At this time of
year when we’re counseled to seek the calm and quiet of Christ’s arrival on
earth, my day was anything but calm and quiet. It started badly and went
downhill. I got up early to be ready for a 9:00 pre-op appointment. My computer
wouldn’t do anything. Finally, I unhooked it and left it to collect itself.
The pre-op
evaluation was okay until the EKG. The tech left to get the results checked
before unhooking me and came back with a wild-eyed, frantic look.
“Have you ever had
a heart attack? Any kind of cardiac problem?” I said no, but gradually I
remembered an episode where the doctor could barely tell extreme anxiety from a
bad EKG and decided there was a hole between the chambers of my heart—a
pinprick that I may have had all my life. They have since decided not because
after two years nobody could ever find it again. This reassured the tech and PA
that they would have to rush me to cardio. On the other hand, they were left
with a “wheelchair” EKG which was not satisfactory and may have to be redone.
Bright news was
that the pressure sore on my backside looks great—no open skin, no infection,
etc. Greatly cheered (well, sort of) I left the office only about an hour and a
half later than I hoped. The dog groomer was at the house…and had pulled her
big old grooming truck into my 1920s driveway, where it appeared stuck between
a tree root and the electronic gate—neither of which we wanted damaged.
Brittainy, today’s caregiver, told her I wanted her to move and she replied “45
minutes.” We sat in the driveway over an hour, both of us going downhill in
disposition.
When the groomer
finally started back down the driveway, it was clear she didn’t know how to
manage her vehicle. Brittainy finally climbed out to go direct traffic; my
friend Melinda was in the truck with me chanting “Don’t hit my car. Please
don’t hit my car,” alternated with “This is unbelievable.” We finally got back
in the house about 12:30.
Meliinda and I had
a good Christmas visit, but after she left my computer still wouldn’t do
anything. It had progressed a bit and offered me an out, which I took. Knock on
wood but it seems to be working fine. I played catch-up all afternoon and
finally got a late nap. Ate dinner about seven-thirty and am ready to go to
bed. Too much to do.
Please, Lord.
Deliver me to the peace and quiet of the season. Teach me to draw deep breaths
in the face of women who can’t drive and computers that won’t work and
false-alarm medical reports. Bring me instead to a true appreciation of the
peace that passes all understanding, of the gift of God’s love.
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