Category: Faith

I.D. Bracelet

~ Linda Wright ~ 1 Comment

The pre-op instructions were specific; remove all jewelry on the day of your eye surgery. Dutifully I followed the directions.

I left my watch on the oak bedside table. I dropped my wedding band and three other rings into the china jewelry box. The octagonal lid of the fragile box made a raspy sound as I closed it. I hesitated when it came to the Medic Alert bracelet.
“Perhaps it won’t matter if I leave it on a little bit longer,” I thought. After all I might get into a car accident on the way to the ophthalmologist.
I have worn a form of Medic Alert for as long as I can remember. It has hung around my neck on a stainless steel chain or, in its most recent incarnation, around my wrist in links of gold.  More than one doctor has cautioned me to wear it at all times. I wear it when I sleep, when I shower, when I am working, or driving and even when I am hospitalized.
That morning there was also a plastic catheter inserted in a vein on my arm just above the Medic Alert bracelet. The eye surgeon had explained, “The risk of any bleeding with this surgery is very low. However, it is better to get an infusion of clotting factor the day before surgery, just to be safe.”
 
“Wonderful,” the nurse at the day surgery exclaimed when she saw she would not have to start the I.V. line herself. “That will really speed things up,” she added as she led me to the room with the stretchers. With a few quick tugs she pulled the curtain shut so I could change into a johnny.
 
“We need to sedate you just enough so that you are awake but cooperative,” she explained, “I’ll be back in a minute to take your vital signs.”
 
Then the nurse spotted the I.D. bracelet still on my wrist. “How silly of me,” I said as the nurse asked me to allow her to unhook it and remove it to a safe place.
 
I did not tell her that it is my good luck charm. It is intended to ward off the evil spirits of inappropriate treatment in ambulances or emergency rooms. It is a health care surrogate if I were unconscious or unable to advocate for myself in an emergency.
 
As long as I have worn this talisman its purpose has never been tested. Not once have I been in a situation where its imprinted medical data has been required. The bracelet has never lived up to its promise. Perhaps it says more about my identity than I want to admit.

Dropped Stitches

~ Linda Wright ~ 1 Comment

I arrived early for the Wednesday Knitting Circle, which gathers at a local coffee café. Pulling out my bag of yarn, I began work on the three-colored sweater. The balls of brown, peach and ivory yarn form bands of different widths and textures. Around and around I looped the colors through my fingers then between the points of the needles. The control of tension created by my fingers keeps the stitches looking even. As with life, too little tension creates slack and a sloppy appearance. Too much tension leads to a stiff tight finish.

At other tables in the café, I notice that the people sitting with their laptop computers are left to their solitary pursuits. However, like walking a puppy, knitting in public often invites conversations with strangers. A man doing a crossword puzzle at the next table looks my way and asks what I am making; he explains that he used to crochet. We chat briefly about the focus and relaxation one gets from handwork. The man speculates that if he had been allowed to crochet in school he would have been able to pay better attention to the lessons.

One by one the other members of the Wednesday Knitting Circle arrive. We squeeze in closer around the table, ordering cups of coffee and tasty snacks. Some members pull out yarn to give or trade with others. We offer suggestions to the knitter who intended to create a baby blanket; she is now considering transforming it into a sling for carrying the infant instead. Appreciative cooing rises as each member unpacks the current work in progress and begins to knit.

My mother told me that she learned to knit at the age of three. Her nine siblings needed a steady supply of socks, mittens, hats and sweaters to endure the Canadian winters. The youngest of the children, the ones who could not do the heavier chores, had the task of knitting. Mom taught me how to knit, but I never had to knit in order to have warm clothes.

After the hemorrhagic stroke I had a few years ago, I took up knitting again with a new purpose. Connecting the stitches from right to left between the needles as I mended the connections between my left-brain and my right. Now, knitting has also become a form of relaxation for me. Most of all, it has helped me to release the bonds of my desire for perfection.

In knitting, you can correct the mistakes. I have learned the term “frog,” meaning rip it, rip it, rip it, unraveling row upon row. I have learned that to “tink” (knitting spelled backwards) I must undo the stitches one by one.

There is another option though, and that is to let the mistake remain uncorrected. I have learned that others will not see these mistakes, but I will always see them. It is liberating and humbling. It is so human.

Full Speed Ahead!

~ Linda Wright ~ 2 Comments

The older I get, the longer it takes me to get ready for vacation. No matter how far in advance I start making lists of things to put in the suitcase, I forget something. My great uncle Eustace said he could stick a toothbrush in his shirt pocket and be packed, ready to travel. He claimed that he did this routinely when he flew to visit his daughter, Connie. I was envious and somewhat dubious that he was telling me the truth.

This year I put together a grab-it-and-go bag for our family, including our cat and our dog. It is for emergency preparedness, hurricanes, floods, and other disasters that could force us to leave our home quickly. This bag contains just the essentials: a change of clothes, underwear, toothbrush, comb, pet food and a week’s supply of medications. What is challenging is determining the basics. Can we survive without a cell phone charger? What toiletry supplies are most critical? Do we really need duct tape?

It took me two weeks to get that bag packed and I am still thinking of things I have forgotten to include. The decision making process slowed me down. Planning for disaster feels like making out an advance health care directive or buying car insurance. I don’t like thinking about the worst case. I have discovered over the years that what I think might go wrong, often does not happen.

I carry some metaphorical baggage in my head. When I was a young adult I kept a weekender bag packed in case I was hospitalized. Pregnant women were the only other people I knew who did this, but their suitcases were emptied after the baby was born. I went to the hospital each time I required a transfusion. My hospitalizations were unpredictable and sporadic. The overnight bag included things like deodorant, toothbrush and a pair of special pajamas, which I designed and made myself so that I would not have to wear a johnny gown. When I was released from the hospital, I packed the luggage again for the next time.

Because of my bleeding disorder, I have done a lot of thinking ahead. I keep my vision focused a few steps in front of where I walk; my thoughts are directed towards problem solving. The Girl Scout motto, “Be Prepared,” echoes within me. Even so, something completely unexpected is likely to make my plans meaningless. No amount of preparedness will give me control over my future. President Dwight D. Eisenhower said it well, “In preparing for battle I have always found that plans are useless, but planning is indispensable.”

In my heart though, I am a person who wants to live for today and let tomorrow take care of itself. I would like to be as free as Uncle Eustace, able to get away with nothing but a toothbrush stuck in my pocket.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

~ Linda Wright

After a day of autumn rain and wind, the late afternoon skylight seemed to glow from the clouds above with a warm yellow. The world outside our windows was golden from the wet autumn leaves covering the ground or clinging to a few trees. It changed the light inside so dramatically that we stopped what we had been doing and went outside to get a clear view. As the rain diminished to a drizzle, the sun appeared for the first time all day, low in the West. As we watched, the winds blew away the remaining clouds and there was the rainbow at sunset. Cupped inside the rainbow, the sky was rosy pink and beyond the rim, it was blue.

The rainbow, symbol for hope, with the blue sky lying just outside of it… just the way the song from the Wizard of Oz describes. Happiness, just outside of our grasp.

My father taught me to hope. In my memories of him, I see him as he sometimes stood with his eyes on the horizon. He often commented that for him, “anticipation is better than reality.” Frequently, if I had experienced some pain or sorrow that day, my Dad would say, “tomorrow will be a better day.” As a child, it was reassuring to hear as I was tucked me into bed for sleep.

Most children have things to look forward to. When we are very young, it seems that much must be delayed until we have gained enough age, education or abilities. I spent years waiting to be old enough to apply for a driver’s license. When I was 9 years old I thought, if I only had a dog I would be happy. My mother told me that before I could get a dog I had to have enough money to buy it, feed it for at least one year, pay for all its required vaccinations and veterinary costs and incidental care.

Calculating this cost, I realized it would take years to save on the allowance I received. So, I took on my first fundraising campaign. I started by writing each aunt and uncle who had been known to give me a present in the past. My Aunt Ivy made the most frequent and generous donations to the “doggie fund.” Often she would write a little note with her check made out in my name about the dog she knew I desired.

Of course, when I finally did get the puppy of my dreams, it didn’t take long before I was dreaming of something else that would make me happy. The habit of hope was firmly fixed in my brain by then. It has the benefit of being an incentive to keep trying.

Delaying happiness has serious drawbacks though. Seeking perfection can be very isolating and disappointing. Chasing the elusive rainbow for the pot of gold, can distract me from what is happening this moment. Wanting to be something I am not, to be better, stronger, healthier, or more attractive to others leaves me feeling lonely. Perfection is in fact impossible to achieve.

The awareness of now brought me outdoors to see the rainbow at sunset. It had not been a perfect day. Yet, joy did not need to be postponed until tomorrow.

Return

Fallen tree in front of trees still standing
~ Linda Wright
 

The sound of thunder alerts us to a sudden change in the weather. Soon the hail mixed with rain, falling tree twigs and pinecones create a percussion band. The rooftop becomes a drum. It’s a sound that sends the cat into hiding under the bed and brings me to the glass sliding doors to watch.

The squirrels that were jumping between tree limbs only minutes ago have all disappeared now. The hummingbirds and butterflies have all gone for shelter as well. The herbs and flowers, newly purchased at a local nursery, are tested for their durability and stamina by the wind and falling debris.

Only a short distance down the street, large tree trunks crack. It is humbling to watch as the micro burst prunes the wooded neighborhood.

By morning, television cameras are documenting the damage to homes. Landscaping crews are cleaning up the yards and lawns. The fallen branches are picked up and piled for removal later; like picking up a child’s toys after playtime. The human inhabitants desire that a sense of order be restored from the chaos.

The rain soaked earth rejuvenates the plants and the squirrels, butterflies, birds and humans seem refreshed as well. The air is cooler and dryer after the storm. The storm was brief, the damage will all be repaired quickly; not like the devastation of a major hurricane, forest fire, earthquake or Tsunami. Even so, I am reminded that ultimately the cycle of chaos and creation repeats and repeats and repeats; perhaps, as the myths tell us, from the beginning of time.

In spite of our human efforts to control or avoid the chaos and destruction, the wind and rain will return. The seas will rise, sinking boats and sucking in those on the shore. The earth will quake, volcanoes will send fire from deep below our planet and lightening will ignite wildfires. And, when the chaos has abated, those that remain will build again.