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I am participating in the
All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing
every day for the month of March 2020.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!
The privacy curtain is pulled in a semi-circle around his bed, giving us a sense of isolation, that we are in our own space. Yet,
- a woman moans in pain, from somewhere nearby,
- two nurses speak urgently, clarifying procedures for another patient,
- there's a loud voice from the intercom, "Dr. Smith, ready for you in OR 5,"
- there's the feet and slow steps of a nurse helping a patient to the bathroom, and, still more, as yet another patient is wheeled down the hall, and
- his nurse steps in and out, around the privacy curtain, regularly, to check his vitals and IV.
Not private.
Interconnected.
Interconnected.
Yet, alone.
Waiting.
Funny thing, the sermon on Sunday (by Sarah Anders) was entitled "Waiting in Uncertain Times." She spoke about the wisdom of being slow to respond, to step back and notice, to learn to wait. To know that it is not about you...it is bigger than you. To notice the wonder, in the waiting. She quoted Bayo Akomolafe - "Something is always doing something."
I had never heard of Bayo Akomolafe before this past Sunday. His writings were the perfect tonic for me, as I waited for my husband to have surgery. Certainly, this was a strange time to have surgery - to be in a hospital during this season of coronavirus. The surgery was not major, and I was so pleased when the surgeon found me in the waiting room and told me how well it had gone.
However, more waiting was required. A 67 year old body does not recover quite as easily as one younger. That hospital prerequisite of having to urinate before being discharged was more challenging than he or I had imagined, requiring patience and time and waiting. He didn't seem to stress. He was a very good waiter. The remains of anesthesia probably helped. He took a nap. I journaled. It seemed like nothing was happening for a long while. However, something is always doing something.
We're home now; all will be well.
You capture eloquently the waiting that is the essence of life. It is hard to wait on the surgeon, to anticipate what that waiting will bring. As we age, it’s hard not to worry more during the waiting. I love the title of your pastor’s sermon. The way you write about it makes me want to attend church, and I assure you that never happens. I also have not heard of Bayo Akomolafe, but I’m now intrigued and want to learn more.
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