Twelve years ago, when I was nineteen, I contracted a case of poison oak on my back. I'd come into contact with it while being intimate with a boyfriend.
I told my father (with whom I was living), that I had gotten poison oak. He gave me the phone number of a local Christian Science practitioner and suggested I call her. I had attended Sunday School when I was younger, but had stopped going at this point. Even so, I called the practitioner, and she agreed to pray for me. She asked that I study specific passages from the Bible and Science and Health.
I told my friends and my employer that I had poison oak. They all wanted to be helpful, so they gave me anti-itch ointments and sprays, which I decided to use. Every day, they asked about my back, looked at it, and gave advice. I didn't call the practitioner back, and I didn't study the passages she suggested.
