Eclectic Christian

by Joshua Hearne

It had been a very long day at the hospital. I had been on call the night before and it had been a busy night. At around 3:00 AM, my pager buzzed me awake from my comfortable bed. I called the operator at the hospital and was informed that a patient I had visited earlier that day had gone into cardiac arrest. They were coding him and wanted a chaplain to come in for the family and friends. Since I was the chaplain on call for the night, I got dressed and drove to the hospital. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I made my way up to the ICU to check on the patient and, eventually, the ICU hospitality room to check on the family. The family was responding in a typical fashion so there was nothing abnormally difficult about the call. Though it was unexpected, the patient had been resuscitated and stabilized. So, after being there for about 2 hours, I headed back home to the comfort of my bed.

At about 5:15 AM, my pager buzzed again. In response, I groaned. I called in. I got dressed and headed back to the hospital. It was the same patient.

I checked in with the patient and the doctors had already called the time of death. The doctor in charge of the patient informed me that the family did not yet know. I went ahead and checked in with the family being careful not to reveal anything. This part of the job is, commonly, referred to as “the wait.” The chaplain isn’t allowed to reveal anything because it’s not the chaplain’s job and, in fact, a chaplain will lose their job by revealing such information. I was trained to respond to the question “How are they?” with “The doctors are still with them.”

“The wait” was the worst.

After the remainder of this call, it was about 7:55 AM. My shift started at 8:00 AM and was filled with two more “codes” and one more death. So, by the time 3:30 PM rolled around, the head of pastoral care was telling me to go home. I gladly obliged him. On my way to the car, I took off my tie and unbuttoned the top button of my shirt. I could see my car and the freedom it promised when I heard an elderly lady’s voice from behind me.

“Excuse me…” she said.

“Yes?” I said, thinking ‘Why me?’

“I’m looking for my car” she said. “Do you think you can help me find it?” she asked.

“What kind of car is it?” I asked, turning to look at her. “What color is it?” I continued, thinking ‘I was so close to my car.’ Sure, I could have pretended not to hear her and I’m sure plenty of people in the hospital would have. I could have, even, said that I wasn’t able to help her but when I saw her she reminded me of so many ladies I had met in the hospital.

Her short white hair, her wrinkles, her oversized sunglasses and purse. She was every wife of a heart-attack-patient. She was every grandmother of a child having their tonsils out. She was what I expected. I dare you to try and say no to her. You know she cares.

You care that she should know you care.

So, I helped her. We found her care. I don’t remember what it was but it was probably a mid-90s red sedan. Maybe a silver Crown Victoria?

I was excited to get to my car and hit the road. I was going to go home and take a nap. I was going to wipe the hospital out of my mind for a little while and, I’ll admit, I was quick to leave the woman with her car.

“Josh…” she called. I turned back and noticed that she was digging in her oversized purse. The purse probably had kittens on it or maybe a teddy bear. She pulled something out. Do you remember those stuffed Taco Bell Chihuahuas? Each Chihuahua was a stuffed animal that was maybe 7 inches tall and had an electronic piece in it that recited one of the Taco Bell dog phrases when it was squeezed. Looking back at it, I can’t believe that these were popular.

“Yes, Ma’am?” I replied. She handed me the dog. It was, most definitely, one of the oddest gifts I’ve ever received.

“His name is Paco” she insisted. “When you look at Paco, I want you to remember that somebody out here appreciates you and loves you” she told me. “You didn’t have to help an old lady” she said, before she got into her car. She rolled down her window and said, “I’m sure you have somewhere else you’d much rather be.”

It hit me. Paco stood as a judge over me. His cold plastic eyes started at me intently (perhaps it was his lack of eyelids) and accused me of trying not to care. If I was serious about this ministry thing, or even this caring thing, then I should understand that it’s not something that you clock in and out of. Paco sat on the dashboard of my car and reminded me that it wasn’t just about me. Paco reminded me that my time is not only my own.

I am not only my own.

Oh, he also reminded me to eat tacos. But only when I squeezed him just right.

This entry was posted on Thursday, November 20th, 2008 at 12:02 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.