The Best Care Anywhere Continues
It amazes me that almost the moment you admit to yourself a feeling of desperation, the world rushes to your aid in the most remarkable ways.
I was in a miserable state yesterday, sinking into believing that I might never be better again and feeling mightily sorry for myself. And then a miracle arrived in the form of a phone call. It was a nearby friend and church member offering to bring over any groceries of which we might be in need.
"Bread," I said immediately. "And milk. With bread and milk, we can make it through a few more days."
Little more than an hour later, the bread and milk walked in the front door, along with a tote bag full of washed-and-cut fruit, hot macaroni and cheese (organic, even!), cheese and crackers, and a container of juice. On top of all that, an offer was made for the next day: transport to and from preschool for my son and morning entertainment for my daughter so that I could stay in bed until almost noon. Thank you, God!
Inconceivably, it didn't stop there. Another friend offered to take the kids for the afternoon. Naptime logistics wound up preventing that, but just the offer made me feel loved enough to bump my white blood cell count a bit higher.
And my ever-vigilant nurse kept up his watch, bringing me several glasses of water and even a snack, which he handed to me with this explanation: "I made it up myself!"
What was it? A sandwich consisting of a couple dozen golden raisins smooshed between two Stoned Wheat Thin crackers. Novel! And, I discovered later, it even required the careful cutting-open of the raisin box's liner.
Inspired by this creativity, I tried some of my own when the post-dinner request to "play rescue" was issued. My role in this game is always dispatcher, so I invented emergencies involving a rabbit with a broken leg trapped beneath a pile of markers (which needed to be picked up anyway) and an explosion which had injured several army men (who had been lying willy-nilly on the dining room floor since Wednesday) who needed to be hauled away to the "military hospital" (the tub in which the men belong).
Now all is quiet on the eastern front (my bedroom), where I am hitting the hay just 20 minutes after my kids did. I'm determined to heal yet...
I was in a miserable state yesterday, sinking into believing that I might never be better again and feeling mightily sorry for myself. And then a miracle arrived in the form of a phone call. It was a nearby friend and church member offering to bring over any groceries of which we might be in need.
"Bread," I said immediately. "And milk. With bread and milk, we can make it through a few more days."
Little more than an hour later, the bread and milk walked in the front door, along with a tote bag full of washed-and-cut fruit, hot macaroni and cheese (organic, even!), cheese and crackers, and a container of juice. On top of all that, an offer was made for the next day: transport to and from preschool for my son and morning entertainment for my daughter so that I could stay in bed until almost noon. Thank you, God!
Inconceivably, it didn't stop there. Another friend offered to take the kids for the afternoon. Naptime logistics wound up preventing that, but just the offer made me feel loved enough to bump my white blood cell count a bit higher.
And my ever-vigilant nurse kept up his watch, bringing me several glasses of water and even a snack, which he handed to me with this explanation: "I made it up myself!"
What was it? A sandwich consisting of a couple dozen golden raisins smooshed between two Stoned Wheat Thin crackers. Novel! And, I discovered later, it even required the careful cutting-open of the raisin box's liner.
Inspired by this creativity, I tried some of my own when the post-dinner request to "play rescue" was issued. My role in this game is always dispatcher, so I invented emergencies involving a rabbit with a broken leg trapped beneath a pile of markers (which needed to be picked up anyway) and an explosion which had injured several army men (who had been lying willy-nilly on the dining room floor since Wednesday) who needed to be hauled away to the "military hospital" (the tub in which the men belong).
Now all is quiet on the eastern front (my bedroom), where I am hitting the hay just 20 minutes after my kids did. I'm determined to heal yet...
posted by Lisa Strandberg at 8:07 PM
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