I arrived at the hospital to tell a gentleman about hospice care and benefits. According to his medical chart, he was ninety-seven years old. Before meeting him, I calculated he’d been born not long after the turn of the century. As in the prior century, when Teddy Roosevelt became president and horses represented a key transportation choice for most Americans.
Many years ago, I served as a hospice chaplain. At some point, my boss had asked me to tackle a new responsibility: introducing hospice to potential patients. Why me? Was it my loud voice? Or maybe it was because, as a pastor who’d preached quite a few sermons, I can give the impression that I know what I’m talking about?
Entering our potential patient’s hospital room, I glanced at the first bed where a young Asian-American man returned my nod.
Definitely not my patient!
The other patient perched on a chair in the corner, a tray of food before him, chatting with people I guessed to be his daughter and wife. Drawing closer, I thought this guy could pass for seventy-five. Could the chart be wrong about his age? Read More →by