It was like thunder in the darkness, or an incessant ringing, it wouldn’t stop. The ringing that takes place in his head, it never stops. Sometimes, even when it does stop, it doesn’t stop. Nights are no longer sleepless, and my hip has always got that damn vibration. The clock says 3:32… damn… even if it is short my nights sleep is shot. Where did I put my glasses, where is that fucking light, where is the pager?
I can barely rouse myself from the edge of the bed, it is now 3:37, I still haven’t called back… I wonder if the nurses would think it funny, me sitting in my underwear, no shirt my stomach hanging over, my hair tossed to shreds, and my demeanor… pissed. Whey is this so complicated, and why do I want to say damn over and over again. Oop, it is going off again… same number… better call back.
“Hi this is the oncall chaplain returning a page.” I say with a hint of annoyance.
“We have a death,” she said coldly, and pronouncing the th with an f sound.
“Who is this?,” I say partially out of befuddlement, partially to be a smart ass.
“This is the ER, the patient is a 12 year old boy,” she went on to give me his name and all the pertinent information. This kid had so much internal bleeding that nothing could stabilize him, he was so torn up there was nothing left to die. So I put on my cloak, I grabbed my sickle, hooded my face… and walked out of the room to the ER, hopefully no one would notice the skeletal face, the bony hands… or me… What is it we say to these families, what is it I say to this family. The same one that comes in over and over again. Mom is going to cry out obnoxious things about God, Dad won’t even be around and little brother… he is six and taking care of the 3 month old.
“Does the family know yet?” I ask.
“No”
“You know I can’t say anything right?”
“Yes, we just figured you could be there for the family,” she said plainly, I couldn’t catch a hint of sarcasm, I was hoping for one. In my mind I say thanks for telling me how to do my Goddamn job, now you do yours and tell the fucking family, but instead I asked her when the doctor would be in. “I don’t know,” she said and walked off. I should sit my ass down and just wait for her to come back, show her and the doctor. Tie my hands will they… What would Jesus do? Aren’t ministers supposed to be nice? Fuck it… God is the one who put me here, guess he’ll work it out.
“Hi, I am one of the chaplain’s that works at the hospital and…”
“MY BABY WHAT HAPPENED TO MY BABY???”
“Ma’am I really don’t know,” I lied I know exactly what happened, a 12 year old took a bullet in the stomach because your boyfriend pissed off the local GD. An older man goes to comfort the woman that is obviously the mother, she looks to me to be in her late 20’s, but I have never been good with age. “Can someone fill me in on what is going on?” figured I would gather some info.
The older man comforting the mother spoke up, “I’m the grandfather,” I nod with acknowledgement, “I know what your thinking…” no he doesn’t, “your thinking another nigger family done fucked up got the boy shot because his momma runnin round with some gud damned gangster.” All the sudden a tear begins to run down his cheek. “Its my fault, he found my gun,” pointing over to the six year old. He called me out, he was right, all I saw was another nigger family that dun fucked up. Somewhere in their chaos life was all about me, such narcissism “See we was fittin to move out the neighborhood next week, and I moved it to pack it away…” he couldn’t finish…
“I’m sorry…” I say… and finally I mean it. They knew before the doctor came in… I often wonder if God damned my soul long ago… each night I look through my white eyes… I wonder if God damns my soul. I didn’t sleep that night… Grandfather and I had a long talk… beyond my prejudice, beyond his self blame, we came to trust each other. That’s the thing, if the Grandfather can be strong they will make it, but Granddad has a long way to go, of course so do I. About 5:00 AM I apologized to the Grandfather, this time for my judgments… I told him why I apologized…
“Your innocent to me son…” he said to me, “at least you can listen.” I walked back to the oncall room after everything had been dealt with. “Dealt with,” that is an interesting way to put it. A 12 year old died, straight A student, his brother scared for life, his Grandfather, a Vietnam Vet, twice decorated stands accused in his own court of law… I put my sickle down, I unhood my face, and remove the black cloak to find a human underneath. Sometimes I am shocked to find the human… sometimes I am shocked to know that if I cut myself I bleed, and some pains can even stab through my cold heart. Its okay two hours later my relief comes in and I go home, might as well see if the cafeteria is open. And there it is, my hip vibrates again.
I make the call… I grab my cloak and my sickle, this time to the ICU, 60 year old man coding, they don’t know if he is going to make it… family is erratic, crazy white man saying he is going to burn the hospital down. Probably trailer trash, probably dangerous. Dammit God when do I get to sleep. Then I hear the answer and I laugh to myself…
“Get over yourself, you’re a chaplain not an actor so avoid the drama,” I knew God could be sarcastic and I knew he had a sense of humor, and I knew he was right. I do tend to focus on drama. I can’t see for shit, but then at least I can listen.
3 comments:
Very interesting post. Not just anybody could do your job.
Not much different some of the things I have seen as a social worker, and I know the way you feel. I guess(even though I am still a heathen) that I know in order to serve God, I need to be selfless, even at 3 am.
I would not want your job for anything in this world. Sounds like more counseing courses might have helped along with your M. Div.
May God bless you as you do one of the most difficult jobs that there is!
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