PeaceBang
The manic mind of the minister -- Auntie Mame Meets Cotton Mather. Blogging about Unitarian Universalism, UU Christian spiritual practice, occasional cultural and political ravings, and the inner life of ministry. PeaceBang is the alter ego of a small town pastor serving an historic New England Unitarian Universalist congregation.
The Stomach For It
November 22, 2008 on 12:20 pm | In Mind of the Minister, Theological Reflection |I am fairly easily nauseated by the sights and smells of, shall we say, basic bodily functions. I don’t want to be, as this tendency makes traveling especially stressful, not to mention the sight of a toddler with a runny nose at a restaurant. Green at the gills go I, and not only do I lose my appetite, I want to leave the premises immediately. During one memorable clergy luncheon at a local cafe, however, outrage completely overrode my churning stomach as I watched a little boy — who had clearly been ill and whining for his mother’s attention (which she did not grant, being too involved with her conversation with a friend who seemed more concerned about the kid than she did) — vomit all over himself and the floor. Mother, now irritated, picked up a wad of paper napkins and swabbed half-heartedly at the mess while cafe employees stood around flapping their arms at the elbow and doing nothing. I roared at the mother that the child was SICK, that she should get him HOME or to the doctor, and told the employees that they had better find some disinfectant pronto, were they somehow paralyzed by the sight of vomit? For God’s sake?
If I could have whisked that child out of there myself, I would have. I also would have gotten out the mop and Lysol if I had known where to find some.
Being a minister means that I visit many sick-places and am in the presence of human reality quite frequently. I’ve seen full bed-pans and emptied a few. I’ve held hands while wounds are dressed or bedsores tended to. I’ve been bled on by accident. I’ve wiped many a dripping nose of child or adult who was too weak in body or mind to do it for themselves. I’ve spooned soup or applesauce off of chins and scooped it into tired, old mouths. I’ve brushed hair long unwashed and gently applied balm to cracked lips.
And somehow, when I do this for someone I love, my nausea is either non-existent or it overcomes me on the way out of the house or hospital as a delayed reaction. I have been approached more than once by concerned people outside hospitals as I crouched and gulped for breath beside my car. Twice, when people were smoking outside a life care facility, the odor of cigarettes put me over the edge and I wretched into mulched gardens.
But most of the time, I am fine. And I wonder how that works.
Max has some kind of eye irritation and let’s just say that it’s not pretty. If he wasn’t my beloved beagle, I would keep him at more than arm’s length. But because I love him so much, I am checking that eye, I am applying warm poultices, I am not horrified when he snuggles into my pillows or couch cushions because I know those can be cleaned, and that I want my dog to find comfort wherever he can. Of course we’re going to the vet later — it’s probably not necessary — but that’s another example of love overriding one’s typical nature (I certainly wouldn’t see a doctor for myself over something this minor!).
So for parents facing diaper pails, rectal thermometers, and ugly boo-boos this morning, adult children changing catheters and wiping spittle from a parent’s vacant or suffering face, and lovers, friends and spouses massaging the bony shoulders or feet of desperately ill and much-diminished loved ones, consider this: God is, among many other things, a God of healing. Even where there is no a cure in sight, God can grant you or me the gift of strength to be a healing presence even when we doubt that we literally have the stomach for it.
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Thanks for this reflection. I have the same churning stomach issues, but cope when a personal or pastoral situation requires it. I think God heals us so we can be an agent of healing for others.
Comment by Maggie — November 22, 2008 #
All sorts of memories came back to me when I read about the mother in the cafe. I remember babysitting and one of the little boys threw up in his bed. I thought I was GOING TO DIE! Instead I gently cleaned his face, with a warm, wet face cloth and tucked him in to a nice clean bed . I sat with him until he fell asleep. That’s what my mother would have done.
My husband doesn’t know WHAT to do when I’m sick. He seems completely out of sorts whenever there’s a problem; a car accident, surgery or the flu. I attribute most of that behaviour to the way his mother treated illness with her children. If they had a cold, it was all in their heads. You wet the bed, well then, you were just a terrible child. When I was having terrible hot flashes she told me that only unhealthy women go through menopause. I feel terribly sorry for that child in the cafe.
Although I had to rise above being completely grossed out by that little boy vomiting in his bed, I have rarely felt that way about animals. I have dealt with some horrible situations; maggot infestion, self amputation, parvovirus, distemper and tetanus. Everytime I meet a nurse who deals with people I tell them how much I admire them; in turn they tell me that they could never deal with sick animals like I do.
I sincerely believe that it all begins with that warm, wet face cloth, clean sheets and someone sitting with you until you fall asleep. [Love this whole comment. Thanks, sensible, dear and loving lady. - PB]
Comment by Amy — November 22, 2008 #
Wow! Thank you for this. My entire life, I thought I was the only one in the world who had this kind of sensitive reaction to things like this. It is truly the grace of God that holds us firm in times and places where we are pushed over the edge.
In one hospital, visiting with an individual who had just been in a terrible accident, I did excuse myself from the room to ask the nurse for a glass of water. When I drank it down, she said, “Oh, it’s for you?” in a rather shocked voice. I said, “Yep.”, handed it back to her, and went back into the room to finish the visit.
Worst police chaplain ever. At least to the nurse…
[This just made me LOL. Hard. Thanks! - PB]
Comment by Rev. Bee — November 22, 2008 #
The truth is, one of the many reasons I’ve elected never to have children is because I simply can’t deal with other people’s bathroom functions. There are other reasons that are probably less juvenile, but this one is a fact. I can hardly go into a restroom without gagging after someone else has been there, let alone handle such things up close and personal. I usually joke that I came into my husband’s life at exactly the right time–his youngest was just old enough to talk and use the toilet, and that’s when I start liking kids. Before that, no thanks.
And even the age thing doesn’t preclude vomiting–and that doesn’t preclude a vomiting chain reaction from me. My husband, bless him, works as an aide for developmentally delayed folks–at times, profoundly so, although not at present–and he has had to handle all sorts of bodily emissions on a regular basis. He can handle vomit. And he’s willing to do so. I had to make sure of that before I married him.
Comment by martinet — November 22, 2008 #
Your last sentence says it all for me.
BJ
Comment by BJ — November 23, 2008 #
I also have this issue, though it seems to have faded a bit with age. (Ten years ago, I couldn’t watch a cartoon character vomit on TV without vomiting myself.)
My own bodily fluids don’t bug me, and I’ve noticed that I’ve gotten to the point where my husband’s don’t either, much. I don’t have nearly he experience taking care of other people that PB does, but I think I could handle being a mom, if not a nurse.
My mom had a “You’re vomiting? Umm… Let me know how it goes. Stay in the bathroom as long as you need to. I will poor you some ginger ale and be…um… waiting back in your bedroom for you” attitude, so I know motherhod doesn’t cure it for everyone, though.
CC
Comment by Chalicechick — November 23, 2008 #
Just curious: how do you feel about mothers publically breastfeeding and not covering up? Say, right at the table in a restaurant?
I have a friend who does this with her son and she’s created a lot of controversy doing this.
Comment by Tracie the Red — November 24, 2008 #
My big, gloriously dumb Siamese sustained a rather horrible injury, which led to the letting of blood and pus. I gagged dramatically while tending to him. The wound was, of course, infected and the kitty was weak.
He’s doing better now. He wears a kitty lampshade to keep his nasty back claws out of the stitches, and rests it on my shoulder each night. [Oh, kitteh. Get better!! - PB and Erm and Max]
Comment by Cindy — November 25, 2008 #