Adventures of the "lady chaplain"

It can be rather interesting being virtually the only female chaplain in a hospital full of men. Patients and staff call me Reverend and Father and Padre and Mother and Sister, and sometimes Lady Chaplain too.

And sometimes I end up in situations like this one.

I was pulling on gloves and an isolation gown outside a patient's room last week when I overheard the following exchange between the patient and his sitter:

"Is there a girl out there??"
"Yes, there's someone here to visit you."
"Is she pretty? Does she have blonde hair?"
(The sitter peeked out at me.)
"Yes, she does, sort of..."
"That's my girlfriend!"
"No, I'm pretty sure she's not your girlfriend."
(I'm laughing now, fumbling with my gloves. The patient says something I can't hear.)
"No, I really don't think it's a good idea to flirt with her."
"Why not???"
(Now I can hear laughter in the sitter's voice too.)
"...You'll see when she comes in. She's... well, she's close to the big man upstairs, let's just say that."
(I bite back the laughter and step into the room, chaplain-mode engaged, but can't help grinning at the sitter.)

There's something holy in bedside laughter, I know it. Never a dull day!

Chaplain survival kit: a list in progress

With each intense and wonderful day I spend doing chaplaincy at the VA hospital, I refine my chaplain survival kit. Sure, it's a pain to carry my bag everywhere, but its contents save me almost daily.

In addition to the patient census, chaplain service brochures, assorted rosaries, and worship bulletins, these are some of the things I've learned to carry:

-Water. And a mental map with the locations of the hospital's staff bathrooms.
-Protein bars. Fun fact: if you don't let yourself get really hungry, hospital smells aren't as nauseating.
-Little packs of tissues
-Hand sanitizer
-Chocolate, a powerful mood stabilizer
-Ibuprofen, useful against the I'm-too-tired-for-this headaches
-Waterproof makeup and a hairbrush. I might feel like a mess in a whirlwind of intense visits, but there's no excuse for looking like one. :)
-My little black notebook, where I record significant milestones, powerful encounters, and words of encouragement... and the text of psalms and prayers I am prone to forgetting. This includes Psalm 23, unfortunately.
-Sometimes I carry the 1991 Denson Sacred Harp; I'll sing in the chapel if I need to reset between visits. It can be an important survival tool for me. On days when I don't bring The Sacred Harp or another hymnal, I often carry the little lap harp I've had since I was six; it serves a similar purpose.

Then there are the intangible things I try to carry: an open heart; creative curiosity; an ear for improvisation; a voice for prayer and song; the invisible community of colleagues, friends, and patients who have taught me all I know; the willingness to keep learning.

What would you keep in your survival kit? What have you learned to carry, whatever your work happens to be?

A poem for a September evening

First: I think I am going to resurrect the Buttress. What its new purpose will be, I'm not quite sure yet.

Second: a poem for a September evening. I think I'll preach on it at Thursday interfaith worship at the VA hospital this week.

Woods

I part the out-thrusting branches
and come in beneath
the blessed and the blessing trees.
Though I am silent
there is singing around me.
Though I am dark
there is vision around me.
Though I am heavy
there is flight around me.

Wendell Berry