And the Centipede Saga Continued...

And the centipede saga continued: We (Rainbows and I) got to the ER, saw the crowded waiting room, and resigned ourselves to the probable reality of a long night ahead. Upon checking in at the front window, I was presented with a Samson-sized stack of medical forms to fill out—mostly asking me to describe my presenting symptoms, my insurance, * OH! Or lack thereof! * and my medical history * what HAVEN’T I broken, bruised, or sprained….sheesh *~

I sat down to record all the details of my me-centric melodrama that had been taking center stage in recent days. My symptoms were nothing to shirk about…first of which being the centipede bite on my right temple * that’s right folks…an angry little scorpion-like bug bit me on the friggin’ face! * This bite was not only inconveniently located, but it also rudely decided * without consulting me, mind you! * to become infected—oozing all kinds of future scab-age and crustiness * ☹ Oh, and yes, did I mention that this bite, once becoming infected, had now apparently birthed little bacteria babies who appear to have a particular affinity for yours truly’s face?… * it must be the cheeks *~ Not to be mistaken for a lazy or unindustrious infection, this spawn of Satan had “shared the love” all over my entire body—hands, legs, shoulder, chin, etc …* the bawdy slut *~

I continued on recounting the pain and torture that was mine to bear… *angst, torment…NEOSPORIN. * After I felt that I had sufficiently soaked up every bit of sympathy that anyone reading later would have to muster, * or maybe when it was really just when I ran out of room/ lines on the paper for whining * I placed the pen down * cue hand to forehead in a grand sweeping motion of passion-filled, “poor me” proportions. * As I moved to return my own forms for registration, I surveyed the rest of the room, thinking of how each individual case/ client would fill in their charts specifically.

Directly adjacent to my line of sight, I saw a child clinging to his mother—wailing from the unknown, nameless pain. The mother occupied herself by looking around frantically for something ….anything—to ease her son’s suffering. A helpless frustration painted across her person. As she is called to the window, the young boy (well upwards of 10 or 11 years of age) clings to her. She carried his feeble frame across the room, as to not leave him alone in his misery. They are called into the inner sanctum of swaths, gauze and delicious drugs—while I resume my scanning.

A young Asian girl, only about three or four years old, is lying stretched out across the stiff, plastic seats. Her cheeks are flushed, and her legs and arms are splayed limply about her body. Her mother quietly strokes her face and hair, then closes her eyes. I imagine this mortal Madonna lifting up a silent prayer for deliverance and relief~

There were a few other couples that I couldn’t quite tangibly see what the issues of concern were in particular. However, the worry on the significant others’ faces were enough to let me know that each yet to be diagnosed duo was, indeed, serious~

Without a doubt, my favorite fellow sufferer was a tall, thin fellow who looked to be about my age…maybe a few years younger. As he strolled in with his two friends, he was upbeat and positive. I was so sidetracked by the smile on his face, that I, at first, did not notice the inflamed, red bites and scarlet sores that laced their way up his entire body. The infection’s sores licked their way up his leg like flames on fire—you could practically feel the searing heat from where I was sitting. I groaned with every step he took, placing myself in his shoes. I must have been staring, because I caught his eye, and what a smile * I think he showed me every single tooth that he possessed!* greeted me!~ The young man turned to the woman at the check in window and answered her question of “Checking in?” with a light-hearted quip along the lines of: “Yes, I have requested an oceanfront room with a Jacuzzi tub…reservations under ‘MosquitoMan.’“ …..he catches her eye as he shrugs his shoulders in self-deprecating, humble humor. *he even gets a slight twinge of mirth from Nurse Wratchet herself …I swear I DID see the corners of her mouth curl upwards ever so slightly…*
I find this interaction to be…

FANTASTIC. AMAZING. SOBERING~

Giggling to myself, I thought back to my recently filled forms—those detailed descriptions of my dramatic health crisis….all the sores, the pain, the frustration, the humility—in a few small moments—firmly placed in their proper position(s). Thank you….again and again—perspective~

Impromptu STAPH Meeting~

I have a STAPH infection. It is gross. * Whines * However, as I am sitting here in my mandatory “rest-mode,” I am seeing that this whole situation has given me great fodder for ye olde blog…as well as many lessons learned…always, it seems….lessons learned.

The day began as normal as possible here on the North Shore. The game plan for the day was to spend the day packing, so I set to it. My friend, (who has requested to remain nameless) so we will call him “Rainbows” J was supposed to come help me move. Once he arrived, it was certain that I was NOT doing anything other than heading straight to the ho-po to be checked out. At first, I shied away from this plan…I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone…”Rainbows” taught me my first lesson of the night….to accept help and love from others. Always a tough one for us, yes?

First, we made a stop that Rainbows insisted on….a visit to his friend who is a nurse so that she could take a look at, and clean, my lesions. I was VERY MUCH opposed to this! I, a vain woman, was in no way feeling the desire to meet ANY unknown new friend with gaping, oozing sores on my face. * No thank you, sir! * But, Rainbows won out (as he often does in our friendship!) and on we went.

We got to Nellie’s house and I immediately felt at home…lesions be damned! because these were some amazing people who just wanted to help. Nellie’s companion graciously opened the door wide, and before I could even get out the apology for monopolizing their Saturday night, he lifted his hand in a wave of welcome…all the while placing the kettle on the stove…preparing the way for blessed tea and sympathy. Blessed soul~

I followed Nellie into the bathroom and, as she was dressing my sores, we got to talking about her giving up her Saturday night…I thanked her again. She looked at me kind of strangely for a second, and then gave me the biggest hug, reminding me of the truth in her heart that, according to her, it was SHE that needed ME—SHE that "needed to be needed"). She went on to tell me a bit about her, and what she has been going through in her life lately…a dry spell if you will. I shared with her how I believe in seasons of life…encouraging her that she is simply in her winter season…and that Spring indeed, must be coming. Such hope fills me at that forward-thinking thought!…this moment too will pass~

The night continued on: the dressing of my wounds, the scraping of my face, the angry bleeding, the humiliating vulnerability, and the hurting. After all is said and done, Nellie moves to clean me up and send me on my way….she apologetically reaches for a HUGE bandage for the side of my head. "Sorry!" she says…."I know this looks not very pretty, but if you don’t mind I think it will be better” …I respond immediately with, “Girl, you do whatever you have to, I have resigned myself that this AIN’T gonna be pretty!” As we both dissolved into laughter, I look at myself in the mirror…and see our reflections—two daughters of this earth just trying to make it as best we can, encouraging one another through our winters. * And no, I WASN'T a pretty sight….but “This” was beautiful * ~

The Beatles were onto something...

In follow up to the most recent blog thought (the quote about what love truly is and looks like in real, everyday life,) I wanted to post a few things on my mind from my interactions of the recent days:

This morning I was reading some Anais Nin, whom I must admit I really admire, even though we see very differently on many subjects. Nin spoke her mind, and was not afraid of voicing (at least what she saw) as truth. I value and respect that in her, and any human for that matter. I came across this quote in my reading today, and it has awakened an inquiry into many things in my heart. She stated that:

"Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings."

This quote is chock full of so many things we could talk about and voice. I read this and am both saddened and, yet, given hope simultaneously. Let me explain. I am saddened because I see love dying all around us. I witness marriages failing, friendships being severed, families being torn apart, and children who are abandoned and scarred. It seems that everywhere one turns, there is a casualty of "dead love" in our midst~

A man came into the coffee shop just last night....it was a mere ten minutes until closing time, and it had been a long day. I was ready to go home, yet the look on his face as he checked the clock and growled at me: "I still have a good ten minutes until I have to be out of your hair, young lady!!!" pierced my heart. This man was bitter and hardened towards life. He knew it....and you better bet everyone around him knew it as well. I uttered a small and exasperated prayer under my breath for patience and fortitude...and a speedy exit....God, as He often does, seemed to have a different plan. (gee thanks, JC)~ *sigh*

Long story short, the man proceeded to growl and gripe his way through a lengthy (oh how it was LENGTHY!) diatribe of negative comments about the coffee, the weather, the ungodly hour that the shop closed *gasp* (I do believe he felt inconvenienced!), life in general, and basically anything he laid his eyes on. The Beatles song "All You Need is Love" piped in the background... (The irony was not wasted on me)~

I asked the crotchety old man if he liked this song. Actually, my exact words I recall being completely over the top (in hopes to diffuse his rancor): "Oooh-wee! This song makes me wanna smile, and dance! You are a closet dancing man, aren't you, my friend?" The man eyed me in silence (my guess is he was wondering what I had been smoking on my break,) then let out a long sigh. His heavy shoulders slumped, and he simply said: "Sometimes love isn't enough."

My boss came to usher him out and shut the doors, it was closing time. As I watched him shuffle away, I kept waiting for him to turn around one last time...he never did. I hoped the man would come again. I wondered about the "love" that this man had experienced in his lifetime. How had humanity been blind to his need(s)? What betrayal had stolen the sweetness from his palate, leaving only a taste, bitter as gall? What countless errors had been committed, when such a man only had one more chance left within him to give, his heart having been wounded so many times before? What shallow, anorexic "love" had caused this man's spirit to go without, leaving him starving for affection and sustenance of any kind?

And what separates any of us from becoming this man?

I wonder all of these things as I sit here on my computer recalling the day. And YET, YET!!! (I love that word YET!)....here is where the hope of that quote resonates in my soul: Nin says that Love dies only when there is ignorance and inaction. Which means to me, that, in finding HOW to replenish the source, there is hope that Love will LIVE!

But, here is where the "Pono" comes into the picture: I would pray that we would not only settle for Love to survive, but that we would seek and desire to take it a step further, and have love THRIVE. It is possible....and I also know it begins with each of us~