In sickness, In health

The first shift of the week tends to be the most difficult.  Mentally and emotionally, getting into a frame of mind, at best you anticipate affirmation, at worst, total abuse.  But then something totally unexpected comes along, something you forgot to take into account.  A stupid little sniffle.  At the end of hour seven or so, the despair sets in.  All that's left sounds something like "God damn it!  I'm getting sick again"  And like Job, a place among the rubble seems appropriate.

Some months in, I didn't anticipate having to be superstitious about my work.  Get to the shelter early enough to spread the 'good vibes' and 'mojo' around to set the mood of lesser evil.  Turn off the tele around midnight, so the Hooligans can get enough sleep.  Only they whine to you every hour on the hour about letting them watch something even if the volume is all the way off.  By 3am, some infomercial medicine man is deliberately and slowly performing some prep the coffee ritual.  And then there are the bathrooms.  Oh the cleaning and the in futility. "Please don't let anyone piss all over the floor."  It's the Psalm of the workplace.  An hour later- grab the mop and the lysol and clean the urine off the floor.

My immune system has constantly been attacked and compromised in the last few months.  Week by week.  My humanity though?  The fight or flight instinct sets in.  "When the Pharisees saw him keeping this kind of company, they had a fit, and lit into Jesus' followers.  What kind of example is this from your Teacher, acting cozy with crooks and riffraff?"

I need a Doctor, daily.  Someone who isn't afraid to reach out and touch me.  Comfort me, and mostly heal me.  I have the luxury of my own bed, a daily shower, decent nutrition, a working vehicle.  I don't take it for granted.  A dotted line and hours of training is all that binds me to these meek souls, who day in and day out battle their depravity and illnesses.

But mostly I get to be a set of hands, an extension of the Doctor to these people.  I thank God for my sickness- an all too real reminder of mortality, and smile and get on with it- usually wheezing and trying to pop an ear open so I can hear.  There's a freedom in being sick.  So why waste it?  "Jesus, overhearing them, shot back, Who needs a doctor, the healthy or the sick?. . .  I'm after mercy, not religion.  I'm here to invite outsiders, not coddle insiders."