An Unholy Mission Read online

  “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?”

  “It sounds wonderful,” said Luther. He suddenly looked brighter and more energetic than he had all afternoon.

  When they arrived, Olympia found a table in a corner away from the others and draped her jacket and scarf over the back of the chair before taking her seat. Once they’d ordered their coffees and a single cannoli with two forks and two plates, Luther leaned forward and took the initiative in a totally opposite direction from what Olympia had in mind. Maybe it was the casual café atmosphere or simply the fact that they were off duty, but even his color looked better than it had when they were standing in the hospital foyer. On the other hand, maybe it was the lighting. He smiled and then reached across the table and took her hand in his. His fingers were cool to the touch.

  “I know you have something you want to talk to me about, Olympia, but before you say anything, let me just say that I feel like a teenager on a first date. I’m all nervous. Remember my saying that I hoped I’d get to know you better. Well, here we are. All I can say is thank you. Now, what did you want to talk to me about?”

  Olympia gently disengaged her hand as the waiter came and set down their coffees and the pastry. He made a great show of arranging the two forks to the side of their plates and asking if there was anything else they needed.

  Olympia’s shoulders sagged under cover of the distraction. Damn, damn, damn, what the hell do I say now? she thought.

  Luther picked up his coffee cup and smiled expectantly at Olympia.

  “Luther, I’m afraid this isn’t a date or anything like it. I have something I want to talk about. I clearly remember telling you that I have a significant other. He’s waiting for me to come home this very evening, and I’m very happy with the arrangement. What I have to say to you is much more serious.”

  Luther looked crestfallen. “I can still dream, can’t I? But go ahead, and when you finish, I have something I need to ask you.”

  What is it with this man? thought Olympia. He acts like he’s from another planet. “Luther, I was visiting with Nancy Farwell this morning. She’s not doing well.”

  “I know. I went in to see her myself, but she was sleeping. I don’t think she has much longer, do you?”

  “Well, she wasn’t sleeping when I was with her. She made a point of telling me that when you come in and pray with her, you put your hand on her heart. Do you actually do that, or was she hallucinating?”

  “She wasn’t hallucinating, Olympia, I do it all the time.”

  Olympia almost spit out her coffee.

  “Luther, are you out of your mind? Don’t you remember what Patrick said about boundaries and making physical contact with patients? You could get thrown out if anyone saw you doing that, not to mention it’s just not good ministry.”

  Luther looked around and made a shushing motion with his hand.

  “Olympia, the woman is dying. If I can touch her heart with God’s love and ease her passage, where is the harm in it? I know that I’m doing what God has called me to do. Why don’t people understand that?”

  This is freaking unreal, thought Olympia.

  “Luther,” Don’t you see how that could play hell with her emotions? She’s in a very fragile place.”

  “I know it’s the right thing. She’s dying, and I am surrounding her with love. I’ve been called to this work just like you have. But unlike you, I know things medical people can’t possibly know, inside myself. It’s like I just feel things, and then I’m guided to act. I appreciate your telling me this, Olympia. I’ll make it a point to be sure nobody sees me. I’ve given up trying to make them understand.”

  My God, he really is serious.

  “I’ll tell you something else. I know that you care about me, even if you have someone at home. You care about what happens to me. That’s why I agreed to come here with you. I wanted to tell you before I say anything to the others. I got the results of the biopsy.”

  “What did they tell you?”

  Luther took a deep breath. “The cancer has metastasized to my liver. He told me I need a few more tests, and then they want me to get started on the chemo as soon as possible.”

  “Oh, Luther, I’m so sorry. Does that mean you’ll have to drop out of the program? Surely you can’t manage the two. Chemotherapy can be very debilitating. You’ll need all your strength to fight the disease.”

  “I’m not going to have chemotherapy, Olympia. God isn’t going to let me die until my work is complete. I’m confident of that. I�
��m often tired, and my appetite isn’t what it used to be, but I know that drugs and radiation aren’t the answer. I’ll get through this. God has tested me before.”

  Olympia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. More terrifying than that, it was clear from the way he was looking at her that the man believed every word he said. She was grateful when the waiter came to refill their water glasses. For the moment, at least, she was spared the opportunity to respond. By then, she knew there was absolutely no point in saying any more on the subject. So after an hour or so of general shop talk about the hospital, thoughts about Sister Patrick and fanciful theories about the history of the underground tunnels, they divided the bill and thanked each other for the company. Olympia once again offered to drive him to the nearest bus stop.

  Before he got out of the van, he thanked Olympia and told her he understood that she meant well, but he hoped one day she’d come to see him in a different light, and he didn’t mind waiting.

  If the image of a snowball in hell resting on a bed of quicksand came to mind, Olympia tactfully kept the thought to herself, saying only, “Take care of yourself, Luther. See you tomorrow.”

  Later that same evening, back home in Brookfield, Olympia and Frederick were each ensconced in their favorite chairs, and Frederick was sputtering. “Bloody cheek! Olympia, I’m going to go in there and have a little one-fisted conversation with that misguided idiot.”

  “No, you’re not. The man is not all there, Frederick. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if the cancer hasn’t already traveled to the brain. I think he’s becoming delusional.”

  “I think he’s becoming dangerous,” said Frederick. What does Jim think?”

  “I haven’t told him yet. I didn’t have time. I’ll call him over the weekend. I can’t take in one more thing tonight, and nothing’s going to happen between today and tomorrow. My brain is flat-lining. The one thing I do know is that as much as I don’t want to, I have to talk to Sister Patrick ASAP.”