This is a bone that has poor blood supply and doesn't heal on its own without intervention. So off to the ER we went. 

Just to make sure, I contacted an Icelandic RN via 1700, which is a non-emergent way to get a medical consultation. This was a Sunday, so the only place I could get x-rays was the hospital. 

Reykjavik has several large hospitals, but the ER is located at the main branch. I walked right in and a triage nurse assessed my hand immediately. I completed paperwork in English and another RN did additional manipulation of my hand. I was sent upstairs to the "minor injuries unit." A triage RN asked me if I needed an ice pack and pointed out the location of a water cooler. I waited about 45 min, then was taken back to meet with a doctor. 

Perla, the doctor, put us immediately at ease. She ordered X-rays & said she would order a CD also that I could provide to my USA doctor.  A tech took the X-rays, and I was sent back to the ER and received a CD of the images almost  immediately. We waited for awhile longer while my X-rays were read. 

Diagnosis, probable Scaphoid Fracture. The doctor stated that I would be receiving a cast and would need to be re-examined & re-casted when I returned home once the swelling went down.

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A nurse took me in for casting and explained that she was unsure how my rigid cast would work with a long flight. The Dr consulted a specialist about this, while I waited for the cast to harden. 

Once my cast was complete, we checked out with the cashier. I thought this would be the scary part. Most US health insurance doesn't cover international care, although it's possible to be reimbursed. 

Total cost for three hours in ER, X-rays, physician and specialist consult, casting, CD of imaging, and English transcript of records? 

Only $530 for this "uninsured foreign national." 

Plus I was given personal discharge instructions & follow up care required by a physician. 

I experienced nothing but care, respect and concern from phenomenal nurses & physicians who spoke flawless English. I received high quality care for a reasonable cost. I'm not sure why ER care in the US is so expensive.