Stealing the Pope

We only borrowed him, really.

It’s Saturday, and we have been in the hospital since Monday waiting for seizures. Amanda is constantly hooked up to an EEG, with 28 electrode things glued to her head, limited by a 15 foot umbilical cord. Life is dull.

So, on my way back from purchasing a junior bacon cheeseburger and fries, the very last thing she remembers smelling when she had her first major seizure, i noticed the Pope in the lobby. And, i said to myself, “Self,” i said, “He looks lonely, and Amanda needs a pastoral visit, and there is no one here on the weekend to stop us.”

After the failed attempt to resurrect a seizure with a cheeseburger and fries, I zipped down six flights of stairs, and checked out the lobby. There were a few nurses wondering through, and a someone cleaning up the place. Once things looked clear, the Pope and i made our way back upstairs. People normally use the elevators here, so i figured that was safest. I was wrong.

There must have been half a dozen people staring at me on their way down, watching the Pope and i go up. I tried to look important and like i was too busy to stop. Besides, who would steal a Pope and go UPstairs? We made it unscathed.

John Paul is back down in his normal spot now – glad, i believe, to have been able to get out of the lobby for a change. Thankfully i only got a couple odd looks bringing him back home.

Still no seizures. Maybe if i brought up the baptismal font…