At our appointment yesterday, Hectate explained to me that she was going off-call this coming weekend.

"So if you have any concerns, I need you to page [this midwife]," she said. "I can't think of what that concern might be..."

My sense of humour was magically restored with Blake's 5 additional ounces. "Like stigmata?"

She smiled slightly. "I don't know why you would think of that first. Not really stigmata, no."

"So if he shows the marks of our Lord, I should just call the Pope directly then?"

She turned to write notes. "Yes. Call the Vatican in that case."

"And all this time I thought you guys would certify the appearance of stigmata."

"How Catholic do you think I am, Aleta?"

I thought about it. "Not very." I remembered a conversation I'd had on Saturday night with Paul. "Unless you're really a Satanist. In which case, really super Catholic."

I got a full smile for that one. "I'm not either."

"Satanist midwives. Midwives for Satan." I muttered under my breath. I like the sound of that. Maybe I should make her a t-shirt, like I did for DJ Shannon.

I don't know why I like talking about stigmata. When Preacher applied for divinity school, I suggested that he fill it in under "hobbies." He did not.

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- Rocketbride's adventure of 12/18/2003 10:21:00 a.m.