"I was born a poor black child ..."
Hopefully you remember that line from Steve Martin's movie, "The Jerk."
That's kind of how I feel right now.
A few weeks ago, my boss realized we were going to need press cover at the National Association of Black Journalists. I was chosen to go, although after the decision was made I heard my boss mumble, "Could we be sending anyone any whiter?"
Later, I was in Houston at the same time as the NAACP convention.
Now I find myself in New Orleans, working the Urban League convention.
Today I was manning a booth in the Exhibition Hall, having a great time meeting and talking to people who came, mostly looking for career help.
There was a great young man from Dillard, a Communications major so it was right up my alley; we talked, I looked over his resume and gave him my free advice (worth what he paid for it). Turns out he'd worked some in sports information, so we had that in common. And then I told him if he was willing to move, I knew a couple good companies that were advertising for PR/Communications help that he should try.
There was an older man, who had been a nurse. He was tired of the hands-on nature of nursing, and was hoping to find something medical related. We talked about options - industrial health, primarily. But as we talked, he mentioned he had a Business Administration degree. We started talking about ways he could combine those degrees, and he actually kind of got excited because he hadn't through of that.
That's kind of how it went, and it was fun. I enjoy talking to strangers, and have learned how people really just want someone to bounce ideas off of, to listen to them, and then to have some sense of optimism restored. It wasn't that I could offer or promise anything, but I know from being in the job market myself sometimes you just need some encouragement, some renewed sense of hope.
One guy was thanking me for taking the time to help him, and I said, "Hey, in this economy, we have to help each other. If I can help you get a job, let me know. In three months, I may be calling you."
And then came my "jerk'' moment, when I realized not only just how "white" I am, but how Southern, how you can take the boy out of Alabama ...
A nice lady came up to talk. I went over, introduced myself, we started the conversation, and then I saw her T-shirt with the sparkly "Bama 12" on it.
So of course I said, "Are you an Alabama fan?"
She said, "What?"
I said, "An Alabama fan - you know, Roll Tide!"
She looked at me like I was an idiot.
I said, "Your shirt - it says 'Bama' on it."
She looked down and then back at me and said, "It says Obama."
Sure enough, it was an Obama t-shirt. The "O" was that usually colorful circle, but it was also kind of bent around her chest where it didn't line up exactly right, and the "b-a-m-a" were in all caps. And I remember when 'Bama fans were celebrating 12 national championships ....
And I felt like an idiot.
"I'm sorry,'' I said. "I'm from Alabama. Even when President Obama was running in 2008, the first time I saw one of his bumper stickers I thought it was 'O-Bama,' not "Obama.'"
She didn't see the humor.
Truthfully, at that point neither did I.
But never underestimate the power of Alabama fans. They are everywhere.
At that very moment, a gentlemen next to her leaned over and said, "Here you go - Roll Tide!" And he pulled out a pendant he was wearing around his neck - a crimson Alabama "A" with a national championship logo.
He went on to say, "Anybody from Georgia to Alabama to Mississippi would see it the same way."
Chagrined, I smiled and finished the conversation with the nice lady as best as I could, and then slinked away.
At that point, it hit me.
You can take the boy out of Alabama, but you can't take the 'Bama out of the boy.
What a jerk.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Still so many limitations
The writing comes in spurts.
But then, that's because when I stopped writing for money I was determined not to be bound by the pressure of deadlines or expectations. I made up my mind to write when I felt like it, selfishly for my own enjoyment more than anything else.
Then came the accident, and I began to write as a way to process what I was going through as well as to keep family and friends informed. The blog apparently resonated and went far beyond that limited scope, and I'm thankful that people identified and cared and - most importantly - prayed. We've felt that support.
It also connected me to a wide range of people who have shared and are sharing their own sometimes difficult journeys. As an example, I encourage you to follow my friend Andi in her story here at AndiAnswers (formerly Wifeandmomuniversity).
Fortunately, we're out of the critical part of the journey, and we're settling into what I'll call for lack of a better phrase the "discovering normal" phase. There is not that much to report every day or every week, and yet for family and close friends I realize I made this the place for updates, so I need to provide those updates.
So here goes:
I slept with MG last weekend.
And by "slept" I mean that for the first time since the night before the accident, my wife and I slept in the same bed. The hospital bed that had been her uncomfortable nest since May 12 - the day she came back home - had become increasingly unbearable to the point of feeling nearly uninhabitable, so we decided to try a night in the "big bed" (as The Heir said when he walked in the next morning: "Mom! You slept in the big girl bed! Good for you!")
By the time I got home again from my weekly sojourn to the coast, the hospital bed was gone. Our once-over sized bedroom that had grown so small with all the extra furniture again felt big. MG was sleeping on her side of the bed again, a great sign of returning to some measure of "normal."
She's finished in-home physical therapy and begun to go to out-patient therapy, another huge sign of progress.
She's walking with a cane - sometimes a walker - but not using the wheelchair for anything other than just minimal needs now.
We bought a new orthotic that is smaller and lighter, and we're hopeful it will give MG a few more options in shoes (if you don't know the shoe story, see "Hell on heels'' here. )
We've run errands, driving to the store. MG has walked through stores and shopped with me and friends. She tires quickly, and there is a constant tension between "going" and "going too far." MG knows she needs to build up muscle, but at the same time she has been told not to push too hard. It's just that no one can tell us where that fine line is.
MG has taken to coming out and sitting on the sofa in the living room, and on Saturday's sits and watches old westerns with me on those high-number cable channels where you can find classic shows like "The Rifleman" and "Bonanza." I've introduced her into the addictive joy of analyzing the personalities on "The Big Valley" and the amazing problems that one family gets itself into episode after episode.
Yet there remain so many limitations.
The nerve damage in her left leg remains. We've been to a neurologist who did tests to establish a baseline, and the results were mixed: there was sign of impulse in some areas that feel dead, yet there is indication that more nerves were affected than we thought and, as of right now, are not responding.
The good news is that we can go back to the neurologist in a few months for another test and see if there is progress being made in the nerve rejuvenation. As the neurologist said, when nerves are damaged or stressed, they get angry and tend to stay angry for a long time, and three months is not really long enough (as much as we'd like it to be).
But the big issue remains the pain.
The pain is constant. At night, in particular, it's worse, but apparently it never goes away. It hurts to sit, it hurts to lie down, it turns to turn on the right side, it hurts to turn to the left, it hurts to walk.
It's depressing. It is easy to see how people who deal with chronic pain consider extreme measures to deal with that; how it can even lead to consider drastic measures (that MG is not considering, just to be clear, but it is understandable).
People are well-meaning. We had a guy from a local church who knew nothing about what had happened to MG, nothing about the extent of her injuries, who saw us out one day and asked us if he could pray for MG. We, of course, said yes, and the young man immediately put his hands on MG and prayed fervently for the pain to go away; he even commanded the pain "in the name of Jesus" to "not just move to another location, but to leave the body completely." He was sincere and I assume prayed in full faith.
When he finished, he asked MG if she was still in pain.
She was.
He was disappointed.
Maybe it was my fault, because I was dubious from the beginning. Not that I don't believe Jesus can remove pain completely, but God wasn't willing to spare Jesus of the pain of the cross, so pain must serve a purpose. I believe pain is there to remind us that things are not right ... whether it is simply age or injury, pain tells us things are not right, that we live in a fallen world, and there is only one ultimate cure.
That isn't to say I want MG - or anyone else, for that matter - to be in pain. I pray constantly for the pain to go away, or lessen, or that God see fit to give MG some relief even if only temporary.
And that leads into a whole discussion of faith .... is my faith not strong enough? Was this man's faith outside the bounds of what God wants?
All I know is that I do believe. However, I also felt bad for this guy who was so sincere and so disappointed that his prayer didn't "work." And I was bothered that he'd stop us like that without knowing anything about us and decide to 'fix' what he knew nothing about.
That's why it seems to me so important to develop relationships. You just can't drop in and with one prayer or one offering or one project 'fix' someones life. Well, you CAN, but I've found it to be very rare. Instead, we need to be willing - as many of you have with MG to my eternal thankfulness - to walk alongside during the journey.
We're a long way from over, I hope. I still hold to what people first told me, that this could be eight months to a year in recovery. When it comes to MG, I am an optimist, and I always have been.
The kids go back to college in a few weeks. The house will suddenly be very empty for MG. That's frightening. Not that we don't have people willing to stay with her because we do. But it won't be the same.
But I figure we have three weeks before we get there, and I'm not going to worry about tomorrow when today has worries enough of its own.
But then, that's because when I stopped writing for money I was determined not to be bound by the pressure of deadlines or expectations. I made up my mind to write when I felt like it, selfishly for my own enjoyment more than anything else.
Then came the accident, and I began to write as a way to process what I was going through as well as to keep family and friends informed. The blog apparently resonated and went far beyond that limited scope, and I'm thankful that people identified and cared and - most importantly - prayed. We've felt that support.
It also connected me to a wide range of people who have shared and are sharing their own sometimes difficult journeys. As an example, I encourage you to follow my friend Andi in her story here at AndiAnswers (formerly Wifeandmomuniversity).
Fortunately, we're out of the critical part of the journey, and we're settling into what I'll call for lack of a better phrase the "discovering normal" phase. There is not that much to report every day or every week, and yet for family and close friends I realize I made this the place for updates, so I need to provide those updates.
So here goes:
I slept with MG last weekend.
And by "slept" I mean that for the first time since the night before the accident, my wife and I slept in the same bed. The hospital bed that had been her uncomfortable nest since May 12 - the day she came back home - had become increasingly unbearable to the point of feeling nearly uninhabitable, so we decided to try a night in the "big bed" (as The Heir said when he walked in the next morning: "Mom! You slept in the big girl bed! Good for you!")
By the time I got home again from my weekly sojourn to the coast, the hospital bed was gone. Our once-over sized bedroom that had grown so small with all the extra furniture again felt big. MG was sleeping on her side of the bed again, a great sign of returning to some measure of "normal."
She's finished in-home physical therapy and begun to go to out-patient therapy, another huge sign of progress.
She's walking with a cane - sometimes a walker - but not using the wheelchair for anything other than just minimal needs now.
We bought a new orthotic that is smaller and lighter, and we're hopeful it will give MG a few more options in shoes (if you don't know the shoe story, see "Hell on heels'' here. )
We've run errands, driving to the store. MG has walked through stores and shopped with me and friends. She tires quickly, and there is a constant tension between "going" and "going too far." MG knows she needs to build up muscle, but at the same time she has been told not to push too hard. It's just that no one can tell us where that fine line is.
MG has taken to coming out and sitting on the sofa in the living room, and on Saturday's sits and watches old westerns with me on those high-number cable channels where you can find classic shows like "The Rifleman" and "Bonanza." I've introduced her into the addictive joy of analyzing the personalities on "The Big Valley" and the amazing problems that one family gets itself into episode after episode.
Yet there remain so many limitations.
The nerve damage in her left leg remains. We've been to a neurologist who did tests to establish a baseline, and the results were mixed: there was sign of impulse in some areas that feel dead, yet there is indication that more nerves were affected than we thought and, as of right now, are not responding.
The good news is that we can go back to the neurologist in a few months for another test and see if there is progress being made in the nerve rejuvenation. As the neurologist said, when nerves are damaged or stressed, they get angry and tend to stay angry for a long time, and three months is not really long enough (as much as we'd like it to be).
But the big issue remains the pain.
The pain is constant. At night, in particular, it's worse, but apparently it never goes away. It hurts to sit, it hurts to lie down, it turns to turn on the right side, it hurts to turn to the left, it hurts to walk.
It's depressing. It is easy to see how people who deal with chronic pain consider extreme measures to deal with that; how it can even lead to consider drastic measures (that MG is not considering, just to be clear, but it is understandable).
People are well-meaning. We had a guy from a local church who knew nothing about what had happened to MG, nothing about the extent of her injuries, who saw us out one day and asked us if he could pray for MG. We, of course, said yes, and the young man immediately put his hands on MG and prayed fervently for the pain to go away; he even commanded the pain "in the name of Jesus" to "not just move to another location, but to leave the body completely." He was sincere and I assume prayed in full faith.
When he finished, he asked MG if she was still in pain.
She was.
He was disappointed.
Maybe it was my fault, because I was dubious from the beginning. Not that I don't believe Jesus can remove pain completely, but God wasn't willing to spare Jesus of the pain of the cross, so pain must serve a purpose. I believe pain is there to remind us that things are not right ... whether it is simply age or injury, pain tells us things are not right, that we live in a fallen world, and there is only one ultimate cure.
That isn't to say I want MG - or anyone else, for that matter - to be in pain. I pray constantly for the pain to go away, or lessen, or that God see fit to give MG some relief even if only temporary.
And that leads into a whole discussion of faith .... is my faith not strong enough? Was this man's faith outside the bounds of what God wants?
All I know is that I do believe. However, I also felt bad for this guy who was so sincere and so disappointed that his prayer didn't "work." And I was bothered that he'd stop us like that without knowing anything about us and decide to 'fix' what he knew nothing about.
That's why it seems to me so important to develop relationships. You just can't drop in and with one prayer or one offering or one project 'fix' someones life. Well, you CAN, but I've found it to be very rare. Instead, we need to be willing - as many of you have with MG to my eternal thankfulness - to walk alongside during the journey.
We're a long way from over, I hope. I still hold to what people first told me, that this could be eight months to a year in recovery. When it comes to MG, I am an optimist, and I always have been.
The kids go back to college in a few weeks. The house will suddenly be very empty for MG. That's frightening. Not that we don't have people willing to stay with her because we do. But it won't be the same.
But I figure we have three weeks before we get there, and I'm not going to worry about tomorrow when today has worries enough of its own.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Your personal incontinence counselor
When your spouse is basically bedridden for two months, only able to sit up and walk for limited amounts of time during the course of any day, most of your time is spent sitting or lying around the bedroom, watching TV.
The good thing about The Trophy Wife is she loves sports, so we watched the College World Series, the Women's Softball College World Series, the NBA Playoffs, the French Open, Wimbledon, Olympic trials ... anything of significant competition.
But good, live sports are not 24/7 (I'm sorry, I don't consider soccer "good, live sports"). So eventually you have to channel surf.
I've told the story before about how we, as parents, were very careful in what our kids watched. The Heir used to complain, "999 channels and I only get to watch three!" That wasn't quite right, but it was close.
In the last few months, I've discovered a lot of what fills those other 996 channels.
There is a lot of competition out there for the various shades of ESPN.
We've watched something called "Say Yes To The Dress,'' which is a show where these young girls who apparently crave the approval of their family and peers round up 8-10 of the most dysfunctional and discordant people she knows and brings them to this wedding dress store where the future bride hopes these basically unhappy and opinionated people will come to some agreement on what dress she should be married in.
My guess is the only reason she's even getting married is peer pressure. And if that sounds judgemental,well, that's pretty much the theme of the whole show - being judgmental.
The bride's posse typically includes the bride's mother and step-mother, who haven't spoken to each other since the bride's father left her mother for this other woman who is now her step-mom; sometimes she brings the groom, whose idea of the perfect wedding dress is more likely found in the winter catalogue of Victoria's Secret; there is often a grandmother who envisions her precious grandchild walking down the aisle wearing something more like what the Mother Superior wore in "The Flying Nun;'' then there are the "friends" who are either jealous that they aren't the one getting married, upset they will have to spend several hundred dollars on bridesmaid dresses they know they'll never wear again, or just plan ornery; and occasionally the bride will bring along a "wild card" that - seriously - one time was a gay ex-figure skater who wound up trying on wedding dresses himself (and deciding he looked better in the dress than the bride did, and I'm not making that up).
Needless to say, hilarity ensues.
Another great show is something called "Holmes Inspection,'' which stars this guy Holmes who resembles one of my favorite actors, Brian Dennehy (a great character actor who I always think of as either the bartender in "10" or the bad-guy-turned sheriff in "Silverado" or the beaten down but doggedly determined cop in "F/X").
What happens in this show is that a young couple have bought a house that resembles "Tara" after Sherman's Army left it for Savannah. Because of an inspector that must have been part of Billy Idol's entourage on that infamous Thailand tour where Idol trashed so many hotels the government reportedly called in the Army to tranquilize Billy and carry him out strapped down on a stretcher, the young couple managed to get a mortgage on this hovel.
But now they realize they have problems, so they call this guy Holmes. He comes in like a tough-guy, looking real disgusted at the condition of the house and just appalled that the Billy Idol-entourage survivor turned home inspector allowed this hovel to qualify for a mortgage "as is." Holmes walks through the house swinging a sledgehammer, saying things like, "Look at how easy this sledgehammer goes through this drywall! It's a tragedy!" and "Who puts single-pane glass in windows? See how easy this breaks? It's awful!" and goes to the basement where he pulls the dryer vent off the wall while the dryer is running, causing the room to fill with lint, at which point Holmes says something like, "This is tragedy waiting to happen. Imagine being down here cooking up some crystal meth when the burner tips over. Do you know how easy this would ignite? I can't believe this house passed inspection!"
Then Holmes gets this real serious look on his face, puts his arm around the young couple, and promises to "make things right'' -- which means bringing in every high end union contractor he knows, gutting the house, and refurbishing with the appliances from Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker's former house at Heritage USA, stained glass windows from the Vatican, and so much granite you'd swear the back half of Stone Mountain has been cut away. What is never made clear is just how much it cost to "make things right."
And again, hilarity ensues.
There are other great shows, too. You'd never know cooking could be a competitive sport, but there is this show called "Chopped,'' where four chefs no one has ever heard of try to cook food to impress three chefs no one has ever heard of for a prize of $10,000. The catch is that the host starts each round by opening up a basket and pulling out these random items that the chefs have to use in making their dish.
What is amazing is that as the host pulls out random items - "Today we have garbanzo beans, three-day-old salmon, kiwi, and a shoe lace" - these chefs don't even bat an eye but immediately start running around cooking things as if they have been making dishes with this stuff their entire lives.
This is actually the one show I'd like to be on because I know how I'd win. No matter what came out of the basket - "prunes, platypus liver, micro fiber and granny's blue hair dye" - I'd roll it all in flour, deep fry it and wrap it in bacon. Let's face it, it doesn't matter what you serve, if it's fried and wrapped in bacon, it's going to taste great.
Which reminds me of this other show I watched one time, which might be the greatest gig on TV. There is this guy who looks and sounds like an emaciated version of the evil villain "Dr. Evil" from the Austin Powers movie. He gets total strangers to make him desserts every day. The first four competitors make him four desserts which he gets to eat all of, then he eliminates one and the remaining three guys whip up three new desserts which he gets to eat and then eliminate one more, only to have the final two put together two more incredible desserts which he alone gets to eat and then declares a winner!
Dr. Evil even gets to name the items he wants the desserts made from - how cool is that? I'd be sending out "cookies and cream ice cream, buttery pound cake, sprinkles, and syrup." I mean, what difference does it make? Dr. Evil is the only one who gets to eat any of it. The contestants are basically his personal dessert chefs.
Then there are shows about people going off to buy their first home; shows about people who can't decide whether to keep the house they live in but spend a small fortunate to redecorate it or sell it and move to a better house that already has all the done; and a show about people who leave the United States to find a new home in some third-world country, except they always make the third-world country sound like paradise.
Then there are the commercials. My favorite is the one for incontinence products, the one that says if you call in, you'll be able to talk to your very own "personal incontinence counselor."
I swear I'm not making that up.
Who knew there was such a thing as a "personal incontinence counselor?" Does it require training? What kind? Do you have to get licensed? Is this what tipped the Supreme Court to rule in favor of Obamacare?
All I know is the first time I heard this lady on TV tell me they had these people available to talk to me, I laughed so hard I nearly wet my pants.
Good thing I now know where to find my own personal incontinence counselor.
The good thing about The Trophy Wife is she loves sports, so we watched the College World Series, the Women's Softball College World Series, the NBA Playoffs, the French Open, Wimbledon, Olympic trials ... anything of significant competition.
But good, live sports are not 24/7 (I'm sorry, I don't consider soccer "good, live sports"). So eventually you have to channel surf.
I've told the story before about how we, as parents, were very careful in what our kids watched. The Heir used to complain, "999 channels and I only get to watch three!" That wasn't quite right, but it was close.
In the last few months, I've discovered a lot of what fills those other 996 channels.
There is a lot of competition out there for the various shades of ESPN.
We've watched something called "Say Yes To The Dress,'' which is a show where these young girls who apparently crave the approval of their family and peers round up 8-10 of the most dysfunctional and discordant people she knows and brings them to this wedding dress store where the future bride hopes these basically unhappy and opinionated people will come to some agreement on what dress she should be married in.
My guess is the only reason she's even getting married is peer pressure. And if that sounds judgemental,well, that's pretty much the theme of the whole show - being judgmental.
The bride's posse typically includes the bride's mother and step-mother, who haven't spoken to each other since the bride's father left her mother for this other woman who is now her step-mom; sometimes she brings the groom, whose idea of the perfect wedding dress is more likely found in the winter catalogue of Victoria's Secret; there is often a grandmother who envisions her precious grandchild walking down the aisle wearing something more like what the Mother Superior wore in "The Flying Nun;'' then there are the "friends" who are either jealous that they aren't the one getting married, upset they will have to spend several hundred dollars on bridesmaid dresses they know they'll never wear again, or just plan ornery; and occasionally the bride will bring along a "wild card" that - seriously - one time was a gay ex-figure skater who wound up trying on wedding dresses himself (and deciding he looked better in the dress than the bride did, and I'm not making that up).
Needless to say, hilarity ensues.
Another great show is something called "Holmes Inspection,'' which stars this guy Holmes who resembles one of my favorite actors, Brian Dennehy (a great character actor who I always think of as either the bartender in "10" or the bad-guy-turned sheriff in "Silverado" or the beaten down but doggedly determined cop in "F/X").
What happens in this show is that a young couple have bought a house that resembles "Tara" after Sherman's Army left it for Savannah. Because of an inspector that must have been part of Billy Idol's entourage on that infamous Thailand tour where Idol trashed so many hotels the government reportedly called in the Army to tranquilize Billy and carry him out strapped down on a stretcher, the young couple managed to get a mortgage on this hovel.
But now they realize they have problems, so they call this guy Holmes. He comes in like a tough-guy, looking real disgusted at the condition of the house and just appalled that the Billy Idol-entourage survivor turned home inspector allowed this hovel to qualify for a mortgage "as is." Holmes walks through the house swinging a sledgehammer, saying things like, "Look at how easy this sledgehammer goes through this drywall! It's a tragedy!" and "Who puts single-pane glass in windows? See how easy this breaks? It's awful!" and goes to the basement where he pulls the dryer vent off the wall while the dryer is running, causing the room to fill with lint, at which point Holmes says something like, "This is tragedy waiting to happen. Imagine being down here cooking up some crystal meth when the burner tips over. Do you know how easy this would ignite? I can't believe this house passed inspection!"
Then Holmes gets this real serious look on his face, puts his arm around the young couple, and promises to "make things right'' -- which means bringing in every high end union contractor he knows, gutting the house, and refurbishing with the appliances from Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker's former house at Heritage USA, stained glass windows from the Vatican, and so much granite you'd swear the back half of Stone Mountain has been cut away. What is never made clear is just how much it cost to "make things right."
And again, hilarity ensues.
There are other great shows, too. You'd never know cooking could be a competitive sport, but there is this show called "Chopped,'' where four chefs no one has ever heard of try to cook food to impress three chefs no one has ever heard of for a prize of $10,000. The catch is that the host starts each round by opening up a basket and pulling out these random items that the chefs have to use in making their dish.
What is amazing is that as the host pulls out random items - "Today we have garbanzo beans, three-day-old salmon, kiwi, and a shoe lace" - these chefs don't even bat an eye but immediately start running around cooking things as if they have been making dishes with this stuff their entire lives.
This is actually the one show I'd like to be on because I know how I'd win. No matter what came out of the basket - "prunes, platypus liver, micro fiber and granny's blue hair dye" - I'd roll it all in flour, deep fry it and wrap it in bacon. Let's face it, it doesn't matter what you serve, if it's fried and wrapped in bacon, it's going to taste great.
Which reminds me of this other show I watched one time, which might be the greatest gig on TV. There is this guy who looks and sounds like an emaciated version of the evil villain "Dr. Evil" from the Austin Powers movie. He gets total strangers to make him desserts every day. The first four competitors make him four desserts which he gets to eat all of, then he eliminates one and the remaining three guys whip up three new desserts which he gets to eat and then eliminate one more, only to have the final two put together two more incredible desserts which he alone gets to eat and then declares a winner!
Dr. Evil even gets to name the items he wants the desserts made from - how cool is that? I'd be sending out "cookies and cream ice cream, buttery pound cake, sprinkles, and syrup." I mean, what difference does it make? Dr. Evil is the only one who gets to eat any of it. The contestants are basically his personal dessert chefs.
Then there are shows about people going off to buy their first home; shows about people who can't decide whether to keep the house they live in but spend a small fortunate to redecorate it or sell it and move to a better house that already has all the done; and a show about people who leave the United States to find a new home in some third-world country, except they always make the third-world country sound like paradise.
Then there are the commercials. My favorite is the one for incontinence products, the one that says if you call in, you'll be able to talk to your very own "personal incontinence counselor."
I swear I'm not making that up.
Who knew there was such a thing as a "personal incontinence counselor?" Does it require training? What kind? Do you have to get licensed? Is this what tipped the Supreme Court to rule in favor of Obamacare?
All I know is the first time I heard this lady on TV tell me they had these people available to talk to me, I laughed so hard I nearly wet my pants.
Good thing I now know where to find my own personal incontinence counselor.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
"... let us go into the house of the Lord"
I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house of the LORD
- Psalm 122
Looking back over so many of the blogs that deal with what I've labeled "the accident" (and I linked them all here in one blog, at least the many of the early ones), I realize I spent a lot of time thanking "strangers" (like here). And indeed, there have been so many people who have reached out to us in so many ways, people that I barely know, never met before this, or still haven't met but who have been sources of prayer and encouragement. People in California and Minnesota and Wisconsin and Virginia and the coast of Georgia and even foreign countries ... this side of Glory, my family may never get the chance to meet you and thank you, but know that you are appreciated, and your support and caring has been a huge source of encouragement.
But I don't know that I've fully thanked the people I do know, in particular the people of our church community. I have never taken the church community for granted. It has been a huge part of my life, all the church communities I have been part of here in Birmingham, from Dawson Memorial Baptist to Briarwood Presbyterian to Ruhama Baptist to, now, Mountain Brook Community. If that sounds like a lot of church memberships, everyone was a different stage in my life; leaving and joining was the right thing for me to do at the time.
There have also been churches that I have not been a member of that I have attended for one reason or another, or whose teaching or membership or ministry I have been impacted by.
"My" church (and it's not "mine," of course, but rather that subset of the Body that I'm aligned with here in Birmingham) has stepped up in ways that has surprised me, even as it hasn't surprised me because I've seen this church body respond in similar ways (and been blessed to share in that responding) over the years.
Still, to have people from the church almost constantly sitting together in the waiting room at UAB, even when they couldn't get back to see MG, even when I didn't want to leave MG's side to be with them, was remarkable
.
Meals, of course - people began bringing meals to feed me and the kids as soon as word got out of what had happened to MG. Providing meals is one of those traditions of the church, sometimes an easy way to minister because everyone has to eat. But meals are such a blessing - particularly to me, because I will go without eating, just not thinking about eating, until I'm biting people's heads off (figuratively) for the most minor comments because when I get hungry I can get mean.
What's worse is that I will not even think about the kids eating, and they won't say anything to me but instead just go through the pantry looking for quick fixes - cereal, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, chips and cookies, whatever is easily accessible.
There is also the matter of 'sitters.' MG can't be alone for very long. I have to work. The kids all have summer jobs, internships that we were blessed for them to be able to get and will help them in the future. One of MG's oldest friends, Kathy, took it upon herself to organize a brigade of ladies to come sit with MG during the day. I can't begin to thank the ladies who come for half days, full days, until a family member can get home from work. I wish I could name them all, but I'm afraid I'd miss someone - not to mention those who have constantly offered to come be a sitter, or lately to take MG out when she needs to get out, that we haven't called upon (yet; athere is always tomorrow). The caring and support has been overwhelming.
And it has made me uncomfortable. I have written before about how uncomfortable it is to be on the receiving end of such support. But then, it is also a reminder that I am so undeserving of God's Grace and Mercy, that I didn't earn it, He gave it freely, and all I have to do is accept it. It's the same with the mercy and grace shown to us by our family and friends in this community.
Once, years ago when discussing my faith with one of those people who labels themselves "spiritual but not religious," this guy said it wasn't important to go to church because Jesus didn't go to church. Of course that's wrong. Luke 14:6 says, "He went to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, and on the Sabbath day he went into the synagogue, as was his custom." (emphasis mine). And we see time after time when Jesus shows up in the synagogue or the Temple.
Today - July 8 - MG and I attended church. It's the first time since April 1 (yes - April Fools' Day) that we'd been in our regular church service. The next weekend we were celebrating MG's 50th birthday in Memphis, and attended church there (one of our great joys has been to attend churches in places we visit, to stumble or be led into a congregation that fills us and encourages us); the weekend after that we were in Charleston for Recognition Day at The Citadel. The next Saturday, April 21, was the accident.
Our plan today was to show up just before the service started, slip in a side door where MG would not have to walk very far to get to a seat, then slip out quickly after the service to put little stress and strain on her. However, that was impossible. There were too many people to see, too many people who had been praying, who had been working behind scenes, who had been supporting us, and we were overwhelmed at the number of people who came by to see and hug and cry and laugh with MG.
The service was everything both of us needed. There were baby dedications, a video highlighting the work of our church community in rebuilding a home in Pratt City (in conjunction with Christan Service Mission) that had been destroyed in the tornado over a year ago, the usual worship in music, and of course Tim's preaching.
The problem with being away from church for so long is that it becomes easy to stay away. You forget how much you need to gather with other believers, to participate in corporate worship. You stay away, and then some voice in your head starts telling you, "It's too soon. You're not ready. What difference will another week away make?'' or "You've stayed away too long; if you go back now it's just to draw attention to yourself'' or simply, "it's just too much trouble to get up and go."
And then you go and you realize what you've been missing.
It's the other people, yes; but it's more.
It's the singing, yes; but it's more.
It's the preaching, yes; but it's more.
It's the whole experience. It's being united with like-minded people expressing their devotion to God, yearning to become fully devoted followers of Christ.
We need the accountability that comes from involvement within a local church. It helps to hear sermons preached by pastors we know, that we see deal with every day situations and not just some 'voice' from a pulpit on Sunday. We need to stand in agreement with other believers and share sacraments like Baptism and the Lord's Supper. We need to be challenged to go out into service, and encouraged to do it together with others in our community.
We are creatures of community. Even in the isolation of internet world, people still long to belong to "communities" - whether virtual or fictional or legitimate attempts to reach out and meet new people.
The church offers us a very real community; a living, breathing organism that we participate in, that aches when we ache and, just as the body compensates for an injury to one member, so the community of the church responds to an injury to one of its own with comfort, aid, support, encouragement.
Not all churches do "church" the same way. There are many different styles of worship - high church, low church; formal and casual; churches with robed choirs and churches with rock bands; churches of noisy fellowship and churches of quiet contemplation.
I am painfully aware of churches that have let down its members, its community, its state and its country. I know churches have been on the wrong side of important social issues, even as there are churches that have been in the forefront of important issues.
Churches are as different as the people that fill their sanctuaries and pulpits. All are flawed to some degree; some are more aware of those flaws than others.
It's unfortunate that so often people judge God and the Gospel by their experience with a certain church. At the same time, God has chosen to make those of us who make up His Church His representatives to an unbelieving world, and sometimes we fail miserably.
I know there are those who have not had good church experiences. I've had my own share of bad experiences in the church. I've been "let down" by the church.
But I've not been let down by God.
And while I've been let down by some of the church's leaders - deacons and elders and pastors - rarely if ever have I been let down by fellow members who acted out of mercy and grace, compelled by the love of Christ to action.
That is why, like the Psalmist, I can say "I was glad when they said unto me, 'Let us go into the house of the Lord.'"
- Psalm 122
Looking back over so many of the blogs that deal with what I've labeled "the accident" (and I linked them all here in one blog, at least the many of the early ones), I realize I spent a lot of time thanking "strangers" (like here). And indeed, there have been so many people who have reached out to us in so many ways, people that I barely know, never met before this, or still haven't met but who have been sources of prayer and encouragement. People in California and Minnesota and Wisconsin and Virginia and the coast of Georgia and even foreign countries ... this side of Glory, my family may never get the chance to meet you and thank you, but know that you are appreciated, and your support and caring has been a huge source of encouragement.
But I don't know that I've fully thanked the people I do know, in particular the people of our church community. I have never taken the church community for granted. It has been a huge part of my life, all the church communities I have been part of here in Birmingham, from Dawson Memorial Baptist to Briarwood Presbyterian to Ruhama Baptist to, now, Mountain Brook Community. If that sounds like a lot of church memberships, everyone was a different stage in my life; leaving and joining was the right thing for me to do at the time.
There have also been churches that I have not been a member of that I have attended for one reason or another, or whose teaching or membership or ministry I have been impacted by.
"My" church (and it's not "mine," of course, but rather that subset of the Body that I'm aligned with here in Birmingham) has stepped up in ways that has surprised me, even as it hasn't surprised me because I've seen this church body respond in similar ways (and been blessed to share in that responding) over the years.
Still, to have people from the church almost constantly sitting together in the waiting room at UAB, even when they couldn't get back to see MG, even when I didn't want to leave MG's side to be with them, was remarkable
.
Meals, of course - people began bringing meals to feed me and the kids as soon as word got out of what had happened to MG. Providing meals is one of those traditions of the church, sometimes an easy way to minister because everyone has to eat. But meals are such a blessing - particularly to me, because I will go without eating, just not thinking about eating, until I'm biting people's heads off (figuratively) for the most minor comments because when I get hungry I can get mean.
What's worse is that I will not even think about the kids eating, and they won't say anything to me but instead just go through the pantry looking for quick fixes - cereal, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, chips and cookies, whatever is easily accessible.
There is also the matter of 'sitters.' MG can't be alone for very long. I have to work. The kids all have summer jobs, internships that we were blessed for them to be able to get and will help them in the future. One of MG's oldest friends, Kathy, took it upon herself to organize a brigade of ladies to come sit with MG during the day. I can't begin to thank the ladies who come for half days, full days, until a family member can get home from work. I wish I could name them all, but I'm afraid I'd miss someone - not to mention those who have constantly offered to come be a sitter, or lately to take MG out when she needs to get out, that we haven't called upon (yet; athere is always tomorrow). The caring and support has been overwhelming.
And it has made me uncomfortable. I have written before about how uncomfortable it is to be on the receiving end of such support. But then, it is also a reminder that I am so undeserving of God's Grace and Mercy, that I didn't earn it, He gave it freely, and all I have to do is accept it. It's the same with the mercy and grace shown to us by our family and friends in this community.
Once, years ago when discussing my faith with one of those people who labels themselves "spiritual but not religious," this guy said it wasn't important to go to church because Jesus didn't go to church. Of course that's wrong. Luke 14:6 says, "He went to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, and on the Sabbath day he went into the synagogue, as was his custom." (emphasis mine). And we see time after time when Jesus shows up in the synagogue or the Temple.
Today - July 8 - MG and I attended church. It's the first time since April 1 (yes - April Fools' Day) that we'd been in our regular church service. The next weekend we were celebrating MG's 50th birthday in Memphis, and attended church there (one of our great joys has been to attend churches in places we visit, to stumble or be led into a congregation that fills us and encourages us); the weekend after that we were in Charleston for Recognition Day at The Citadel. The next Saturday, April 21, was the accident.
Our plan today was to show up just before the service started, slip in a side door where MG would not have to walk very far to get to a seat, then slip out quickly after the service to put little stress and strain on her. However, that was impossible. There were too many people to see, too many people who had been praying, who had been working behind scenes, who had been supporting us, and we were overwhelmed at the number of people who came by to see and hug and cry and laugh with MG.
The service was everything both of us needed. There were baby dedications, a video highlighting the work of our church community in rebuilding a home in Pratt City (in conjunction with Christan Service Mission) that had been destroyed in the tornado over a year ago, the usual worship in music, and of course Tim's preaching.
The problem with being away from church for so long is that it becomes easy to stay away. You forget how much you need to gather with other believers, to participate in corporate worship. You stay away, and then some voice in your head starts telling you, "It's too soon. You're not ready. What difference will another week away make?'' or "You've stayed away too long; if you go back now it's just to draw attention to yourself'' or simply, "it's just too much trouble to get up and go."
And then you go and you realize what you've been missing.
It's the other people, yes; but it's more.
It's the singing, yes; but it's more.
It's the preaching, yes; but it's more.
It's the whole experience. It's being united with like-minded people expressing their devotion to God, yearning to become fully devoted followers of Christ.
We need the accountability that comes from involvement within a local church. It helps to hear sermons preached by pastors we know, that we see deal with every day situations and not just some 'voice' from a pulpit on Sunday. We need to stand in agreement with other believers and share sacraments like Baptism and the Lord's Supper. We need to be challenged to go out into service, and encouraged to do it together with others in our community.
We are creatures of community. Even in the isolation of internet world, people still long to belong to "communities" - whether virtual or fictional or legitimate attempts to reach out and meet new people.
The church offers us a very real community; a living, breathing organism that we participate in, that aches when we ache and, just as the body compensates for an injury to one member, so the community of the church responds to an injury to one of its own with comfort, aid, support, encouragement.
Not all churches do "church" the same way. There are many different styles of worship - high church, low church; formal and casual; churches with robed choirs and churches with rock bands; churches of noisy fellowship and churches of quiet contemplation.
I am painfully aware of churches that have let down its members, its community, its state and its country. I know churches have been on the wrong side of important social issues, even as there are churches that have been in the forefront of important issues.
Churches are as different as the people that fill their sanctuaries and pulpits. All are flawed to some degree; some are more aware of those flaws than others.
It's unfortunate that so often people judge God and the Gospel by their experience with a certain church. At the same time, God has chosen to make those of us who make up His Church His representatives to an unbelieving world, and sometimes we fail miserably.
I know there are those who have not had good church experiences. I've had my own share of bad experiences in the church. I've been "let down" by the church.
But I've not been let down by God.
And while I've been let down by some of the church's leaders - deacons and elders and pastors - rarely if ever have I been let down by fellow members who acted out of mercy and grace, compelled by the love of Christ to action.
That is why, like the Psalmist, I can say "I was glad when they said unto me, 'Let us go into the house of the Lord.'"
Thursday, July 5, 2012
"Hell on heels"
The title comes from a great little video by Miranda Lambert's group, the "Pistol Annies." (video link)
But it reminds me so much of MG.
A few years ago, just before Valentine's Day, MG and I were walking through a store and saw a shelf full of bright red high heels.
I could tell they caught her eye. They caught mine. I've always joked that the only true aphrodisiac is a woman in high heels. MG has always loved her high heels.
"What do you think?" I said, holding up a bright red high heel shoe that I knew she liked.
"You like them, don't you,'' she said, not really asking.
"Let's get them,'' I said.
This was one of those times when money was tight. The shoes would be an extravagance.
"No,'' MG said. "I really don't have anything to wear them with."
I laughed and said, "You don't have to wear them with anything. In fact I might prefer that."
She slapped me. Gently.
And we got the shoes.
As I said, MG has always loved her high heels (as SB revealed here.) Just before the accident, MG had bought a pair of blue heels that were very fancy, flashy in an understated sophisticated kind of way. I'm sure there is a proper name for these shoes, but I have no idea what that name might be."Sexy?"
MG wanted those shoes put on top of the TV so they'd be in her line of site. Those shoes became her goal, looking to the day when she would finally wear them.
And then we went to the doctor last week, and were told that her 'drop foot' was not improving. The longer we went with no improvement, the worse the odds that MG would get the use of that foot back. We asked what that meant, and the doctor said, "You'll wear an orthotic the rest of your life. No more high heels."
Dr. Lowe had no way of knowing that a pair of high heels had become MG's motivation. He had no way of knowing how much MG loves her high heels. He was just answering the question.
When we got home, MG had me take the high heels off the TV.
That may sound shallow. If you're a guy, you're like me and probably thinking, "What the heck? I'd love to wear tennis shoes for the rest of my life."
If you a woman, you might understand. It's a little thing. It's not even that MG has that many pairs of shoes, or spends excessively on shoes. In fact, she's quite frugal, always looking for a sale.
And I also realize plenty of people deal with drop foot. This isn't meant to in any way denigrate or suggest drop foot is some horrible issue that can't be dealt with.
But everybody has that "thing" that comes to define them. Sometimes we consciously choose what that is; sometimes we may be the only person who knows what that thing is. By the nature of being human, we're self-conscious, and how we see ourselves is an important part of who we are.
I don't even know that I'd say high heels defines MG. But I know for her, high heels are that "thing" that makes her feel glamorous, that reminds this hard-working, sacrificing care-giver that she is and always will be a lady.
Shortly after getting the orthotic that straps around her foot and goes up the back of her calf, that keeps her left foot in a 90 degree angle so she can walk on it, MG ordered a pair of sandals. Because of the way the plastic mold works, she can't have a sandal strap that goes between her toes. Because the plastic orthotic goes under the ball of her foot, the shoe has to have extra room to accommodate that depth and width, and there has to be a strap in the back to help hold everything in place.
The sandals are comfortable looking. Functional.
"Comfortable'' and "functional'' are not words a lady looks for in glamourous footwear.
The other day, while we were out shopping for a recliner that will allow MG to sit up in a chair comfortably so she can join friends and family in other parts of the house for longer than 15-20 minutes, we were talking about sandals.
"Let's go to DSW,'' MG said.
"Sure," I said. "They have row after row of sandals. I bet we can find something that looks dressier and will work."
So we went.
Because MG was walking with the walker and is not very fast, I went ahead, looking for any shoe that might fit the above requirements. I was a row or two ahead of her, and would hold one up for her to see.
"That might work,'' she'd say, every the optimist. "But I'd like it to be lighter in color."
I went on down the aisle and held up another.
"We'll try that one,'' MG said, and I could tell she was excited.
Until we tried the first sandal on.
The 'cute' ones were open toe, of course, but it quickly became apparent that they wouldn't allow for enough room over the ball of the foot to accommodate the plastic form ... and suddenly it hit MG that there weren't any shoes there that would work.
She put on her sun glasses so I wouldn't see the tears.
"Let's try these down here,'' I said, trying to restore hope.
"I'm tired,'' she whispered. "Let's just go home."
MG walked in excited, with as much spring in her step as an injured leg and a walker would allow, having walked from where I parked the car across the parking lot, into the store.
She walked back to the front door in what can only be described as a hobble.
"I'll wait inside the door,'' she said. "You go get the car."
It's all just another part of the new reality that we're dealing with. We continue to pray and hope that it's not permanent. Just tonight, MG actually not only curled the toes on her left foot down, but pulled them back up, too. She can spread her toes.
With effort.
"You wouldn't believe how exhausting that is,'' MG said. "So many things that you take for granted, like wiggling your toes. I have to stare at them and concentrate on what I want them to do. It really takes so much focus and concentration."
And for what seems like so little reward.
But it is a reward. Every little movement is hope.
I absolutely am convinced that MG will be restored. I believe she'll be able to walk along the sandy beach again, through the shallow waves; I believe we'll dance again just as badly - but with as much fun - as before, and even hike Grandfather Mountain again.
No one can give us a timeline. We know the longer she goes without getting control and feeling, the worse her odds of getting that control and feeling back. But it's been 11 weeks. Maybe that's not long enough to start worrying.
One thing I gather is that no doctor can tell us for sure when it's been too long. And I know that what doctors don't know, God does.
I know whatever our new reality looks like, God will give us the ability to not only accept but thrive; that's MG's personality.
Even now, every day she becomes more independent. She fights using the little aids that she sees as concessions to her limitations.
There is a commercial for the Paralympics we watch where this young lady talks about having worn the uniform of her country in the Army, then losing both her legs when she was hit by a drunk driver. Now she wears the uniform of her country, representing the USA in the Paralympic Games.
We know it could have been worse - much worse than even losing legs. I remind myself that it was life-and-death for awhile, that the police and firemen did not expect MG to survive the accident.
I've been talking to the district attorney about the court case against the guy that did all this to MG. The DA wanted to hear what we thought about appropriate punishment. It's been an interesting conversation.
A preliminary hearing was scheduled for this week, but the guys' attorney has decided they'll go to the Grand Jury instead. That will likely take months. I assume he's hoping to buy some time, and by going to a Grand Jury hoping to get charges reduced.
I know where the guy works. I admit I've thought about driving over there, just to see it, maybe to see him. Not to talk to him, not to let him know I'm even there, but just to see what his life is like, what he's like at work, what he looks like.
I wonder if he looks like he's sorry, if he feels guilty - but then, how would I know? I wonder if he lies in bed at night worried about his future, if every time he picks up a drink of alcohol he thinks about where that could lead ... I wonder if he even still picks up a drink of alcohol. I hope not.
I don't know if any of that is good idea. It's probably not. I don't know that I will go through with it. While I can't imagine living every day with the possibility of a felony conviction and jail time hanging out there in my future the way this guy is, I wonder if he has any idea of what it's like having your life so disrupted - maybe forever - the way MG's life - and by extension ours - has been by his choice of action.
He said he was at his brothers house drinking. I wonder if his brother feels guilt. I wonder how his parents feel.
I know he didn't leave his brothers' house with the intent to go hit someone, to nearly kill someone with his car. I don't think he's an evil person, mean or malicious.
But he did those things. And he was uninsured, compounding the issue, doubling the crime (at least in my mind).
I'm think about the future. I wonder if my job will eventually move me to New Orleans (I'm responsible for Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama). I know it would be fun to have an apartment in New Orleans, and have MG with me. We've always loved that city.
I think about the past. I can't help but wish I'd given MG more opportunities to wear her high heels. I wish we'd gone to fancier places, and done more dancing.
She'll be so offended and angry that I say this, but there was a time MG truly was "hell on heels."
I can't help but believe that one day we'll take those blue heels out of the closet where I hid them, she will be "hell on heels'' again.
I refuse to believe otherwise.
But it reminds me so much of MG.
A few years ago, just before Valentine's Day, MG and I were walking through a store and saw a shelf full of bright red high heels.
I could tell they caught her eye. They caught mine. I've always joked that the only true aphrodisiac is a woman in high heels. MG has always loved her high heels.
"What do you think?" I said, holding up a bright red high heel shoe that I knew she liked.
"You like them, don't you,'' she said, not really asking.
"Let's get them,'' I said.
This was one of those times when money was tight. The shoes would be an extravagance.
"No,'' MG said. "I really don't have anything to wear them with."
I laughed and said, "You don't have to wear them with anything. In fact I might prefer that."
She slapped me. Gently.
And we got the shoes.
As I said, MG has always loved her high heels (as SB revealed here.) Just before the accident, MG had bought a pair of blue heels that were very fancy, flashy in an understated sophisticated kind of way. I'm sure there is a proper name for these shoes, but I have no idea what that name might be."Sexy?"
MG wanted those shoes put on top of the TV so they'd be in her line of site. Those shoes became her goal, looking to the day when she would finally wear them.
And then we went to the doctor last week, and were told that her 'drop foot' was not improving. The longer we went with no improvement, the worse the odds that MG would get the use of that foot back. We asked what that meant, and the doctor said, "You'll wear an orthotic the rest of your life. No more high heels."
Dr. Lowe had no way of knowing that a pair of high heels had become MG's motivation. He had no way of knowing how much MG loves her high heels. He was just answering the question.
When we got home, MG had me take the high heels off the TV.
That may sound shallow. If you're a guy, you're like me and probably thinking, "What the heck? I'd love to wear tennis shoes for the rest of my life."
If you a woman, you might understand. It's a little thing. It's not even that MG has that many pairs of shoes, or spends excessively on shoes. In fact, she's quite frugal, always looking for a sale.
And I also realize plenty of people deal with drop foot. This isn't meant to in any way denigrate or suggest drop foot is some horrible issue that can't be dealt with.
But everybody has that "thing" that comes to define them. Sometimes we consciously choose what that is; sometimes we may be the only person who knows what that thing is. By the nature of being human, we're self-conscious, and how we see ourselves is an important part of who we are.
I don't even know that I'd say high heels defines MG. But I know for her, high heels are that "thing" that makes her feel glamorous, that reminds this hard-working, sacrificing care-giver that she is and always will be a lady.
Shortly after getting the orthotic that straps around her foot and goes up the back of her calf, that keeps her left foot in a 90 degree angle so she can walk on it, MG ordered a pair of sandals. Because of the way the plastic mold works, she can't have a sandal strap that goes between her toes. Because the plastic orthotic goes under the ball of her foot, the shoe has to have extra room to accommodate that depth and width, and there has to be a strap in the back to help hold everything in place.
The sandals are comfortable looking. Functional.
"Comfortable'' and "functional'' are not words a lady looks for in glamourous footwear.
The other day, while we were out shopping for a recliner that will allow MG to sit up in a chair comfortably so she can join friends and family in other parts of the house for longer than 15-20 minutes, we were talking about sandals.
"Let's go to DSW,'' MG said.
"Sure," I said. "They have row after row of sandals. I bet we can find something that looks dressier and will work."
So we went.
Because MG was walking with the walker and is not very fast, I went ahead, looking for any shoe that might fit the above requirements. I was a row or two ahead of her, and would hold one up for her to see.
"That might work,'' she'd say, every the optimist. "But I'd like it to be lighter in color."
I went on down the aisle and held up another.
"We'll try that one,'' MG said, and I could tell she was excited.
Until we tried the first sandal on.
The 'cute' ones were open toe, of course, but it quickly became apparent that they wouldn't allow for enough room over the ball of the foot to accommodate the plastic form ... and suddenly it hit MG that there weren't any shoes there that would work.
She put on her sun glasses so I wouldn't see the tears.
"Let's try these down here,'' I said, trying to restore hope.
"I'm tired,'' she whispered. "Let's just go home."
MG walked in excited, with as much spring in her step as an injured leg and a walker would allow, having walked from where I parked the car across the parking lot, into the store.
She walked back to the front door in what can only be described as a hobble.
"I'll wait inside the door,'' she said. "You go get the car."
It's all just another part of the new reality that we're dealing with. We continue to pray and hope that it's not permanent. Just tonight, MG actually not only curled the toes on her left foot down, but pulled them back up, too. She can spread her toes.
With effort.
"You wouldn't believe how exhausting that is,'' MG said. "So many things that you take for granted, like wiggling your toes. I have to stare at them and concentrate on what I want them to do. It really takes so much focus and concentration."
And for what seems like so little reward.
But it is a reward. Every little movement is hope.
I absolutely am convinced that MG will be restored. I believe she'll be able to walk along the sandy beach again, through the shallow waves; I believe we'll dance again just as badly - but with as much fun - as before, and even hike Grandfather Mountain again.
No one can give us a timeline. We know the longer she goes without getting control and feeling, the worse her odds of getting that control and feeling back. But it's been 11 weeks. Maybe that's not long enough to start worrying.
One thing I gather is that no doctor can tell us for sure when it's been too long. And I know that what doctors don't know, God does.
I know whatever our new reality looks like, God will give us the ability to not only accept but thrive; that's MG's personality.
Even now, every day she becomes more independent. She fights using the little aids that she sees as concessions to her limitations.
There is a commercial for the Paralympics we watch where this young lady talks about having worn the uniform of her country in the Army, then losing both her legs when she was hit by a drunk driver. Now she wears the uniform of her country, representing the USA in the Paralympic Games.
We know it could have been worse - much worse than even losing legs. I remind myself that it was life-and-death for awhile, that the police and firemen did not expect MG to survive the accident.
I've been talking to the district attorney about the court case against the guy that did all this to MG. The DA wanted to hear what we thought about appropriate punishment. It's been an interesting conversation.
A preliminary hearing was scheduled for this week, but the guys' attorney has decided they'll go to the Grand Jury instead. That will likely take months. I assume he's hoping to buy some time, and by going to a Grand Jury hoping to get charges reduced.
I know where the guy works. I admit I've thought about driving over there, just to see it, maybe to see him. Not to talk to him, not to let him know I'm even there, but just to see what his life is like, what he's like at work, what he looks like.
I wonder if he looks like he's sorry, if he feels guilty - but then, how would I know? I wonder if he lies in bed at night worried about his future, if every time he picks up a drink of alcohol he thinks about where that could lead ... I wonder if he even still picks up a drink of alcohol. I hope not.
I don't know if any of that is good idea. It's probably not. I don't know that I will go through with it. While I can't imagine living every day with the possibility of a felony conviction and jail time hanging out there in my future the way this guy is, I wonder if he has any idea of what it's like having your life so disrupted - maybe forever - the way MG's life - and by extension ours - has been by his choice of action.
He said he was at his brothers house drinking. I wonder if his brother feels guilt. I wonder how his parents feel.
I know he didn't leave his brothers' house with the intent to go hit someone, to nearly kill someone with his car. I don't think he's an evil person, mean or malicious.
But he did those things. And he was uninsured, compounding the issue, doubling the crime (at least in my mind).
I'm think about the future. I wonder if my job will eventually move me to New Orleans (I'm responsible for Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama). I know it would be fun to have an apartment in New Orleans, and have MG with me. We've always loved that city.
I think about the past. I can't help but wish I'd given MG more opportunities to wear her high heels. I wish we'd gone to fancier places, and done more dancing.
She'll be so offended and angry that I say this, but there was a time MG truly was "hell on heels."
I can't help but believe that one day we'll take those blue heels out of the closet where I hid them, she will be "hell on heels'' again.
I refuse to believe otherwise.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Thoughts on health care, government programs
Just curious ...
What if the federal government came out and said "crime is such a problem. It's costing citizens and cities so much money every year, and we don't have enough police to protect everyone so they can feel safe and secure. So we're going to pass a law that everyone has to buy a gun. If you have a gun, you can keep it of course. But if you don't have one, you should buy one. If you don't buy one, one will be provided for you and you'll just pay for it when you pay your income tax."
Maybe a gun is too radical. What if the government just decided every house should be required to have an alarm system? There are mortgage companies that won't give homeowners a mortgage in certain high-crime areas unless they have a working alarm system. What if the government just decided that to cut down on crime and the residual cost crime has on individuals, communities, local police, insurance companies, everyone should have an alarm system. Would you accept that?
Maybe you think those are extreme. But I saw a story on CNN where, because obesity has become such a serious problem in this country, South Carolina has voted to approve a government-paid for weight-loss surgery program it would make people healthier and save millions in medical costs every year. If you do a search, you find this isn't so far-fetched; that similar appeals are being made in Australia and Canada and Great Britain, and already you can find ways to apply for government grants for weight-loss surgery here.
So is it really that far-fetched that the government might order us to eat spinach, because it is good for us? And if we don't eat it, could the government fine us, the way it will if we don't have medical insurance under what is popularly known as "Obamacare?"
Or that the government order us to have alarm systems on our homes?
I was discussing President Obama's healthcare law with a few friends. It was pointed out that many people come to emergency rooms for what should be routine office visits and those people don't have insurance, so they can't pay for the visit. I have been in the emergency room at Children's Hospital with what we considered a legitimate emergency and seen some of these people, whose children simply had colds or fevers that could have been handled in a pediatricians' office. When I asked the nurse, I was told that the emergency room had, for a certain segment of the population, become their "doctor's office." And, no, they usually didn't have insurance.
The cost of those visits had to be absorbed by the hospital, and of course passed on in higher costs to other patients who do have insurance, which in turn means insurance companies have to pass on greater costs or higher restrictions to businesses and people who buy insurance.
That's wrong at both ends.
On the other hand, everyone seems to agree there is a shortage of general practice doctors in this country, a serious shortage. A guy I know who is in medical school said he believes its because the cost of medical school is so high, people who want to become doctors are drawn into the specialty fields where the chance to make the money to pay off the loans is greater, rather than the old concept of the general practitioner, which apparently doesn't pay as well, or at least not as quickly.
Which led me to wonder what happens if 20,000 people who don't currently have insurance are suddenly brought onto the insurance roles through government mandated insurance? Will we have 20,000 people suddenly making appointments for check-ups and fevers and the routine things the rest of us already go to our "family doctors'' for?
And will that tax a system that is already strained, further reducing the quality of health care because those doctors are going to be stretched even further to see these people? How hard might it become to get an appointment (that might already take months if all you want is a routine physical)? How rushed will those doctors be to see as many patients as possible? How much of their work will be passed off to nurses or physicians' assistants - which are a great option, but still, if I'm paying to see a doctor, I should be entitled to see a doctor.
So while this makes health care affordable to more people (in theory), without enough doctors to meet the new influx of patients, will the quality of our health care system decline?
Again, not that I think people who can't afford it should go without regular medical care so those of us who can afford it have a higher quality of care. I'm just pointing out a potential consequence.
Another friend believes that health care is a "right." I believe we should do our best to make health care available to everyone. Christian missionaries have done that for centuries, laying the foundation for modern organizations that are dedicated to bringing health care to people in need. I support those efforts, and believe it is a responsibility of those who have been blessed with "more."
But a "right?" I think we throw around that word "right" to include anything we think would make our lives better, rather than the basics that allow us to have a chance to achieve that good life for ourselves - particularly because too often we think of "rights" as things it is the responsibility of our governments to provide.
Is it a "right" that we be thin and healthy, and government should pay for us to be that way because it would save the government money in health care?
I believe in self-determination. I believe in responsibility.
At the same time, I am sympathetic to those in need, who have less, who are not as fortunate. Unfortunately, 50 years of "The Great Society" has not done much to alleviate poverty. And the truth is, what we call "poverty" has become more and more like middle class in most other cultures around the world.
The benefits given to help people who find themselves in tough situations can become very difficult to free oneself from. The conversation was with a man from Great Britain who argued that people on unemployment didn't want to be on unemployment because there was not enough money on unemployment to provide a basic standard of living. And he is right, if you just draw unemployment which, in Alabama, is capped at $260 a week.
However ... let's say you and your wife/domestic partner each get $250 a week in unemployment (I pick 250 because the math is easier). That's $24000 a year - still not much.
But then if you get food stamps to pay for basic food needs. And you live in Section Eight housing, where the government pays someone to allow you to live in their house like a renter (except the government pays the rent). And you qualify for a free cell phone and internet access (through an FCC tax the government passed a few years go because someone decided cell phones and internet access were a "right" the poor should not be denied) ... suddenly, if housing and food and communication is free, that $24,000 a year (tax free) becomes very livable.
Particularly if you compare it to what happens if you get a job basic, minimum wage job. While studies have shown that adults who take a minimum wage job and stay with it are rarely still at that job a year later but instead have gained skills and connections to move up to a better-paying job, once you go on the ranks of the employed it becomes much more difficult to continue to receive food stamps, live in government-subsidized housing, with free cell phones and internet service. You quality of life actually can decline by getting a full-time job.
Here's the tough thing: we haven't learned that by giving people what we perceive them as needing, we actually can condemn them to a life of dependence. That's what 50 years of government programs to help the "poor" have proven.
But because we have entire government bureaucracies that exist to help "the poor,'' those people have to keep finding ways to help the poor or else risk losing their jobs. They are part of massive government agencies with huge budgets, and if they don't spend to the level of their budget those budgets are reduced, and salaries are cut, and people are laid off. So the very act of creating a new government agency to address some "need" becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy: whatever ill your agency was created to address will continue because of the existence of the agency created to address it.
If my job depends on helping the poor, then I need to continually find news ways to help the poor, and redefining what poor is, so I keep my job and my relevance continues.
In an earlier blog, I defined "poverty" as "the lack of choices -real or imagined."
If you feel you no longer have a choice in the direction of your life, then you are "poor," or suffering from poverty.
The reason I make this my definition (at least for now, until I arrive at a better one) is that it seems to encompass all the sub-elements of poverty, as well as has the ability to transcend location.
In other words, if you are trapped into place or position, you are poor.
We look at the people we consider to be "poor," and I don't think they necessarily have chosen to be poor - to live on government welfare and food stamps or whatever subsidy they live on. But they just don't know any other way. That's how everyone they know lives.
While some would say "they" need to get a job, "they" would ask - and I believe in all sincerity - "why?" To get a job means you have to start paying rent and paying for food and paying for the things that right now are given to you.
(And I wonder if those people look at the "rich'' who lives in their big houses and don't assume that somehow those people live for "free," too, but just somehow got a better subsidy. That is, those people have a "company'' that gives them money in the form of a giant salary. But come on - putting on a suit and sitting behind a desk all day isn't work. It's money for nothing (and the chics are free - to quote Dire Straits). They got it because they were born into a different form of subsidy.)
My issue is not really about healthcare, which is certainly a problem that needs to be corrected.
My issue is that the more responsibility we give government to care for us, the more we abdicate our responsibility to look out for ourselves.
I know there will be those who disagree with this, but I do believe that neighbors will help neighbors in need. In a first-hand way, I've seen a Christian service organization help re-build houses in areas ravaged by tornadoes (in areas both urban, suburban, and rural), and do it much more quickly and more efficiently than government agencies. I've heard people who have been promised a new home by a government agency lament that they didn't take up the Christian service organization's offer to build their home, because they've watched as their neighbors' homes were rebuilt while they are still waiting on the government.
But those who demand that government 'fix' their problems - or the problems of others -ignore the work that is going on all around them, being done every day, by volunteers who are compassionate and are stepping up to help rebuild houses, provide job training, conduct after-school reading and homework classes, distributing food, opening up health care clinics ... and in the majority of situations, those are working far more cost-effectively and efficiently than government-run programs.
The problem is they often do those things in the name of "Christ,'' which is anathema. Too many people would rather see people suffer than see them receive help in the name of "God" or religion, particularly Christian religion.
(And, to be far, sometimes those things are done "in the name of Christ" but with expectations attached).
Meanwhile, we do know that if the government creates an agency to run a program to solve a problem, the people who run that agency and are employed by it have a vested interest in seeing that problem never go away, because to solve the problem means an end to their jobs.
And while the free market has a way of doing that for a company that no longer sells a product or provides a service people want, the government is not run on free-market principles.
So I worry about how rulings like the Healthcare ruling by the Supreme Court will be interpreted in the coming years in other situations, like weight-loss surgery or spinach or home security alarms.
However, I don't worry about the government every mandating that all citizens own guns.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)