There's life in the old girl yet...

I have worked the evening shift at the hospital the last couple of nights. Not a bad gig if you are into quiet hallways and crickets. And I have been fortunate that there have been no huge emergencies…though those make life interesting.

Yesterday, I met a woman whose aorta exploded. Don’t ask me how or why or what that looks like but according to her husband, that is what the doctor told them. The patient, whom I will call Cecilia, was in and out of sleep and on a breathing tube. She has been here for 3 weeks and each day is part of the roller coaster ride of life on the edge of death. Her husband, Mr. French, (again I will call him that) was a gentle sort who took his hat off when I came in and clutched it in his hands as we talked.

Conversations often begin with how and why a patient is here, where folks are from, etc. I usually ask about families and how long the patient and spouse have been married. This conversation was no different, other than the worry on Mr. French’s face. He had been sleeping in the waiting area for the last three weeks. Afraid to leave and afraid to stay all at once. As our conversation turned toward his marriage to Cecilia, he smiled and blushed.

“How long have you been married?” I asked
“27 years” he answered
“That is a good long time”, I responded, thinking this may be a second marriage.
From the other corner of the room I heard “It is both of their first marriages”

“Great!” I say, “Nothing like waiting to be certain. Where did you get married?”
Mr. French shuffled a bit and the blush grew a little deeper….. “we eloped”

“Eloped!” I said, along with the nurse who replied all at once. Both of us imagining this sweet sweet couple sneaking off one day to their parents surprise.

He giggled and said “yes we did… to Florence AL!”

Of all places! We laughed and he grinned and gushed over his bride now lying behind a bank of machines and bells and whistles.

I noticed she was awake and went to her bedside. Her eyes opened and I introduced myself. She tried to talk but the breathing tube prevented any conversation. I saw in her eyes that she was aware of her surroundings. I told her I heard she eloped with this sweet man on the other side of her. Her blue eyes smiled as she nodded. And I saw someone else there in that pool of blue.

We prayed together and Mr. French cried… I hate it when men cry. I looked at Cecelia and told her I would visit again. I went back today. She was more alert and Mr. French had gone home for the night. A good sign I think. And those blue eyes of hers lit up again. She wanted to talk and couldn’t. I yammered on about how she needed to rest. We continued to look at each other intently. Her eyes wide and wonderfully bright. Mine trying to tell her it was ok to rest.

And then I realized who else was there…. my grandmother. The same look. The same blue. My grandmother died a good 12 or more years ago but I saw her again today. A shadow that follows me around a good bit. The woman who was so very strict and stoic but who read to me from the Bible. A woman who could remember the 23rd Psalm when she could no longer remember her name… or mine.

The woman who baked the best cakes and whole wheat rolls in the world. None of us can re-create those.

And the woman from whom I learned an awful lot about trusting God and prayer and the church.

I never know who I will meet in a hospital room. Sometimes, it isn’t the person in the bed but is the person you need the most.

Night work might be ok sometimes.

Guilty Pleasures

Ok I broke down..I am on Twitter. Don’t ask why. I was merely supporting those I love in their endeavors. But apparently it will be my new addiction. Thinking for some stupid adolescent reason that I can “follow” my favorite celebrities (ok basketball players and coaches!), I am following the likes of well…ok… former UT Lady Vols and hot coaches! There I admitted it!

So here I am, a relationship person. One who believes in a good cup of coffee and good belly laughs and conversation. Face to face. And I will be Twitterized for awhile now.

I also like People magazine and VH1 Behind the Music. And E True Stories. Roller Derby and an occasional Britany Spears break down.

How is it we think we can “know” each other in 140 characters or less?

I will let you know. And when the randomness comes out of my twitter account…. Maybe you can ask me a question.

PS KitKhet is one of the family nicknames. Me and Dad….just like always.

All will be well...

I went to lunch with friends yesterday. A long drive to Knoxville buoyed by conversation with a college friend with whom I have reconnected.

We were off to deliver some of my mom’s dishes to a former girlfriend. Long story there, but let it be said I seldom rid myself of relationships. I never have been good at goodbyes or separations. I have too much need to be connected and cared about to “get rid of people”. A normally good trait but it leads to complications some days.

So there we sat: two recovering alcoholics and a child of one who never could. Between the three of us we had seen the destruction of a lot of money, some relationships, and mostly damage to ourselves. But this day we weren’t thinking of that. We were instead three 40 plus year olds acknowledging our lives lived in ways only we could live them. We all harbor our insecurities. We all live into the people we are affected by and affecting us.

Conversation on the way over to Knoxville turned toward a comment about spiritual needs and spiritual disconnect. I am not sure how all of that works in us much less in how it manifests itself in an addictive personality. And we likely all exhibit addictive behaviors at one point or another. None of us are immune to that. Perhaps it is that some of us have an “off” button that gives us a better sense of when to stop things that are destructive. What I do know is that we are all human. I shy away from the word “broken” though surely that is a truth we know. I have read recently that there is original grace instead of original sin. I prefer that logic, particularly if we are made a little lower than the angels.

I also know how proud I am of these two who continue to work each day (maybe each minute) to stay sober. To stay healthy. To stay self aware. They speak truth to themselves each day and to me most of the time. We all laughed hard at college tales of stupidity but unadulterated fun at the same time. Not many regrets there either. We laughed hard at our own foibles and fallibility. And patted ourselves on the back for keeping at it and getting up every day.

It is times like these I am grateful for my habit of not ridding myself of people. I need these and others to remind me who I am, who I was, how far I have come, and how far I have yet to travel. It is good to go along with someone.