A hospital chaplain's double vision
I routinely saw patients who were racist, sexist, demanding, and cruel. They were also afraid, exhausted, in pain, and helpless.
During my first weeks as a hospital chaplain, I visited a patient whose kidneys were failing him. He had just mentioned the difficulty of readjusting to civilian life after serving in the Vietnam War when a nursing assistant came in to take his vital signs. “Ah, my girlfriend,” he said, and refused to hold out his arm until he had needled her about going on a date and elicited the short, tight laugh common to all women who do not find the situation funny but are not in a position to do anything about it.
When the nursing assistant left, the patient leaned toward me conspiratorially. “I tease all these girls,” he said. “She’s all right” (a jerk of his head toward the door) “but not all of these girls react well when you tease them. Some of them are stiff with you, they won’t laugh. Those ones I mess with, you know, I push them just a little too far, try and control them a little, since they don’t react the way I want.” He smiled.
Appalled and still green, I could think of nothing pastoral to say. When I moved to leave the room, the patient insisted that I return later that day. I said I would see if my other visits left me extra time. “You’ll come back,” he said firmly. I did not confront him about his deliberate toying with the people who cared for him. I did not go back to his room.
