Sunday, July 3, 2011

Chanting


Sunday, July 3, 2011

Sometimes there aren’t enough words, or the right words to describe things that go on around you. Hospitals can bring that out in a person. It can be theater of the absurd from time –to—time.

Take yesterday for example.

I was lying in my hospital bed feeling especially poorly and angry with my lot in life generally and chemotherapy specifically. My roommate, while a nice man, doesn’t speak a lick of English and from time-to-time I call the doctors in to help him when it seems as though he is in pain.

A couple of days ago I had some visitors in my hospital room at the ungodly hour of 3 p.m. and we were laughing loudly (perhaps too loudly, but still it was only 3 in the afternoon). My roommate’s daughter chastised us. All quite surprising and embarrassing. Anyway I took it in stride. You all know me; I once got shooshed at an opera.

Yesterday, afternoon was weird though. At about two o’clock I’m half snoozing and half watching gold on TV and the same daughter comes to me and says they have a minister here for her father. Great I think. It’ll be a nice quiet afternoon of prayer and I can be left alone to pout and consider all the slights – real or imagined – that have been inflicted on me in recent days.

So there I am watching a little TV and soon the praying starts and I’m talking about a bunch of folks in a circle saying “Hail Mary’s” or a little hand clapping and “Our Fathers.” I’m talking full blown non-English chanting that I am sure God heard because of its enthusiastic rendering.

Eventually the nurse comes in and asks me if I want to go to a new room because some patients would rather not have a chanting religious ceremony going on while recovering. Deep inside I wanted to say, “Yes, yes, get me out of here.” The problem is, the religious thing didn’t bother me; I just would’ve liked to be left alone because that’s how I felt yesterday. So I had to say no … damn honesty.

Weird huh?


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