An Unholy Mission (11 page)

“What the hell is a scranny? It sounds like something nasty you might pick up in a public toilet if you forget and sit on the seat.”

“I keep forgetting we speak two different languages. A scranny is a focused look around. Want me to?”

“No, thanks, Frederick, not yet anyway. You always hear people say, that where there’s smoke, there’s fire. The trouble is, I just don’t know what kind of a fire I’m looking for.”

 “You don’t think you’re in any kind of danger, do you?”

Olympia recalled Jim’s recent words of concern and warning. “No, sweetheart,” she said, deciding not to worry Frederick. “I think Luther is an odd duck, and I’m not sure whether he’s chaplain material, but I certainly don’t feel threatened by him. He makes me uncomfortable, but no, he doesn’t scare me. There’s a difference.” Olympia paused and then added, “Don’t forget the cancer possibility. That would freak anybody out.” 

Frederick agreed and pointed toward the kettle on the stove. “Cup of tea, dear?”

“No, let’s wait on that. What you didn’t hear was that Jim’s managed to get a leave of absence from St. Bart’s, and he’d like to come and stay here with us for a while. We’ve got a spare room upstairs. That poor kid from Dorchester stayed in it last year. Bridget. You remember me telling you about her, the abuse victim.”

Frederick nodded. “So what’s the problem? We have a room with a private bath. What else would a man need?”

“I thought we might clear out the room across the landing and make it into an office or a sitting room for him. Then he’d have a space that is totally his own. I haven’t gone in there other than to open windows in the summer. It’s full of junk, but I don’t think it needs much more than a cleaning and a good airing out. Who knows, we might find something interesting in there. This house is full of surprises.”

“Would you like me to freshen it up with a new coat of paint?”

“No, Frederick, I don’t think I would.”

When Olympia visited Elinore Banks on Wednesday, she learned that she’d be going home the next day. The woman was simply beside herself with happiness, and Olympia promised that she’d be sure to come back to say goodbye before she left the hospital. Now, on the big day, Olympia stood in the doorway of her room and waited. Elinore and her daughter were talking with the social worker finalizing the home health care and physical therapy arrangements. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in lavender slacks and a lavender and white flowered jacket, holding her handbag on her lap. If it were not for the smile wrinkles and the halo of fluffy white hair, Elinore could have been a little girl in her Sunday best. She was beaming in childlike anticipation and told Olympia with a wink that she was waiting for her boyfriend to arrive and complete the picture.

“Oh, do come in, dear,” she said, holding out her arms, “and give me a hug for good luck.”

Olympia leaned over and squeezed the woman. She smelled of hospital sanitizer and ivory soap. But her joy changed to concern when she turned to look at her roommate. Nancy was lying there, taking it all in through weary, half-open eyes.

 “I’m going to miss you, Nancy. You just hang in there for that liver, okay? I’ll keep praying for you. Olympia will, too, won’t you, dear?” The bright enthusiasm in her voice didn’t match the worried look in her eyes when she turned back to Olympia and whispered, “I don’t know.”

“I’ll be here, Elinore, don’t you worry,” said Olympia.

“I left her my flowers, said Elinore, pointing to a drooping bouquet in the corner of the room. “Her husband should be here any minute; he comes in every day, sometimes twice a day now. He brings the kids when he can.” She shook her head again, and she mouthed the words, “I hope she can hold on.”

“We prayed for strength so that you could go home, Elinore, and now we’ll pray for Nancy to get a new liver.”

Elinore looked past Olympia toward the door. “Oh, look, here’s Jerry.”

After she made the introductions, Elinore went over and kissed Nancy goodbye, gave Olympia another hug, and then she was gone. Olympia lingered beside the empty bed and listened as the happy chatter faded from earshot. Then she looked at the wilted flowers and back to the depression on the edge of the bed where Elinore had been sitting, and was surprised to find herself weeping. God be with you, brave lady, she thought.

“Olympia?” The voice was a hoarse whisper.

“Yes, Nancy?” Olympia moved to the side of the occupied bed.

 “Elinore made me laugh. It’s going to be lonely here without her.”

Olympia clenched one fist behind her back, willing herself to speak evenly. “I’ll miss her, too, Nancy, but I’ll just have to visit you even more often until you get yourself another roommate.”

“They’re talking about moving me upstairs to the hospice unit. I’m not sure I can hang on. I’m so tired. I guess it would be easier on everybody to have me up there with the rest of them.”

“Nancy, even if you’re tired, I’m not. I’ll just pray twice as hard. I’ll come back and check in on you later. I’ll talk to the nurses, too. They come in all the time, don’t they?”

She sighed, “Oh, that’s okay. Luther visits me every day. He puts his hand right here on my heart when he prays. Says he’s making a direct connection. It feels nice. He …”

Nancy’s voice grew softer. She was falling asleep again.

Olympia brought her clenched fist out from behind her back and began smacking it against the palm of her other hand. I’ve got to talk to Luther, she thought, or maybe it’s time to go to see Sister Patrick.

Eleven

On the following afternoon, Olympia and Timothea were sitting next to each other in the conference room. She felt a special kinship with this woman. They both had raised children on their own, they both had come late to ministry, and Olympia suspected that, like herself, Timothea left a lot unsaid. Olympia wanted to tell her about her daughter Laura and her new granddaughter Erica. She had often wished she had a girlfriend. As much as she loved Jim and Frederick, gay or straight, they were guys, and it just wasn’t the same. She reached into her tote bag for a pen and her notebook, setting them side by side on the table in front of her. There would be no verbatims today. Sister Patrick told them that this would be a reflection session, and they were going to share thoughts and feelings about their work to date. More to the point, they could ask any questions they might have now that they had almost two weeks’ experience interacting with the patients on the units.

“Who wants to go first?” asked Patrick, once they were all settled.

The silence was deafening.

“Well, then, let me rephrase that,” said the nun with something close to a smile. “I’ve heard some good things from the charge nurses about this group, so why don’t we each say one good thing that’s happened, or describe something you’ve done well.”

Olympia was sure she could hear the plants in the corner of the room growing in the silence that followed.

“Olympia, why don’t you tell us something about the transition unit? Patients usually stay longer there, so you can really get to know them. Anybody special come to mind? No names, of course.”

Olympia smiled. “I’d love to,” she said, meaning it. For the next few minutes, she described her beloved spunky Elinore Banks, who as of that very morning had gone back to her own home. “It’s not anything I did,” said Olympia, shrugging her shoulders. “She was just bound and determined to go home. All I did was listen.”

“Maybe you helped her believe that she was able to do it despite what the doctors were telling her,” said Patrick.

Did I hear that right? Olympia wondered. Is she actually complimenting me?

“Affirmation is a kind of prayer, Olympia. You affirmed her spirit, and maybe her body took the hint. Well done, Olympia. Is there anyone or anything else you’d like to talk about?”

Olympia hesitated and sighed. Should she talk about Nancy? “I’m afraid the woman in the other bed, my first patient’s roommate, may not be a success story.”

“Tell us, Olympia.” Patrick’s voice was surprisingly gentle.

“She’s waiting for a liver transplant, Sister, and she might not live long enough to receive it.” Olympia’s voice quavered. “It’s really hard to watch her decline so rapidly. She could barely talk this morning. She said they’re probably going to move her upstairs to the hospice unit.” Olympia bit hard on her lip before she could continue. “She told me she’s getting too tired keep trying.”

“That’s part of hospital chaplaincy, too, Olympia. If something is inevitable, then the grace of letting someone go and offering them safe passage can be a beautiful and powerful gift.”

Luther cleared his throat and looked like he wanted to say something.

“Did you want to add something, Luther?”

He reached up and touched his cross. “Can you say more about offering someone safe passage, Sister?”

  Patrick looked at Luther and then around at the others. “There’ll be times when there’s nothing anyone on earth can do to help a person. They’ll know it, and you’ll know it. All you can do is sit beside them and make the waiting easier.”

Luther smiled and nodded and then folded his arms across his chest.

“Thank you, Sister.”

“Okay if I go next?’” said Jenny Abelard.

Patrick smiled and inclined her head. “By all means, Jenny.

“I guess I’m gettin’ there. The hardest part for me is just being quiet with someone. I have to resist trying to make some kinda noise. When I was in prison, there was always something going on, and now at the shelter, someone is always talking, and there’s music or the TV. I’m not used to quiet. It, like, creeps me out.”

“Many of us don’t know how to be fully present in the silence, Jenny, inside or outside. We use noise to block out things we don’t want to hear or think about. I’m glad you are becoming aware of it. Awareness is always the first step.”

“Thank you, Sister.”

Joel raised his hand to go next.

“I didn’t think I’d have so much trouble drawing the line between being a doctor and being a rabbi. The doctor part of me wants to ask medical questions, and I’m still learning where the rabbi part of me is.”

Sister Patrick tented her fingers in front of her bosom. “I’ve never had a medical doctor as one of my chaplains, so I think you are going to be teaching all of us. Finding out where the boundaries are, our own and the patient’s, is possibly one of the most important things we need to learn and establish as chaplains and eventually as professed clergy.”  She stopped and looked around the table, making eye contact with each of them before she continued. 

“Personal space, whether physical or emotional or spiritual, must always be considered inviolate. We must always ask permission to enter that space. I suppose it’s doubly hard for you, Joel. As a doctor you are used to seeing people in bed and/or without their clothes—and actually touching them. It’s hard to turn that off because you can’t stop thinking like a doctor, even if you’re a rabbi. Mark my words, one day you’ll be writing books about this very dilemma, and I’ll be assigning them to my chaplains. These are the core ethics of our combined professions. People aren’t perfect. Doctors, nurses, nuns and rabbis, we all miss things sometimes. The question is, when do you speak up, and when do you remain silent? That’s exactly the question you’re asking, isn’t it, Joel?”

The rabbi-doctor nodded his agreement and then whispered, “Thank you, Sister.”

Alice Whitethorn was next. She had been sitting a little apart from the others but turned more fully toward everyone when she spoke. “I guess I didn’t want to admit this, but to be honest, I don’t think I can continue. I thought it would get better after a while, and for a day or two, it actually seemed to. But one of the kids I’d been visiting died this morning. I couldn’t do anything, Sister. I just ran and hid in the bathroom. I couldn’t stop crying. He was such a sweet little kid. I couldn’t face the parents.  I just ran, and now I’m so ashamed of myself. I was scared, and I wimped out. They lost a child, and instead of reaching out to them, I turned and ran as fast as I could. I don’t belong here.”

The young woman sat with her head bowed, not weeping and not speaking for what seemed like an uncomfortably long time. No one spoke. Finally, Sister Patrick held out her hands and said simply, “I think we need to pray together.”

When she finished, she spoke briefly about all of them needing to be present with Alice and to hold her in the light of love, but not to try and fix whatever she was feeling and dealing with. Then she dismissed them, saying that they would continue this on Friday, and invited Alice to come back to the Office of Pastoral Care.

“Sister, I wonder if I might …”

“Whatever it is, Luther, can we hold it until tomorrow?” There was no mistaking the tension in her voice.

Olympia caught up with Luther on the way to the front desk. She knew the hospital cafeteria didn’t offer the privacy necessary for any kind of serious discussion, so she suggested that they go out for a coffee in one of the neighborhood coffee shops. Olympia wondered for a fleeting second if she was doing the right thing, but she decided that a direct approach was best. When they were in a place where they could talk, she would ask him about what Nancy had told her that morning, and depending on his response, she would bring up the very timely subject of professional boundaries. On the other hand, she mused, it’s possible Nancy imagined it. She is very ill. She could be hallucinating. People do that when they are nearing the end.

She wondered whether or not she should go to Sister Patrick first, but at the moment, it seemed as though the good nun had a crisis of her own on her hands. Just asking questions of a colleague was not crossing any boundaries, was it? Even if it was, Olympia felt that she had no choice.

“Where would you like to go, Luther? Have any favorites?”

“You choose, Olympia, I’m not very hungry. My appetite’s been off. Like you said, maybe we should just go have a coffee somewhere.”

“Actually, there’s an Italian bakery and coffee shop I like. It’s two or three blocks from here on the main road, and they have parking. We can have an espresso or a cappuccino and maybe split a pastry. That sound okay to you?”