It took four days, just four, for this class to lead me to tears. I held it in those first three days but this day, this less than stellar fourth day caused me to cry tonight.
There wasn't anything particularly awful about today. I did rounds on both my units, met with a few patients. Encountered a patient who is Southern Baptist and was clearly offended by the idea of an ovary-bearing-soon-to-be-ordained-chaplain. I brushed that off, realizing this isn't about me.
It's about the patients. It's about these people who are lying in their hospital beds, immersed in anguish and pain. Facing terminal diagnoses and transfers to places where they will likely die. This is about them. It's about being, encouraging and praying.
I pray for strength to carry through the next three weeks of this course. As I wake up each day, uncertain of what the hours hold for me, I pray. And I hope that my interactions with these patients is nurturing. That they will glean some comfort. That I will do more good than harm. It's a tricky thing, this chaplain business.
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