Miracle #2
November 11, 2009 by Daniel · Leave a Comment
I was awake when the tech from x-ray arrived. “I beat you this morning,” I said, laughing.
“Believe me, you’re the exception, not the rule, especially this early,” he replied. “Ready to go?”
“Yep, let’s get this over with. I’ve got a busy day planned.” He confirmed my identity and off I went – again.
As we got onto the elevator, I asked, “so why are they doing this EVERY day?”
“Gotta make sure the fluid’s not building up any more,” he answered. But with all the medication they had begun to dump in my body, there was nothing that was going to build up. We reached the radiology hallway, he locked my wheels, and turned to go. “May take me a little longer today,” he said, “we’re short-handed.”
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I had to learn to bring a book with me. Sure enough, that day’s little adventure would take almost an hour before I even had the x-rays taken. It’s not like my dance card was full; still, sitting in a basement hallway with next-to-nothing on at 6 a.m. is not my idea of a good time.
Upon arriving back to the room, I found my breakfast waiting on me. Powdered eggs, some toast, black coffee and fresh fruit. It wasn’t what I was used to, but it would do. I knew I had started losing weight; how much, I didn’t know. It would only take two weeks for me to lose 30 pounds (ah, that diabetic diet!), including the fluid that had made believe I was just getting fat.
Belinda came in around 11. “You feeling all right, today?” she asked.
“I’m a little sore from yeserday’s exploration,” I replied, “but really ready to get this over with.”
“I don’t think they’re going to let you out of here any time soon,” she said. “You DO realize how sick you are, don’t you?”
“I’m beginning to,” I answered. “Thank God John has been through this before with his mom, and already knows the drill, although quite frankly, he’s not telling me a lot.”
“‘Probably best to keep it a surprise,” she laughed. “The less you know right now, the better.”
“Speak of the devil,” I said. The door opened and John came in with some mail and more material to read.
“This is from Jennifer,” he said, “she said she couldn’t get here, she’d send a reminder to you anyway. She’ll be visiting on Sunday after church.” I looked through the bag at the magazines, and oddly, a box of Bazooka bubble gum.
“What’s the gum for?” I asked.
“She said that would keep you from going crazy,” he replied, “although I told her it was a little late for that. Oh, by the way. I have some more good news.”
Belinda spoke up. “You need me to step outside while you guys talk?” she asked.
“No, stay here,” he motioned. “I’ve so far talked to the cardiologist, the anesthiologist and the surgeon, and they’re all reducing their fees.” He paused. “I know we’re going to be good, now.”
“That’s wonderful!” I exclaimed. “I don’t know how you’re doing this, but I know I couldn’t do it without you.”
“What most people don’t know,” he continued, “is that this is available to everybody. If you don’t have coverage, you can negotiate the fees up front; most physicians will at least reduce their charges, especially with so many people without health insurance.”
“Somebody needs to advertise that,” Belinda quipped. “Something’s got to be done.”
So there we were, the Three Musketeers, waiting on the next chapter of this great adventure. Two days earlier I had been stressed and worried sick that the end was near – now I could see, clearly, that it really was a new beginning.
A Promise I Had To Keep
September 23, 2009 by Daniel · Leave a Comment
So there I was, sitting in a cardiac care unit suite, and in came another lovely nurse to poke, prod and stick me. A new IV port accessorized my hand, I had a blood pressure cuff on my right arm, again (the good one, the one that still has lymph nodes after the Hodgkins), and an oxygen tube resting gently in my nose. And to think, all I had wanted was to breathe a little easier! As Betty Davis so aptly put it, “buckle your seat belt; it’s going to be a bumpy ride.”
“That’s it for now,” she said. “Get some rest, I’ll be back a little later.” I managed a weak “Thank You” as she walked out the door. Settling back onto the bed, I adjusted my gown (why is it we all have to wear those blasted gowns that don’t cover up ANYTHING?)
I had been lying there only minutes when a young guy in blue scrubs entered the room, pushing a wheel chair. “Time for your x-rays,” he said. “Could I have your full name and birth date?”
Confused, I asked, “didn’t you see my chart?”
“Hospital rules,” he responded. “I have to make sure it’s you.” Little did I know this routine was to be played out every time I sneezed, and x-rays would be a daily routine each morning at 6 a.m.
I repeated my info and leaned up. “I can walk,” I said.
“No, you can’t,” he answered. “Hospital rules. Need help into the chair?” he asked.
“No, I’m fine,” I answered, trying more to convince myself than the tech. I should’ve known that my stubborn streak was no match for this whole procedure.
He rolled me down to Radiology in the basement, then locked the wheels. “I’ll be back to pick you up,” he mumbled as he walked down the hallway.
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I thanked him and looked around. Two people were on gurneys, hooked up to all kinds of wires and bottles. Another, like me, sat in a wheelchair and occasionally moaned, obviously in pain. Another new experience.
After two pics, and 25 minutes, the tech appeared again and rolled me back to the cardiac unit. “See you tomorrow,” he said, as I hopped out of the chair. “I’ll be here,” I answered, trying to make light of this new development.
I plopped into one of the chairs in the room, and flipped on the TV. Headline News announced the economy was still tetering, stock market lost again, Afghanistan was worse than anyone suspected – the usual stuff.
I adjusted my gown (AGAIN!), then experienced a strange sensation. An epiphany, I was fraught with confusion. I had asked for some guidance, but surprised it had come so quickly! I turned off the TV, closed my eyes, and like magic, I instantly had visions of why I was there! What I “saw” was overwhelming! It was no surprise that this little episode was the beginning of a brand new chapter in my life, but the fact that it was one I was to have very little control over blew my mind! What came through was that I was there to help people.
Now you might wonder, as I did, how I was going to help anyone in my current state, awaiting new “heart parts.” I awoke from stupor and shook my head. “I must be losing my mind!” I murmured.
However, the energy had been high; the message clear! No more Corporate jobs shuffling paper, answering phones, getting through the day. No more wondering where the money was to come from, how I was to “pay the bills,” or get ready for the retirement I had subconscously decided was never to be. I had been charged with a Mission-the tricky part was I had no idea what the Mission was!
And how was I to get the answer? Well, from my previous spiritual training, I knew the solution would be through meditation and prayer, and quite honestly, I was a little rusty in both areas! I laid my head back, closed my eyes and promised, “O.K. God, whatever you want, I’ll do. But you’ve got to tell me what — and how.”
It was then I remembered something odd. An old movie starring Burt Reynolds, “The End,” in which he is diagnosed with six months to live. He decides to end it all, and as I sat there, I remembered a scene in which he was swimming out to sea with the goal of drowning himself to prevent the inevitable. After swimming 100 yards or so, out of breath, the character realizes how foolish he’s being, and begins swimming back. As he returns to shore, he’s shouting, “O.K. God, if you let me live I’ll give you everything I own.” As he gets closer to shore, the “everything” becomes “half,” “some,” until finally he admits he’ll learn how to pray and treat everyone he meets fairly (or something close to that.)
I laughed. Aren’t we all a little like that, I thought? I was self-assured and pompous until I NEEDED something – now I had to learn how to reconnect!
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