Ahem. After that last post, I feel a little bit exposed, and feel the need to crack some jokes or maybe do a little soft-shoe. But I know you're not here to read about some mythical perfect person, so again I say, thanks for reading, warts and all.
This week, I'm hugely relieved to say, has been progressively better. Every day, the kids and I get more into our new routine and as stress levels go down, my mood improves. But mostly I must give credit where it's due. I know my loved ones have been praying for me, and my Father in Heaven has showered me with blessings. So, status report on Woman of the House reads Normal this week. Hallelujah.
One of our family members (who shall remain nameless) required a trip to the E.R. last night, and there we stayed until 2 AM. Flu-like symptoms were seeming less and less flu-like as the week wore on, and a chat with a our family nurse raised the specter of bleeding ulcers due to stress, diet, or (cue horrific music here) cancer. I felt dangerously close to tears on the way to the hospital because of the C-word and a lifetime of premonitions that something like this would happen to me or someone I loved.
I'm happy to report that all these lugubrious possibilities were dispelled with a few simple--though tediously time-consuming--tests, and we were sent home with a prescription for nausea pills and a new perspective on life. I'm also happy to report that at no point did I break down and cry.
We joked a lot about the dissimilarities between the ER of reality and that of the TV drama I used to love. None of the doctors or nurses seemed unusually good-looking. George Clooney was nowhere in sight. And if he had been, I suspect he would have been bored. There were no loud alarms indicating impending death, no paramedics bursting on the scene with gunshot victims, no heated arguments or passionate proposals between the staff. And as our five hours there will attest, there was no sense of urgency, although once I did see a nurse running, and that made me feel better.
Still, it was real enough for me. What is it about a trip to the Emergency Room that instantly snaps life into perspective? I experienced such basic human desires and feelings while I was there. Need. Helplessness. Fear. Humility. And above all, I felt a surge of gratitude toward the brave and patient men and women who work there, day in and day out.
Healers remind me of Jesus Christ. They take all of humanity, regardless of virtue, status, and even ability to pay--take us at all hours of the day and night--see past our collective ugliness, addiction, and general pitiful state--and they do everything they can to help. They dig deep, calling not only upon their knowledge and experience, but on their compassion, their humor, and their love.
I said thank you to each individual that took part in the parade through our hospital room last night, but I know that many healers work out of their homes or even just in their families. If you are one of this noble race, I just want to say: you're amazing. Thanks for being such an inspiration and a help. You truly make this world a better place.
This week, I'm hugely relieved to say, has been progressively better. Every day, the kids and I get more into our new routine and as stress levels go down, my mood improves. But mostly I must give credit where it's due. I know my loved ones have been praying for me, and my Father in Heaven has showered me with blessings. So, status report on Woman of the House reads Normal this week. Hallelujah.
One of our family members (who shall remain nameless) required a trip to the E.R. last night, and there we stayed until 2 AM. Flu-like symptoms were seeming less and less flu-like as the week wore on, and a chat with a our family nurse raised the specter of bleeding ulcers due to stress, diet, or (cue horrific music here) cancer. I felt dangerously close to tears on the way to the hospital because of the C-word and a lifetime of premonitions that something like this would happen to me or someone I loved.
I'm happy to report that all these lugubrious possibilities were dispelled with a few simple--though tediously time-consuming--tests, and we were sent home with a prescription for nausea pills and a new perspective on life. I'm also happy to report that at no point did I break down and cry.
We joked a lot about the dissimilarities between the ER of reality and that of the TV drama I used to love. None of the doctors or nurses seemed unusually good-looking. George Clooney was nowhere in sight. And if he had been, I suspect he would have been bored. There were no loud alarms indicating impending death, no paramedics bursting on the scene with gunshot victims, no heated arguments or passionate proposals between the staff. And as our five hours there will attest, there was no sense of urgency, although once I did see a nurse running, and that made me feel better.
Still, it was real enough for me. What is it about a trip to the Emergency Room that instantly snaps life into perspective? I experienced such basic human desires and feelings while I was there. Need. Helplessness. Fear. Humility. And above all, I felt a surge of gratitude toward the brave and patient men and women who work there, day in and day out.
Healers remind me of Jesus Christ. They take all of humanity, regardless of virtue, status, and even ability to pay--take us at all hours of the day and night--see past our collective ugliness, addiction, and general pitiful state--and they do everything they can to help. They dig deep, calling not only upon their knowledge and experience, but on their compassion, their humor, and their love.
I said thank you to each individual that took part in the parade through our hospital room last night, but I know that many healers work out of their homes or even just in their families. If you are one of this noble race, I just want to say: you're amazing. Thanks for being such an inspiration and a help. You truly make this world a better place.
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