Empathy

Walking through the halls of the DCAM, as it is called, I made observations.  The medical center is a place that I frequent quite often, and I can't help but think of the people I meet who frequent the place as well.

I am a perpetual patient, yesterday visiting three different clincs within the Duchossois Center for Advanced Medicine at the University of Chicago.  There was a post-op visit in the ortho clinic and a pre-op visit in the ENT clinic, and then I accompanied Mr. Jorie as he had a consultation in the neurology clinic. 

Gratefully now I can walk independently and make my way up and down the elevators and in and out of the parking garage without the aid of an assistive device. I count my blessings as I observe many people who are not as fortunate as myself...and I always wonder what the world looks like through their eyes.

The young woman and her service animal, a huge and beautiful greyhound, sat next to me in the neurology clinic.  She told me that she had MS and her dog, which she had trained herself, assisted her with her balance and helped her compensate for her lack of peripheral vision.  She was happy and seemed delighted to tell me "her story."  I wondered what the world looked like through her eyes.

Her father continued talking with me after the young woman left the waiting area.  He told me how proud of her he was and continued on with her story, telling me that she visited hospitals and nursing homes with her dog...the patients did not need to sit up or get out of bed because the dog was tall enough to put his head right up on their laps.  I wondered what the world looked like through the father's eyes.

A middle-aged mom and dad entered the neurology clinic waiting area with their teenage daughter who was permanently wheelchair bound.  They looked intent as they studied the papers in their hands.  Their daughter looked at me rather blankly and then I smiled at her.  It took her a moment, but she smiled a great big crooked smile back at me.  I wondered what the world looked like through her eyes and through the eyes of her parents who would care for her every need always.

In the ENT clinic I waited patiently and observed other people as they came and went.  In came a woman in a wheelchair being pushed presumably by her husband.  She wore a mask over her mouth and nose and her head hung low.  He looked tired.  I wondered what their world looked like.  I wondered if she had a chronic illness and he was her caregiver, or perhaps she was only temporarily ill and would be well soon.  I wondered if she could take care of him if the tables were turned.

I wondered about the mom pushing her child in a wheelchair.  The youngster looked as if he had cerebral palsy.  I wondered about the mom who was walking behind her six-year-old daughter, another apparent victim of cerebral palsy.  The happy child walked awkwardly and her mother had to tell her to watch where she was going so she would not run into people.  I wondered what the moms had thought about when they were pregnant with their children...and I wondered what they thought about each night when they fell into bed exhausted.

I wondered about the woman in the elevator who wore a scarf over her bald head, and I wondered about the vacant look on the person who accompanied her.  I wondered about the old man in the wheelchair who wore oxygen.  His IV bag hung on the pole of the chair above him.  I wondered about the woman who could only take tiny steps.  I watched her labor to walk as she left the ortho waiting area.


Patients and family members alike--we all roamed the halls of the big city hospital.  How did we look to each other?  What had brought us to the medical center?  What were we hoping when we came and what were we thinking when we left?


I never leave the medical center quite the same person as when I came.  I have been given information from my doctors that often impacts my physical well-being and my outlook for the future.  I may have been told things that will change my life.  However, often the most profound feelings I have when I leave the medical center are the thoughts and emotions I have experienced as I looked at all the people who have shared the day at the DCAM with me.   

I wonder what the world looks like to them.

Do you think they wonder what the world looks like to me?

Do you think we crossed paths for a reason?

Expectations

What do you do when your expectations have not been met...

...when you feel that someone has let you down...

...when you are disappointed in yourself for hoping against hope that things would be different...

What do you do?

Do you ask yourself if there is something you should have done or should have said differently?  Do you run things over and over in your mind?  Do you try to forget the hurt?  Do you place blame? 

Oh dear, oh dear...oh woe is me. 

No!

I refuse to be discouraged over things which I have no control.  Instead I will be grateful for what I have.  I will live and love.  I will chalk this one up, and find today to be just glorious.  I will choose to stop the loop in my brain that would bring me down.  And when I stop it, I will replace it with moments of delight that the day has brought. 

I will go to God and lay it all at His feet.

That's what I will do.

Oh yes, and I will forgive and keep on loving....and of course keep on hoping....there's always hope. 

Light is so much better than darkness.

It's good to be 62 and be so wise.

Happy Birthday to me.                                               

September

Try to remember the kind of September when grass was green and grain was yellow...




...oh, how I loved that song when I first heard it--in fact I still do.




And here it is already--the last day of September 2009.




This September has been especially beautiful, with mild days and slightly cool evenings.  The cicadas singing the day away, and the flowers in my planters still in bloom seem like a bonus.  There have been a few rainy days, but those gray days just served to brighten up the lawns again, keeping them green a bit longer.  Although I know that fall is upon us, I have truly enjoyed September.  It has been summer's little bonus for me this year.




Maybe this simple pleasure will last me all the way through the winter to come, but no matter what, September days have been glorious, and they have made me happy.




Happy is good.


I hope you are there too on this last day of September 2009....


...in that happy, contented place.

Reminiscing

There it was again...another one of those "life just doesn't get any better than this" spontaneous moments.

Late summer, special little girl, flowered pink dress, grapes in the grass...

...you get the picture...and what a precious picture it is.  Do you think Elli will remember the moment? 

I have been thinking since writing my previous post that, in spite of my dreary ramblings then, my memory has indeed been a wonderful thing.  I have been blessed to collect a garden of precious moments myself. 

Just a few I thought of today:

-the excitement of delivering a May Day basket to my friend when I was just Elli's age-

-the joy of sitting on my bed listing a series of letters I had learned in first grade, while my big brother told me the made-up words I was making-

-how beautiful I felt on Christmas Eve when my Grandpa saw me coming down the staircase-

-how happy I was to get my first two-wheeler-

Oh, those are just a few happy moments from my childhood, which are forever etched in my mind.

And I cannot neglect moments from my grown-up life either, such as:

-the moment I first told Mr. Jorie that I loved him...we were on the campus of ISU close to the fine arts building-

-the joy and fulfillment I felt when I found out I was pregnant with my first child following years of infertility...appropriately, my friend Lonna was with me-

-the moment that I realized God had carried me through an intensely serious medical crisis-

-how I felt the first time I held my granddaughter and then my grandson-

No doubt I could sit at my computer for days on end and remember with joy and love the good times of my life. And perhaps that thought is what I will focus on, even though my memory is able to bring up those sad and difficult times of life.  I can choose to let those painful thoughts come and go quickly, and  I can use them to help me realize how beautiful, and how numerous, the happy memories are. 

There are so many moments each day worth cherishing.  I will continue to look for those...

...those precious "grapes in the grass" moments.

Forgetfulness

Why is it that I can remember when I fell and scraped my knee while on the way to my friend Sandy's house when I was five, but I can't remember why I walked from the bedroom into the kitchen?


Why is it that I can remember how I felt when my sixth grade teacher wrongly accused me of cheating, but I can't remember where I put my purse?


Why is it that I can remember how lonely I felt when my college roommate went home for the year, but I can't remember why I stopped at Walgreen's?


Why is it that I can remember the pain of a dislocated hip and the horrible incompetence surrounding my care, but I can't remember a simple word when it is on the tip of my tongue?


Why is it that I can remember how I felt when my children didn't get along, but I can't remember which street I meant to turn onto?




Of course there is that short-term memory thing all of us Baby Boomers are becoming too familiar with, but there is more to it than that.


Oh how I wish I could choose what to remember and what to forget.

I would not hold onto all of those painful experiences any more if I could just wish them away.

And of course, I would remember where I put my keys so as not to become frustrated with myself for being so stupid.

But life isn't like that is it? Memories of hurts tend to stay with us. But I suppose what is important is how we handle those thoughts that haunt us.

If someone has wronged me, I eventually get to that place of forgiveness, but I think God lets me remember the situation so I can grow in wisdom.

And, as for looking for the keys--God must certainly be teaching me patience.

Where am I going with the thoughts in my blog today? Oh, you see, I have already forgotten...


...bless you for remembering to read my wanderings and my wonderings.

...and bless you for remembering to remember me with love just the same as I remember you.

Babyhood

Satin and Pink

Today I found my baby book which had been packed away for many years. With a slight musty smell and pages a bit yellowed, the sixty-one year old book rested in my lap.

As I began to open the cover, the person who came to mind was my dear mother.

She is the person who purchased the book and wrote in it, keeping meticulous records of height and weight, family linage, first words, immunizations, accidents and illnesses, places visited...and of course the photographs of a baby girl and then a toddler girl and then a kindergarten girl.

What was my mother thinking when she was pregnant with me? The war had just ended, my Daddy was home and a little boy (my big brother) already filled the house with laughter and fun.

I know she was hoping for a baby girl. She has told me so. The year was 1947 and she often tells the story that I was actually six weeks late in coming...due in August, but not born until October.

As I paged through the book I thought of her and her hopes and dreams for me when I was just a tiny new person. I can imagine the love she felt when she first held me because I have held my own newborns. I know just how she felt dressing me in a pretty, soft pink dress because I have three daughters of my own. I can indeed imagine the hopes and dreams she had for me, because of course, some things never change, but rather go on from generation to generation.

A small envelope with a locket of my hair fell from the book. It was such a strange feeling to touch and see the hair that was mine when I was so young. I pictured my mother trimming the little curl from a squiggly little girl. The thought made me smile. I can just see her searching for the tiny envelope and then labeling it, "Linda's hair 18 months."

A surreal feeling came over me as I realized how priviledged I am to be the fulfillment of her longings for a girl to love and raise. I hope that I have indeed been worthy of that love and have been able to pass that love on to my children and now my grandchildren.

I know that whenever she thinks of me she sees beauty. She tells me so. I am blessed to have her so near and I am blessed to have her so able and lovely at age 86. And you know, whenever I think of her I see beauty. Oh, the circle of life is an amazing thing isn't it.

Chubby knees and baby teeth, big brown eyes and dresses with lace, rosey cheeks and teddy bears, lullabies and a rocking chair, first words and first steps, hair ribbons and baby dolls--the dreams for a baby girl complete. I feel the joy today that my mother must have felt when she kept this special book about me, just for me. I imagine it was one of the most delightful tasks of her young motherhood. I wonder if she can imagine just how much her record keeping now means to me.

Thanks Mother Dear for being so dear.

Thanks for dreaming, thanks for loving, thanks for holding, thanks for caring...

... and thanks for all the memories...the ones in the old satin book and the ones in my heart.

I love you and I love being your baby girl.

Contentment

Do you have those moments?

Do you have those moments when you know that life is just as good as it gets?

I had one of those moments today while watching two little girls share a cupcake on my front porch.

The moments where I feel the most contentment are glimpses of something so pure that I am aware of a feeling of peace deep inside of myself and with life in general.

These moments may be at the time of a celebration. A recent moment I remember was on the day my daughter graduated with her master's degree. I looked down at her newborn son asleep on my lap, with a soft pale baby blue blanket snuggled around him, and I knew that this was absolutely one of those "life just doesn't get any better than this" moments.

More often I find that these special moments just appear at the most surprising times, not necessarily at a celebration or holiday. The one today with the cupcake was a moment of pure sweetness. There was only one cupcake and it needed to be shared. Breaking it apart caused it to crumble in my hands as two little girls each excitedly grabbed parts of chocolate cake with white icing and of course sprinkles. I licked icing from my fingers and my soul smiled. The moment came and went quickly, but it was worth a million dollars.

Other times I have declared under my breath, "life just doesn't get any better than this" when my world is chaotic and spinning with lots of activity. A time when the family was gathered together recently following a busy day, with out-of-town relatives joining the local group was just such a time. That special moment came when my youngest daughter sat down on her chair and it collapsed beneath her. The room was soon filled with laughter. Now as I try to explain to you why this moment is one that touched my soul, you would have to know how much each family member means to me, what the coming together meant to my heart, how we love to tease each other and laugh--you would have to know that and so much more to understand that life was as good as it gets at that very moment.

Do you have any "good as it gets" moments in your life? Are you blessed to have those little reminders of how precious life is? Does the gift of contentment appear most unexpectedly during those times when your heart feels a special rush; when you know that you want to keep going on to see what comes next in life; when your soul smiles joyfully while you silently say to yourself, "life just doesn't get any better that this!"

If so, you are blessed. I know for certain that I am. Even as I write tonight I realize that it is with some difficulty I try to recall the details of so many of those past moments, and I believe that must be why they are so special when they come and steal softly across my heart and mind and then disappear from my memory. As I then find that place of contentment inside of me where all the moments rest forever, there is no need to be able to recall them all. The moments come and go just like a butterfly landing on a flower petal--beautiful, almost breathless to behold, but soon gone, leaving a bit of heaven in their wake.

There we were last weekend...four sixty-some-year old-women, all with painted toenails, stretching our toes out from the water in the hot tub....giggling like we were twelve-year-olds, at the sight of forty brightly painted toenails lined up in a row. Yep, that was one of those moments when I cherished the gift of knowing that life just doesn't get any better than this.