I have been in a lot of hospitals. Between my organ transplant and birthing a child at 24 weeks who was later diagnosed with cancer, we were admitted to hospitals many, many times
There are always questions at registration. Whether you’ve been there several times and they have your entire medical history on the screen in front of them, or it’s your very first visit, there are always questions that remain consistent.
- Do you have your health insurance card and a photo ID? (Probably, but you better hand me that blue bag on the wall before I vomit on your shoes.)
- What is the name and phone number of a person we can contact in case of an emergency? (I’m in the EMERGENCY room, by the way, dumbass. My husband, parents, neighbor, and best friend all got the same group message on my way here.)
- What is your pain level on a scale of one to ten? (If I say 8, will you give me something to make me forget this f’ing questionnaire?)
- Do you feel threatened by anyone you live with or feel unsafe in your home? (No, but you should feel unsafe because I’m gonna punch your face if you don’t get outta mine.)
- Do you have a religious preference? (Um, what?!)
While I am currently vomiting in a bag, freezing from my fever of 104, and no one has yet handed me a blanket or offered me a pillow, I rummage through my purse trying to find an insurance card and driver’s license, and you want my opinion on God?! Puh-lease!
But it is always asked. And I understand why it’s important.
I’m the woman who hears, ‘Do you have kids?’ And my answer is, ‘Yes! I have a son in Heaven and a Kindergartener.’
When our dog died this week, my son’s teacher asked my husband if he talks about her at home. She explained that he briefly mentioned she’d died but showed little emotion. My husband’s answer was yes, he cried when he said goodbye and asks when we’re getting a pet bunny. But we have a unique perspective of death and are very familiar with Heaven in our home. I think my son is genuinely happy for his puppy.
What five-year-old do you know who feels happiness for his dog, while he is missing her, that she gets to be in Heaven?
So, yep, I do have a religious preference. Can I sum it up in one word? Nope. Can I tell you whether I want a priest or a rabbi offer me my last rites? No, I can’t.
But I know where I’m going. And I’m not the least bit scared. Our Heaven, the one where our angel resides and where we plan to go, is our greatest ambition. Do we want money? It would be nice. Do we want success? Sure, we work hard. Do we want to spend forever, when this life is over, with those who’ve gone before us? Absolutely.
Yes, I have a religious preference. My preference is to be with my angel. Check that box on your intake form.