A prayer

First, the good news: I do NOT have a blood clot. I knew I didn't but it was reassuring to know for sure. Donna, the person who did the ultrasound, told me to have faith. That it would get better. They keep saying that. You're young. I'm 45. This is the only place I'm considered young. Then I got wheeled back upstairs in my gurney. And a hospital chaplain came by. Lucy Zhang. I thought I just happened to run into her, but she was apparently there waiting for me. The day after I came from surgery another chaplain had started talking to me when we got interrupted. Anyhow, being Jewish -- and not practicing as much as I once did -- I thought it was a moot point; I'm in a Catholic hospital. And the chaplains are clearly Christian. I certainly didn't want to have a theological discussion. Nor was I in a mood to be "saved." But I was laying there in the gurney and she didn't seem to want to do anything but comfort me. I thought of Shannon's work as a chaplain in a hospital and that put me at ease. Shannon -- Wakoh -- would only want to comfort. And Lucy seemed to be genuine. Maybe a little nervous. So I'm laying there feeling good that it is not a blood clot but verging on depressed. Like why did I do this. I should be healing faster. I'm in so much pain. And pain can make you crazy. She starts asking me questions. But I'm in too much pain to talk. So I tell her, Lucy, I'd like a prayer. I know we're of different faiths, but who am I to turn down someone's prayers -- someone' s wishes and love? She takes me by the hand, at that nurses station, the hallways lit bright with the harsh florescence but still relatively quiet -- TVs not yet blaring -- and she says a prayer. I can't remember it exactly, but basically she asks for healing and love and thanks God for the support of my friends and family because I've told her that I'm not alone. That I do have support. And something inside of me cracks open just a little bit. A small release, like a tiny heart fluttering free for a moment. She closes the prayer with it with thanks to Jesus. I feel a little worried. Like it doesn't count or like I'm betraying my people. I ask her about that. She says, well, that's my belief so that's who I pray to. It makes sense. And she makes me feel good and cared for so I thank her and take her picture. (Yes, I take my Razr with me, even on my gurney. ) --Janet