Several weeks ago...

Barbara has been my patient for several months.  She is relatively independent and very alert but needs 24 hour care to insure continued good health in the face of her physical ailments.  Because of this, I have been able to spend many hours talking with her and have become increasingly dedicated and attached to her.

So when Barbara asked me if I would be willing to attend church with her the next day, I readily agreed.

I am by no means a proponent of organized religion.  I was not raised as a church-goer and have deep-seated feelings against it (just for me personally- everyone else can do whatever the fickity fuck they want).  But that is for another day…

Barbara took two hours to get ready for church.  She seldom leaves her house and this makes any public outing an occasion to look her very nicest.

We were a few minutes late but the service had not started when we arrived.  A well-dressed man approached as we walked through the doors and offerred to take Barbara to her seat.  I allowed him, feeling incongruent in my scrubs.  A petite lady smiled and told me that I could store Barbara’s walker in the back.

I joined my patient and informed her that I had a cold Sprite anytime she needed it.  She has a throat disorder that requires her to drink either hot or cold liquids and she becomes dehydrated easily. 

The preacher entered and we stood.  A few unfamiliar songs were sung and then we were instructed to move about the church and greet those around us.  As Barbara was unable to walk around without difficulty, we stood and waited for others to greet us. 

Unfortunately, I had bare-knuckle boxed the previous day and had a fresh scab on my largest knuckle.  The first man to shake my hand was a behemoth.  Tight grip, up and down, up and down, and he ripped the scab clean off.  Blood slid quickly onto my hand.  My scrubs were light colored and I had nothing else to clean it off with.  The next few minutes were spent awkwardly denying hand shakes.  I made the mistake of telling one person I was bleeding and received the most scandalized look.  Finally, we were allowed to sit and I quelled the flow and lessened the mess with my work-issued hand sanitizer.

The rest of the service was fairly boring to me and I felt the preacher was too self conscious to be effective.

At one point, Barbara took her sprite from me.  I whispered I would open it but she insisted (she used to be a ranch woman).  The can exploded and soda spilled all over my patient, the pews, and my scrubs.  Barbara and I laughed furtively, drawing the attention of atleast half the congregation.  She said she would let me open it the next time.

At the end, the preacher invited those who wanted to join the church up to the front.  A man approached me and asked if Barbara wanted to join today.  She clearly stated no, citing a desire to wait for her family to be in town for it.  I relayed the message.

When the preacher heard this, he was so convinced that Barbara actually wanted to join that he walked all the way to the back, microphone in hand, and asked my patient to come up to the front with him.  Of course I was sitting between the two of them, with the preacher stretching over me to try and grab her.  I had to love my patient for continuing to deny his requests.  That had to take some balls to say no with the entire congregation watching and a preacher trying to grab you.  He finally backed off and made an ill-timed joke about how maybe it would work out next time. 

Church for me equals bloody knuckles and awkward situations.  I think it will be awhile before I return.