I Didn’t Mean To Be Here

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Post Author: Merianna Neely

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I didn’t mean to be here. 

 

Nothing in my Southern Baptist upbringing allowed me to picture standing next to a hospital bed wearing a badge with CLERGY written across the bottom. 

 

I can remember when I received this badge. It took a letter from my church explaining that I was a minister and that I would be making hospital visits. My leadership encouraged me to go through the process and I did, even though I didn’t think I would use it all that much. I wore this badge for the first time when I was trying to visit a parishioner in the cardiac unit of the hospital. I wandered along hallway after hallway for half an hour only to discover that I wasn’t even in the right wing of the hospital. I learned quickly to not only ask for the room number of the patient I was visiting, but also which elevator I needed to use to see them. 

 

This badge has allowed me access to families in their most vulnerable and heartbreaking moments. This badge has granted me access behind some doors on floors family members aren’t even allowed to visit. This badge has taken me to pre-op rooms and post-op rooms behind doors with a big, red sign reading, “STAFF ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT.” This badge lives in the glove box of my car because you never know when you are going to be called to come.

 

Here I am, again. 

 

This visit I am hoping this badge will allow me access to the ICU unit in the midst of a global pandemic where only one family member is allowed to visit. 

 

When I walk in, everything I have read and heard about the overwhelming nature of the pandemic is clear. There are no seats in the waiting room. Everyone here is a patient waiting to be seen. A mom walks up with her toddler in her arms. 

 

“Her breathing isn’t good,” she explains to the intake nurse. “They told us to come straight here.”

 

Next, I overhear a conversation between the intake nurse and a friend of someone who has been admitted.

 

“I’m sorry, she’s not allowed any visitors.” 

 

I watch as the friend freezes not knowing what to do next. I know that feeling. After seven years of visiting hospitals. I haven’t been allowed to visit any of my parishioners who were hospitalized since the pandemic began. I have only been able to get to the door with a clear ziploc bag with supplies or a note of encouragement; a small gesture of connection when I know they each need a pastor by their side. 

 

I know as I wait, I might not be able to get through to the ICU room. Every hospital is trying to protect their staff and their patients, but I have to try. 

 

I make sure that my badge is clearly visible as I walk up to the front desk. 

 

“Hi, I’m Rev. Harrelson, here to make a visit.” 

 

She looks up the room rumber.

 

“It looks like there is already a pastor with the family,” she responds.

 

“Oh, is he still there? I thought he had left.” I asked. Now I knew that a pastor could get through.

 

“Let me call and check….yes, he’s gone, you can go back.”

 

“Thank you so much!” 

 

I’m met at the ICU doors by a patient care attendee. I know he’ll walk me back to the room, which is good since I’ve already parked in the wrong parking lot twice. 

 

“Here you go,” he says pointing to the room door. 

 

The door opens, “Oh, I know this pastor! Hey honey, your brother just left.” My brother had the same idea I had. I knew he would do everything he could to get to Mom and Dad after they had to call the ambulance. 

 

“Hey Mom, how’s Dad?” 

 

“Um, you know.” she said. 

 

I walked over to the side of the bed and held his hand. “Hey Dad, you ok?” I asked as I squeezed his hand. His eyes fluttered, but didn’t open. 

 

I didn’t mean to be here. I didn’t mean to be the one people call in the middle of the night. I didn’t mean to be the one standing in a grocery line that sees someone is hurting and listens to their stories. I didn’t mean to be the one to remind people over and over again that they are beloved children of God. I didn’t mean to be called into the ministry, but here I am again, bearing witness to life’s greatest joys and deepest griefs. 

 

And I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. 

 

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Image by: Rev. Merianna Harrelson
Used with permission