Look Out Kids, I’m Gonna Embarrass You Now!

Me with Dr. Sandra Schultz

I told the truth when I said I hadn’t been anxious about hearing the results of my mammogram.   And it remained the truth until about twenty minutes before my appointment time.

As I walked in the door, that anxiety disappeared as I was greeted by the smiling Dr. Schultz herself.  She was sitting at the front desk, a highly unusual sight, and she laughed at my astonishment and told me not to get used to it that she’d be moving in just a second.  I stopped her before she could get away and asked for a picture.  She said “Certainly, come on in and we’ll get it in front of the tree.”

Before my cancer was discovered, I had known of a woman who had been diagnosed with a very rare, fast and almost always fatal form of this vicious disease.  Her doctor went to work determined to save her life.  She contacted colleagues all over the country with her immediate research.  Armed with all the knowledge available, she used her innate ability to read cancer and started an agressive attack.  I’ll not go into the details because those aren’t mine to share, but years later this woman is still cancer-free.  I believe that if God had not deemed it so, that would not be the case.  But I also believe that He placed her care in the earthly hands of Dr. Sandra Schultz, just as He did mine.

This is a story that could be repeated all day long.  There’s visual evidence of these stories all over the office in the form of quilts hanging on the walls, pink wreaths adorning the doors and artwork all up and down the hallways – all given in gratitude by patients and their families.  Not only is the care given by Dr. Schultz that of which gives hope, but the atmosphere of her office conveys an instant feeling of warmth, making her patients feel like family from the first visit forward.

As you walk up to the window to sign in, you are immediately swathed in that warmth by her receptionist, Brenda McCombs.  Of my many, many visits, never has this sweet lady failed to greet me with the most genuine smile and positive attitude.  The other members of the office – Stephanie, Lindsay, Ruby and Leanna – make the picture complete and they all bounce their warm spirits back and forth amongst themselves, drawing you into their amazing circle of healing.

Brenda MCombs

My granddaughter doesn’t know it yet, but on June 3, she and I will be joining Dr. Schultz and her team, The Blazing Pink Flamingos, at the Relay for Life Walk in Kings Mountain.  Brenda said she would surprise my granddaughter with her own pink flamingo:

Have you noticed the artwork and wreaths I mentioned?

As Dr. Schultz and I chatted in the examining room today, she asked how the trip plans were coming along.  I looked at her, astonished that she had remembered my telling her last year of our upcoming trip.  She grinned at me and said she’d made a note on my file so she wouldn’t forget.

In addition to being the tremendous doctor and surgeon that she is, Dr. Schultz is also a very large supporter of non-profit groups in Gaston County.  There were several raffle baskets in the office today, with proceeds going to various organizations.

From the standpoint of being a patient, it is very rare to come across this type of environment.  The dedication of Dr. Schultz, and her staff, is evident to any who find themselves in the midst of their care.  Not only was I blessed that my cancer was found so early, but my blessings were greatly enhanced by being under the care of this wonderful woman.  Her expertise is undeniable, her depth of caring is unquestionable.

Now, to my daughter, my son-in-law and my granddaughter, I say:  Look out paradise, here I come!  No holding back, no fears.  My feet will be as if they’re not touching the ground and I’ll be dancing to music, even if I’m the only one who can hear it.  I’m Maui bound, and I’m cancer-free!

 

 

 

Me and Bobbie McKee

 

For the last month or so, my DVR has been filling up a lot more than usual.  Dirty laundry has piled up until the weekends.  And my dog just sits and stares at me, trying to figure out what’s going on.  But the new laptop with the advanced keyboard that at first had me severely frustrated is now my new best friend.

Just as many of you have mentioned having yourselves, I’m going to have to force myself to come up with a designated sort of schedule for blogging and writing or nothing else is going to get done.  I feel a bit unbalanced, off-kilter with the many other things that have to be tended to.

But even though my scales are a bit tilted right now, there’s a wonderful blessing in all of this busyness – a blessing that feels like the bud on the Oriental Lily in my yard, bursting forth with a brilliance that’s breathtaking and oh so beautiful.

Let me tell you what I mean:  My Daddy always told me I carried the weight of the world on my shoulders.  And that was while I was still in school, years ago.  I’ll not go into the marital arena, so read between the lines there.  My daughter told me years ago that I think too much, so I learned to limit the degree of which I ramble on with her. There’s been only one person with whom I learned that I could let my thoughts fly free without reservations.  A co-worker with whom I worked for 15 years:   Bobbie (Barbara) McKee.

We took morning and afternoon breaks together, went to dinner quite often.  Her husband sang with a gospel group and we’d travel around to wherever they would be performing, normally on Saturday evenings.    During all these times, we spent hour upon hour talking.  We probably knew more about each other than anyone else in our lives, even our husbands.

We’d discuss every idea you could imagine.  Did we believe in ghosts? did we believe we are the only life forms in the universe? did we believe those who’ve died know what’s going on in the lives of those they loved who are still alive? – those kind of questions.

Then there were the other kinds:  how do those bugs get in those tightly sealed light fixtures?  do fish sleep? and if you pass somebody whose in second place, what place are you in?

Bobbie was a bit older than me but we never gave that a thought at all.  Over time, the endearing look that she’d give me meant the world to me. That look meant that she just knew without even looking at me when I was about to pose a question that would set us off on a wild ride.  We would inevitably take it the distance and would end up laughing so hard we wouldn’t be able to talk.  But my word, the discussions we would have!

Bobbie died in 2005 after being diagnosed only the year before with lung cancer.

Not that Bobbie is never not a part of me, but I was reminded very vividly of our discussions one day last week when a new co-worker, one I’ve known for just a little over one year now, shared a dream with me and off she and I went on one of those wonderful discussions.  I was so elated – all at once for the reminder of Bobbie, for the fascinating talk my friend and I had just had, and for the fact that I was getting to let my mind run rampant for the first time in ages.  I had goosebumps from my toes to my ears and actually had to get up and walk around the building, I was so happy!

And then it dawned on me…the time I am spending here in blogland is essentially the same thing.  I have once again opened myself up to exploring infinite possibilities.  But I am no longer a babe drinking babe’s milk.  Even though I need not fear being drawn into wrong directions or harmful thoughts,  there is a vast and wide volume and variety of viewpoints voiced here.  I am learning to explore other ideas that are outside my own box.  And in doing so, I am finding the path that allows me to maintain my own beliefs and at the same time, consider and converse with others who differ.

Therein lies the blessing.

My daughter says she’s noticed a difference in me lately.  A contentedness.  I know now that it has its roots in my newfound confidence I’m gaining through re-connecting with myself.  I have, in a very real way, returned to myself. I am me again.  And it’s been a very, very long time since I’ve fully been ‘me’.  I am able to speak the truth here, with no pretenses, no reservations.  That is very free-ing.  And it is boiling over into other areas of my life, but I’ll save that for another post.

Thank you, my friends, for giving me back myself.

 

 

 

 

An Imminent Return

In the back of my mind for the past two years, I’ve held my friends here as rocks- hard, cold truths that I knew I could depend on without a doubt to still be here whenever and however long it took for me to return.  That’s saying a lot about a friend – expecting their unconditional loyalty.

There are those whom I met here two years ago that so many times brought tears to my eyes as I connected to sometimes every word, sometimes only a sentence.  Those connections inevitably vibrated a chord deep in my soul.  Many times, just a picture could send me soaring, feeling emotions and experiencing passions that were new, inspiring, joyous.

Then there are those that I’ve met in the last few weeks.  It wasn’t until I sat exploring blog after blog, many times finding laughter, often blinking away tears, but always fascinated to the point of almost utter disbelief that there are so many wonderful, captivating and brilliant people in the body of this blog.  And that’s the friend I knew I could return to – the ‘blog’.  I now acknowledge that each of you are the living, breathing heart of the ‘blog’.

Since I last posted an entry, I was given the honor of ringing the breast cancer bell – and I thank God for the tingling of that brass bell, more so with every passing day.

I buried the body of my Mother, her soul still lives – just not here, leaving me as the only remaining member of my immediate family.

My daughter has been there for me every step of the way through these trials – always pointing me to the positive.  It was only as I’ve returned here to the blog, however, that I realized I had shown her a terrible ingratitude.  All the wonderful inspirations she has tried so hard to keep me alive to, I refused to hear.  I allowed the weight of all the bad stuff of years past to weigh me down.  It all slipped up on me totally unaware. For any who have read my previous posts and remember, you know of some of the bad stuff I speak of.  ‘Stuff’ that no matter what, I always found a way to rise above.

But for quite some time I’ve had the doors open to the demons of defeat in all their ragged forms.  I’ve allowed self-doubt to take away my peace.  I’ve let the atrocities of the morning news each day rob me of hope and the day to day dealings with those chasing a dollar or climbing some ladder – whether real or imaginary –  push me to bitter anger.

From so many of you here, combined with her love, much that my daughter has been patiently waiting for me to find, I have found.  Instead of hate, violence, greed, complacency and indecence, your posts have filled me with hope, awe, excitement and most of all, passion. A passion again for life and all the wonderful moments we can experience if we live with a positive attitude.  And with that attitude, wonderful doors of opportunity open in any direction we are willing and passionate enough to pursue. The doors of defeat will be tightly closed. I know this from personal experience, but have never pursued it as largely as all my being has screamed for me to do.

That at this moment changes.  I am stepping boldly into a new phase of my life.  No longer will I let self-doubt control me and hold me back.  I will let the moments of my days make a difference in this world we exist in – my eyes will be open to my own opportunities as well as how I can help in any small way those in my circle of contacts. I am returning to a life rather than an existence.

I thank my daughter for her unfailing faith in me.  I thank each of you for your wonderful and continuing inspiration. And I thank God for the one set of footprints on the beach.

 

A Country Bumpkin’s First Impression of The Big Apple

It was 4 am, our planned arrival time so as to avoid the infamous traffic.  My eyesight is very poor for nighttime driving so I was calling out the turn by turn directions to my daughter, Toni, who was driving.  It was drizzling for the first time on the trip, and the moisture was creating smears across the windshield that added yet another dimension to our fear of the unknown.  After leaving the safety of the well-lit and nearly vacant Lincoln Tunnel, we were making our way into the lane we needed for a turn, two tenths of a mile ahead, when a car stopped right in front of us.

Driving somewhere we are comfortable or familiar with, this would not have been a situation to cause us alarm.  But our well laid out plans of arrival time turned out not to have been such great plans after all.  The streets were no less crowded than they were in the daytime in the “city that never sleeps”.  We were literally stuck in the traffic behind this stopped car with a never ending barrage of taxis, limousines and the occasional “normal” cars zooming by, all of whom would blare their horns as they made their way around these two cars just sitting there in the right lane!

But the streets weren’t the only things that were packed with traffic.  People were everywhere! Loud and boisterous people, who were screaming and motioning to anyone he or she could get the attention of.  After having just traveled the long, dark quietness of the New Jersey Turnpike, this sudden change had us quite a bit on the edge of our nerves.  And in the midst of all this, I looked up and saw the largest horse I had ever saw in my life! Forgetting that some of the New York City Police Dept use horses on duty, this beautiful, huge animal had my undivided attention and I wasted no time in speaking my mind on this matter to Toni.

It is at this point that I was brought back to reality quite suddenly, as she screamed at me “I don’t care about the stupid horse, help me get out of this mess!”  Let me say here that my daughter is extremely careful over her car.  She routinely checks for scratches and nicks and is a professional now at what products work best to remove them.  In traffic, she is so nervous that her car is going to be hit by other traffic, that if possible, she has someone else drive, namely me.  This night that was impossible due to my blindness and here she sits in front of me scared to death!About this time, someone knocks on the window next to me!  We turn to see a group of guys walking beside the car.  Toni and I just sit and stare at each other.  The guy keeps knocking until he finally reaches the back of the car and leaves.  This was all it took for Toni to force her way out from behind the car and its rude driver.

The next step on our road trip map of directions would have had us turning right onto a one way street – going left!  So we had to do some calculating of our own to back track a street and finally arrive at our hotel on the East River.  But upon finding it, where were we to park the car? The streets were lined with tall buildings and sidewalks – no parking places.  Directly beside the hotel we spotted the entrance to a parking garage so we stopped there and Toni waited in the car while I went in to get us registered.

Everything went smoothly for me.  The hotel had our late arrival noted on our reservations and I was quickly and efficiently given our room card keys and told to unload our luggage and leave it with the attendant in the lobby while we drove behind and beneath the hotel to the parking basement.  I felt relief!  We had finally made it safely and were within moments of a place to rest!  When I got to the car and began telling Toni to help me with the luggage, again she didn’t want to hear anything I had to say!  “Just get in the car” she repeatedly told me with such a sense of desperation that I finally just gave up on the luggage and got in.  She said there was a man who had walked around the car several times and was standing over to the side watching us.  As I spotted the stranger, the dread of hauling our heavy luggage all the way to our room suddenly diminished as we made our way to the basement.

Little did we know we were in for yet another unanticipated initiation to the city.  The parking attendant spoke or understood no English.  We were met with a waving motion of his arms and we thought he was telling us to park the car.  After creeping slowly through the first level of the basement and finding no empty spaces we proceeded to the lower level only to find the same problem.  Cars were parked three deep with what appeared to be less than an inch between them.  We made our way back to the attendant and he greeted us with more waving, a ceaseless stream of “sounds” we couldn’t understand and finally a simple, quiet hands up signal to STOP.  He motioned for our car keys, took them and opened the trunk, motioned for us to remove our luggage, gave us a claim ticket and waved us towards the exit.

With Toni feeling great trepidation about having just turned her car over to a complete stranger, we were finally on our way to our room.  We had a corner suite on the 16th floor and upon arriving we immediately raised the shades on the almost floor to ceiling windows that encompassed all but one wall of the room.  The side windows overlooked the double-decked Queensborough Bridge and overhead trolley that carried passengers back and forth to Roosevelt Island.  The windows across the front of the room faced the city.  The view was breathtaking.  The lights of the enormous city reflecting on the water of the river cast beautiful prisms of every color imaginable.  We sat staring, trying to calm ourselves from the shock to our systems that we had just experienced for the past hour.  Exhaustion finally took over as we both fell asleep considering an early checkout and a return to less threatening, more familiar surroundings.

We awoke around 11 am, knowing that we had missed the checkout if we were seriously planning on high-tailing it home.  Instead of making a final decision on whether to stay or leave, we decided on what we would most like to see in one day and set out on the adventure of actually getting there.  Driving was not an option, and our destination was Ground Zero, the site of the World Trade Centers, over six miles away.  We set out on foot.  We had walked almost a mile when we came upon Bloomingdale’s.  Naturally we wanted to go in this famous store along with what seemed to be everyone else in the city. This store is so huge one would have to actually visit it to understand.  There are many different floors with many different elevators and escalators, all of which looked the same and was a fact we failed to notice until we started trying to exit.  Our mistake was in not noting which entrance we had entered by.  We couldn’t find our way out! A clerk noticed our exasperated confusion and pointed us to an exit, any exit, at this point we just wanted out!

We should have clarified our exit wishes more clearly because the exit she directed us to was directly into – were we country bumpkins ready for this? – the subway! Yes, we needed transportation to Ground Zero, but now?  Were we brave enough to tackle the subways yet? Feeling trapped, we once again had no choice but to do as the New Yorkers do – take a subway.  After procuring our tokens from yet another non-English speaking attendant, I absolutely refused to get on before finding out where we should get off.  I went back to the clerk at the entrance to Bloomingdale’s where we had just exited who I knew had spoken English.  She was very helpful and soon we were speeding along under the city.  I felt a sense of elation!  We were on our way to Ground Zero and everything seemed safe around us on the subway.  Until Toni finally convinced me that we were heading in the wrong direction.  I didn’t want to believe it – we were heading toward Harlem! A little elderly lady sitting in front of us who had been discreetly watching us all along came to our rescue.  She could only understand the words “world trade center” but as she left the train at the next stop she motioned for us to follow and pointed us to another train.  Wishing we knew how to thank her, we simply waved as she hurried away.  Her directions did in fact lead us to our next awe-inspiring discovery.

The first thing we noticed as we saw daylight leaving the subway station was the sound.  The sounds of the city are very loud.  Between the traffic and the people, there was a constant noise that we quickly grew accustomed to shouting over.  Even sixteen stories up in our hotel room, we noticed the noise quickly.  The exit off the subway at Ground Zero lacked these sounds.  Instead, although the traffic and the crowds were dense, there was a silence.  Along the fenced wall of memorials, which would bring tears to even the most hardened heart, sat a man playing the flute.  In the silence, acutely aware of Ground Zero looming to our left, the tune of “Amazing Grace” put a somber mood on the crowd.  My heart wanted to scream, “Take this pain away – why did this have to happen?”  Visions of what we all watched on television on 9/11/01 came to mind, knowing I was standing where all the horror had happened.  The unmatched silence surrounding the area and remembrance describe the sites today better than any other words can.

Coming away from Ground Zero, Toni and I remained quietly to ourselves for the remainder of the day.  We were still in awe of every corner we turned but none of our experiences thus far compared with the deeply introspective mood we found ourselves in.  After dining, we were ready to make our way back to our hotel, and since it was by this time nightfall, we decided to be cautious and not chance the subway.  A taxi would be best but what do we do – stick our thumbs out as if we’re hitchhiking? We walked on until a taxi stopped in front of us letting someone out and we jumped in.  We shocked the driver with our heavy Southern accents so much so that I had to write the address to our hotel down for him to understand.  Minutes later we were back where we had started some eight hours earlier.  We had conquered the city for the day! Fears had been abated enough for us to stay instead of running for home.  We went to sleep with the alarm clock set early, looking forward to venturing out again.

The next day we calculated that we walked over eight miles, most of which was in the rain.  Our destination was Times Square but on the way we just happened upon Grand Central Station, Trump Plaza and Towers, Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, Central Park, Tiffany’s, Saks Fifth Avenue – I could go on and on.  Knowing we needed rest for the long drive home the next day we bid the heart of the city farewell and made our long walk back to our hotel.  We left early enough the next morning to avoid the heaviest traffic, leaving the city within only minutes and arrived home exactly 12 hours and 45 minutes later.

Overall, our trip gave us a sense of confidence that we had conquered our small-town fears and were able to explore the city for two days.  We took each step, however, with a constant awareness that we could actually reach out and touch what up until this point we had only heard about – culture shock.  Our thanks and hats off go to the Big Apple from these two country bumpkins from the South!  And….to valet parking!

(Written as part of a college English class in 2012, posted today as a memorial to lives lost on 9/11/01)

Septic Scare

My Best Friend and Daughter

 I’ve been thinking lately on what it means to be thankful.  My husband died in 2004.  He was 48.  I was ravaged with grief, fear and uncertainty of the future, regret, anger – a myriad of emotions.  Less than a month after his passing, I received a call that ultimately sent me reeling on the precipice I was already barely clinging to.

My daughter had traveled to Nevada to visit family and as she waited to board her flight home, she called to tell me she wasn’t feeling well.  When she arrived at Charlotte, it was evident she was feverish so I got her home and put her to bed with Tylenol for the fever.  Four hours later, when I found the fever had skyrocketed to 105, she was so weak I could barely get my 22 year old baby to the car.  I’m sure there aren’t many who aren’t personally familiar with the long wait time in an emergency room.  When we got there her blood pressure and temp were taken and I should have known right then something was seriously wrong.  Instead, I think it was then that the Lord caught me in his arms.

She was immediately put in a room in emergency where tubes and monitors were hooked to her and even a catheter inserted.  None of the nurses or doctors could offer any words other than “we’re trying to find the problem, please stand back”.  Her blood pressure registered – I have to hold my breath right now to type it – 40 over 17.  It was about that time two nurses laid a defibrillator over my daughter’s legs and unhooked the machines.  They then literally sprinted out, pushing my daughter’s gurney as they ran down a hallway that said ‘no admittance’.  I finally realized there was a nurse standing beside me with her hand on my arm, talking.  Through the haze, I was able to make out that my daughter was being taken to the ICU and that someone there would be able to tell me more.

Long story short – they determined that she had a urinary tract infection that had entered her bloodstream and created sepsis, a potentially fatal infection of the whole body.  As I sat down outside the ICU it finally hit me at how close she was to death.  I was in such a state of shock that no tears came, I just stared.  I mumbled “I can’t make it if she isn’t here” and a friend put herself into my stare zone.  She said “God knows that”, then she smiled and kissed my cheek.  At that very moment, I felt peace and knew she was going to alright.  Not because I knew God wouldn’t take her from me, because I knew He could.  But because He let me know in that very peaceful moment that all would be well.  My soul heard the Spirit speak.

The sepsis had been caught at practically the very moment before it became fatal.  She was in ICU for five days and in a room for another three as they continued monitoring the infections that had tormented her body.  Each day as she got stronger, so did I.  I had been wallowing around in a grief that I know now would have carried my life in an entirely different direction than where it is now.  The lesson I learned from my daughter’s sepsis was to let go of the grief and confusion for things that were gone and be thankful instead for the many blessings I still had with me.

My thinkings lately have led me to know that it was during this time that my subsconsious really registered what ‘thankful’ means.   We come across questions where we’re asked what we’re thankful for – whether it’s in a devotional, a Sunday School lesson.   Or when confronted with problems of others, we offer thanks to God for the many blessings in our own lives.  But how do we thank God for dying on a cross? I’m afraid it’s taken for granted as a ‘story’ to the point that we forget what He actually did. I visualize a friend doing the same for me and it becomes horrific – I would be weeping and gnashing my teeth as I gazed at my friend’s tortured, bloodied body. Never would I be the same.

Through my daughter’s recovery, I was made wonderfully and joyfully thankful for her return to health.  How so very much more thankful I am to think of the Spirit’s guiding presence in every day and the confidence of a future where death will no longer separate me from my loved ones. How so very blessed and thankful I am for the many blessings my daughter, and now my granddaughter bring into my life. All as I bow my head at the base of a blood stained cross.