An Afternoon of Unfortunateness

This afternoon, I had my first appointment with my new doctor. My employer just switched health insurance a few months ago, so this was my first time going for an appointment.

The striking thing about visiting the doctor is how many statistics they gather about you. And they are not fun. They measure how tall you are (not as tall as you'd like to be), how much you weigh (wow), your body mass index (substantial), the amount of time since your last physical (umm......), and they catalog your many ailments. It's a very revealing process. There's nowhere to hide, and no excuses to make. And even if you have an excuse, they've heard them all before.

One of my ailments today was a mole in a very unfortunate place. No, not that place. The other one. I'm not telling which one. But it was unfortunate. And my doctor? About my age, female, and hot. If I passed her on the street, I'd probably unconsciously suck in my gut. Five minutes after meeting this person, I found myself in a very compromising position, with her clinically peering at my mole. I don't know if there's anything that will make you self-conscious faster than an attractive member of the opposite sex examining your nether regions. If there is, I don't want to know about it.

As I was lying there (she called in the nurse to help, obviously, thanks doctor, appreciate that), I was thinking that it was probably way worse for me than it was for her. (Debatable, but we'll go with that). She does this for a living, after all, and while the situation was unfortunate for all concerned, I'm sure she's seen worse. (Marginally worse).

And I started thinking about what it must be like for someone to approach a minister with a problem. Even if you do somehow work up the nerve to go to a "professional," you still face a daunting gauntlet of foreign terminology and concepts, administrative assistants with knowing grins, and the nagging feeling that everyone is judging you. We ministers often see people who are in the midst of situations far more compromising than anything I went through this afternoon, who are both desperate to get help and desperate to keep their problems hidden. It's a harsh dichotomy.

In the end, my problems at the doctor were easily fixed. Ten minutes later, I was fully clothed and sheepishly shaking my doctor's hand. I can rest easily in the knowledge that by the time I visit again, she will probably have forgotten about me (one can dream). But how different is it for someone who still shows up at the church week after week, knowing what you know about them? In some ways, I'm sure that's comforting. But in some ways it must also be very intimidating.

I'm not sure what to take away from this, except to remind myself and others that we carry a pretty big responsibility to our parishioners. They entrust us with tremendous parts of themselves, and become vulnerable in ways we can rarely imagine. "Bedside manner" is a big deal in medicine; shouldn't it be in ministry too?