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This hospital chaplain uses her patients' tattoos as a window into their inner lives

SCOTT SIMON, HOST:

Hospital chaplains often meet people who are at the lowest points in their lives, when it's not just the body that requires healing. But one chaplain gets patients to talk about their tattoos as a way to create an emotional bond. Martha Bebinger from member station WBUR in Boston has the story.

MARTHA BEBINGER, BYLINE: When Charisse Pinkney has an attack of crippling pain, she rushes to Dana-Farber Cancer Institute for an infusion of pain medications, anti-nausea drugs and fluids. Pinkney has a blood disorder called sickle cell disease.

CHARISSE PINKNEY: Basically, my body attacks itself.

BEBINGER: On bad days, crescent-shaped red blood cells get stuck in her organs, muscles and joints.

PINKNEY: So it can get pretty serious.

BEBINGER: Pinkney was recovering from one of these attacks when she met an interfaith chaplain named Larisa Waya. Waya describes the moment during her daily rounds when she walked up to Pinkney's bed, said hello and looked for a way to start a conversation.

LARISA WAYA: I noticed there were beautiful, beautiful images on your arm, and I made a compliment that it was really meaningful what I saw.

BEBINGER: The first tattoo Waya noticed shows a heart connected to an airplane with a quote.

PINKNEY: Yes.

WAYA: Not all who wander are lost.

PINKNEY: Are lost, yes.

WAYA: Thank you.

BEBINGER: Not all who wander are lost. It's from "The Lord Of The Rings."

WAYA: Tolkien, the philosopher (ph). The great writer Tolkien found you. It was amazing, and that's how it started.

BEBINGER: The two women discovered a deep connection.

WAYA: We talked literature. We talked social issues. We talked your family history. A whole world was brought into that visit.

BEBINGER: Pinkney has 30 tattoos. Waya has none, mostly because she's afraid of needles. But she also grew up disliking tattoos as a child in Russia, when tattoos were largely associated with criminals. And her faith, Christian Orthodox, does not encourage them. But Pinkney didn't sense any of that.

PINKNEY: You know, sometimes people judge, but she didn't judge me, and she made me feel comfortable. So I was willing to open up to her.

WAYA: I'm a stranger, but within minutes, they will give you the story - their circle of support, of their life, of their passions, griefs.

BEBINGER: Waya also counsels patients in hospice. She says tattoos can be a bridge between life and death, connecting a family member who is dying to those who will be left behind.

WAYA: People do matching tattoos - mother-daughter tattoos, wings of butterflies, for example.

BEBINGER: A mom close to death might have one wing of a butterfly. Her daughter, the other.

WAYA: So it's kind of sad, but it helps them to grieve.

BEBINGER: Kyle Christiansen with the Association of Professional Chaplains says connecting with patients through their tattoos may sound unusual, but it fits a chaplain's mission.

KYLE CHRISTIANSEN: They are looking for all kinds of evidence or ideas that they can use to connect with the patient, and that includes noticing things like tattoos.

BEBINGER: Christiansen says tattoos hold clues about who the patient is outside of their illness and sometimes even their core beliefs.

CHRISTIANSEN: It can be both an entry point into the patient's life as well as a great way to learn more about what they're going through.

BEBINGER: Pinkney is still living with sickle cell disease, but now whenever she checks into the hospital, Waya is part of her care team.

PINKNEY: I feel like I've known her a lifetime, I tell you. She comes to see me, and it just warms my heart 'cause it's like she cares about me.

BEBINGER: That's the connection Waya aims for as a chaplain. She knows that some of her colleagues may not be comfortable using tattoos as a window to the soul, but she's convinced there are few better ways to understand what's underneath the skin.

For NPR News, I'm Martha Bebinger in Boston. Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright NPR.

NPR transcripts are created on a rush deadline by an NPR contractor. This text may not be in its final form and may be updated or revised in the future. Accuracy and availability may vary. The authoritative record of NPR’s programming is the audio record.

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Federal funding is gone.

Congress has eliminated all funding for public media.

That means $2.1 million per year that Connecticut Public relied on to deliver you news, information, and entertainment programs you enjoyed is gone.

The future of public media is in your hands.

All donations are appreciated, but we ask in this moment you consider starting a monthly gift as a Sustainer to help replace what’s been lost.