By Susan Stevenot Sullivan, Staff Writer

ATLANTA – The skeletal steel superstructure of the 1996 Summer Olympic Stadium stretches into the sky a javelin’s throw from the flower beds of Our Lady of Perpetual Help Home in downtown Atlanta.

Clouds of dust from the Olympian construction site drift toward the medical facility over the regal limbs of the largest black oak in Georgia, a living bridge between heaven and earth.

The smell of exhaust and the roar of heavy equipment stop at the brick walls of the home. Inside, a dedicated staff led by Hawthorne Dominicans works around the clock preparing residents for immortality that will never be found on the sports page, transcending medals and record books.

In these peaceful, needlework-bedecked corridors, nine sisters devote their lives to the comfort of more than 30 terminally-ill cancer “guest-patients” who can no longer afford their own care.

Patients are on a waiting list to live their last weeks here in a joyful atmosphere, augmented by lush plants, flowered sheets and chirping canaries. A flexible visitation policy includes young children and, if feasible, weekend trips away to stay with family members.

“These patients have used all treatment options (such as chemotherapy or radiation treatments) or chosen not to pursue further options,” said Sister Mary Christopher, OP, director of nursing and assistant administrator of the home. “There are exceptions but the men usually stay here less than a month before death. The women average a three-month stay.”

Sister Christopher brings more than 28 years as a registered nurse and 39 years as a nun to her ministry. She has had cancer herself and both her mother and sister died of the disease.

“I’m familiar with all the perspectives,” she smiles. “Patient, family member and care-giver.”

“Our goal is to comfort though we can’t cure,” said Sister Christopher.

The staff includes registered nurses, licensed practical nurses, nurse assistants and a full-time pharmacist. But the medical atmosphere is strikingly “low-tech.” Tube feedings are continued if the patient arrives with one. Intravenous therapy, heart monitors, respirators and radiology are not available. Pain medication is administered through injection, orally, or with a “patch”.

Pain relief begins with medication, but the effects of fear, anxiety and loneliness receive spiritual care.

The chapel is designed for wheelchair or bed access on both floors. Father Joseph Drohan, a diocesan priest in residence, visits every patient every day, and holds a daily non-denominational prayer service as well as Mass.

Spiritual care is also expressed with the loving attention of gentle hands and willing ear.

“We listen to them,” said Sister Christopher. “We let them set the pace. We aren’t afraid to talk to them about death and dying in the spirit of faith and hope. We know there’s something better waiting for us.”

“We don’t see physical cures,” she added, “but we see a great deal of inner healing. I think the patients can be amazingly brave and courageous if they get the emotional support they need.”

Patients are encouraged to enjoy the simple comforts they desire: music, television, games, cologne, their own casual clothing, even cigarettes smoked with supervision on one of the back porches.

Sister Christopher said a doctor once called the home a huge obstetrical ward – where patients are born to eternal life.

The evidence is in the silent smiles of bedridden patients. Others follow a visitor with their eyes or lift a finger in greeting. The ambulatory patients, some able to roll their own wheelchairs, joke with the staff and volunteers, or snore peacefully in front of the television in one of the parlors.

Howard Smith, a former truck driver and resident for eight months enjoys all the recreational outlets offered by Irene Wiggins, the activities director, with the help of volunteers.

This particular afternoon, he and other patients complete several sets of tabletop bowling. Afterwards, a glass of milk in hand, Smith, and fellow bowler and Braves fan, Robert Andrews, roll along the sparkling hardwood floors to the front entrance. Outside they soak up the autumn sun and glimpse some of the construction commotion.

Residents represent various ages, races, denominations and family backgrounds. In addition to their disease, they share a blessed relief from financial concerns. Not one is charged for their care.

According to the wishes of the order’s foundress, care is given free of charge and donations from family members are not accepted; neither is insurance money, Medicaid or Medicare.

Donations are accepted from the community. Since 1939, the year the Atlanta home was founded, community support and the dedication of the sisters and volunteers has made free care for thousands of terminally-ill patients a reality.

One of the most well-known fundraisers is the annual champagne luncheon held by the auxiliary of Our Lady of Perpetual Help Home. Thousands attended the 38th luncheon on Oct. 28, with the proceeds going to the home’s medical supply fund. The auxiliary also organizes volunteers who do everything from answer phones to feed patients at the home.

Sister Mary Regis, OP, the home’s superior, said that community support comes from Atlanta’s stellar corporations and foundations as well as from individuals of modest means, from an annual golf tournament to monthly bridge clubs, none of whom want publicity, she said.

“We always rely on the providence of God,” Sister Regis said, “and we’ve never been in want.”

Glowing purple chrysanthemums from tables at the recent champagne luncheon now decorate the home, a visible reminder of the effect of the auxiliary’s efforts.

Though everyone is busy, there is a lack of bustle, an absence of urgency. Intercom announcements are rare; the Angelus prayer at noon being an exception. The emphasis is on people, not technology.

There are no private rooms. Residents are cared for in wards with two to four patients. This increases the opportunities for social encounters, Sister Christopher said. It also provides the nursing staff with informal opportunities to observe patient needs and gives newer patients a reassuring view of the care they can expect in their final days.

Primary nursing – the same nurses care for the same patients – is used, so care-givers are familiar with their patients physically and spiritually. No nurse has more than four patients.

In the face of constant dying, it would be understandable for the staff to hold back from emotional involvement with patients.

“Some patients you never forget,” Sister Christopher said, describing a young mother of four with cancer of the spine, a patient of more than 20 years ago. “I still cry when I think about her,” she said, tears spilling down her cheeks. “She was so brave.”

Family members are included in the care offered at the home. Often, Sister Christopher said, the staff is giving physical care to the patient and emotional care to the family. Volunteers staff the “Caring Connection” which follows up with grieving families after the patient’s death.

“Often the family members are being strong for each other,” Sister Christopher said. “They feel more free to open up to a volunteer.”

The efforts of all of these giving people form an invisible cradle of love and care for each patient. It is this monumental mid-wifery that one senses in the corridors and wards, achievements measured by a smile, not a stopwatch.

Sister Marian, OP, nurse, bookkeeper and supervisor of central supply, who is famous for the Atlanta Braves “shrine” which covers one wall of her ward, was captured by this sense in her earliest days with the order.

“When I visited the motherhouse when I was thinking of entering,” she said. “Everyone was laughing! It really stuck with me. I didn’t hear that in other nursing homes.”

“My work is not depressing, but it is demanding,” said Sister Christopher. “By the end of the day you’re ready to kick off your shoes and put your feet up.

“Without the perspective of eternal life we couldn’t do this work,” she said.

Within reach of her desk, a metal shelf holds the files of three “guest-patients” who have died since the doctor’s last visit. This hall of fame bears a simple message.

A ceramic cross attached to the shelf with a magnet reads: “REJOICE, He is risen as He said.”