Seven
I ARRIVE AT MARTIN’S office at the hospital just before 10 a.m. on Thursday. He meets me at the door and says, “Good morning, Father. I reserved an exam room for us down the hall.”
As we walk along, Martin tries to make small talk but I find it hard to follow the conversation. Finally, he says, “Tom, are you really that nervous about this?”
I croak out, “I guess I am,” expecting some sort of sympathetic response.
Instead, he claps me on the back and laughs. “Good. Now you know how I felt before my first confession with you.”
This does make me laugh, as well as put things in perspective. After all, I am not going to learn anything today that could endanger my immortal soul.
He shows me the room and a nurse comes in to do my vitals. She frowns at my blood pressure and then takes
