Guest guest Posted January 16, 2004 Report Share Posted January 16, 2004 January 16, 2004 ER ER. Two lettered-hell. It began on Monday when Bob was driving to the doctor. In the parking lot he blacked out at the wheel and hit a car in f ront of him. Unhurt, he saw the doctor, who checked his heart and it sounded ok. At the kitchen table later that night he tumbled from the chair unconscious. My son told me to call 911 and the emt's were there in a flash. Two kind men examined Bob and left it up to him whether or not he would go the ER. He thought he might have broken a rib, so my son and I went with him. He had a third seizure there and luckily the doctor caught it. "Temporal lobe seizure," he said. Dilantin was ordered and a battery of tests. You see, taking a trial drug for cancer has its downside. But then so does multiple myeloma. The xrays of his ribs were displayed in the examining room. The doctor grinned wryly, "You've broken all of your ribs," he said. Not really. The next day I came down with a virus but managed to get Bob home. Lordy, lordy, lordy. When it rains it pours. Sometimes the vichara, "Who am I?" becomes, "Why, me, Lord?" Curiously, I have stayed calm--as if reacting would put me over the top. There are more lines for me to read in this curious script and that's the truth. Sometimes I forget them and have to improvise. Or dig deep to find an old emotion that I can call on...you know, the Actor's Studio. The doctors have their lines down pat--emotionlessly delivered. (I know a secret. They are not really doctors. They are just playing one on Planet Earth). They have forgotten this, as most of us do. They seem to have forgotten that we have brains, although our bodies seem simple enough for them to master. They knock us in the knee and elbow, poke our bellies and shake their heads. Who are they kidding? They are playing doctor. Coming home from the hospital seems to shine the light on all of the cobwebs and loneliness that you left behind and hadn't noticed. The first night that I came home alone, the rooms reeked of my long-term pain. Who have I become and why? The only thing to do is put the kettle on and mindlessly eat cookies. My computer keys record the oddest things, like "I am getting older," and "Who really loves me, I mean....really loves me?" Two people on the planet. My husband and son. Not enough, not nearly enough. "Who do I love?" seems to be a fair question. Those two tall and kindly men. Men who are saying a long goodbye. It's tough; it's very, very tough. Vicki Woodyard http://www.bobwoodyard.com Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted January 16, 2004 Report Share Posted January 16, 2004 Dear Vicki: It is hard to just pass by when you write. Sometimes I do, just because I don't want to write to you every time you post. Yet, this time there is something that cannot let you go by without a hug. I am in the middle of what is supposed to be my work day and I came online. There you were :-) Here I am. All I can say to you is that there are many of us who love you and are there with you in our hearts even when we don't post and say that to you. Since you sometimes need to hear that, I thought I would say it. Love, Joyce PS I also want to tell you that what you feel is the lack of emotion of the doctors is sometimes their own mechanism to survive the agony and despair which they see on a daily basis. While they may seem arrogant (and some are) often they are protecting themselves from a breakdown of their own by closing out the emotions that would interfere with their ability to give you the medical care. It is a hard balance to strike and the doctor who gets too caught up in the emotion can also get lost in it. - skiplaurel Friday, January 16, 2004 12:16 PM ER January 16, 2004 ERER. Two lettered-hell. It began on Monday when Bob was driving to the doctor. In the parking lot he blacked out at the wheel and hit a car in f ront of him. Unhurt, he saw the doctor, who checked his heart and it sounded ok. At the kitchen table later that night he tumbled from the chair unconscious. My son told me to call 911 and the emt's were there in a flash. Two kind men examined Bob and left it up to him whether or not he would go the ER. He thought he might have broken a rib, so my son and I went with him. He had a third seizure there and luckily the doctor caught it. "Temporal lobe seizure," he said. Dilantin was ordered and a battery of tests. You see, taking a trial drug for cancer has its downside. But then so does multiple myeloma. The xrays of his ribs were displayed in the examining room. The doctor grinned wryly, "You've broken all of your ribs," he said. Not really. The next day I came down with a virus but managed to get Bob home. Lordy, lordy, lordy. When it rains it pours. Sometimes the vichara, "Who am I?" becomes, "Why, me, Lord?" Curiously, I have stayed calm--as if reacting would put me over the top. There are more lines for me to read in this curious script and that's the truth. Sometimes I forget them and have to improvise. Or dig deep to find an old emotion that I can call on...you know, the Actor's Studio.The doctors have their lines down pat--emotionlessly delivered. (I know a secret. They are not really doctors. They are just playing one on Planet Earth). They have forgotten this, as most of us do. They seem to have forgotten that we have brains, although our bodies seem simple enough for them to master. They knock us in the knee and elbow, poke our bellies and shake their heads. Who are they kidding? They are playing doctor.Coming home from the hospital seems to shine the light on all of the cobwebs and loneliness that you left behind and hadn't noticed. The first night that I came home alone, the rooms reeked of my long-term pain. Who have I become and why? The only thing to do is put the kettle on and mindlessly eat cookies. My computer keys record the oddest things, like "I am getting older," and "Who really loves me, I mean....really loves me?" Two people on the planet. My husband and son. Not enough, not nearly enough. "Who do I love?" seems to be a fair question. Those two tall and kindly men. Men who are saying a long goodbye. It's tough; it's very, very tough.Vicki Woodyardhttp://www.bobwoodyard.com/join "Love itself is the actual form of God."Sri RamanaIn "Letters from Sri Ramanasramam" by Suri Nagamma To visit your group on the web, go to:/ To from this group, send an email to: Your use of Groups is subject to the Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted January 16, 2004 Report Share Posted January 16, 2004 , "Lady Joyce" <shaantih@c...> wrote: > Dear Vicki: > > It is hard to just pass by when you write. > Sometimes I do, just because I don't want to write to you every time you post. > Yet, this time there is something that cannot let you go by without a hug. > I am in the middle of what is supposed to be my work day and I came online. > There you were :-) Here I am. All I can say to you is that there are many of us > who love you and are there with you in our hearts even when we don't post > and say that to you. Since you sometimes need to hear that, I thought I would say it. > > Love, > > Joyce > > PS I also want to tell you that what you feel is the lack of emotion of the doctors > is sometimes their own mechanism to survive the agony and despair which they > see on a daily basis. While they may seem arrogant (and some are) often they > are protecting themselves from a breakdown of their own by closing out the emotions > that would interfere with their ability to give you the medical care. It is a hard balance > to strike and the doctor who gets too caught up in the emotion can also get lost in it Dear Joyce, I receive your words gratefully. Yes, we are all guilty of the very things that we criticize in others (Thou art the man). I am still weak from the virus and have no room for emotions, although they are certainly there. I have been understanding that writing of Bob's illness is curative for me; God only knows why. It is a way of clarification. I can tell a neighbor about his hospitalization, but there is not the power that is in the written word. Here I can lay bare the framework of my ego, saying, "Look, it's ribs are are broken.....is there a vinegar sop nearby?" Earthly relations often leave no room for the Christ to come in and survey the scene. "Hmm...so that is where I am going to die. Okay. Where's the script lady?" In love, Vicki > > > > > > - > skiplaurel > > Friday, January 16, 2004 12:16 PM > ER > > > January 16, 2004 ER > > ER. Two lettered-hell. It began on Monday when Bob was driving to the doctor. In the parking lot he blacked out at the wheel and hit a car in f ront of him. Unhurt, he saw the doctor, who checked his heart and it sounded ok. At the kitchen table later that night he tumbled from the chair unconscious. My son told me to call 911 and the emt's were there in a flash. Two kind men examined Bob and left it up to him whether or not he would go the ER. He thought he might have broken a rib, so my son and I went with him. He had a third seizure there and luckily the doctor caught it. "Temporal lobe seizure," he said. Dilantin was ordered and a battery of tests. You see, taking a trial drug for cancer has its downside. But then so does multiple myeloma. The xrays of his ribs were displayed in the examining room. The doctor grinned wryly, "You've broken all of your ribs," he said. Not really. > > The next day I came down with a virus but managed to get Bob home. Lordy, lordy, lordy. When it rains it pours. Sometimes the vichara, "Who am I?" becomes, "Why, me, Lord?" Curiously, I have stayed calm--as if reacting would put me over the top. There are more lines for me to read in this curious script and that's the truth. Sometimes I forget them and have to improvise. Or dig deep to find an old emotion that I can call on...you know, the Actor's Studio. > > The doctors have their lines down pat--emotionlessly delivered. (I know a secret. They are not really doctors. They are just playing one on Planet Earth). They have forgotten this, as most of us do. They seem to have forgotten that we have brains, although our bodies seem simple enough for them to master. They knock us in the knee and elbow, poke our bellies and shake their heads. Who are they kidding? They are playing doctor. > > Coming home from the hospital seems to shine the light on all of the cobwebs and loneliness that you left behind and hadn't noticed. The first night that I came home alone, the rooms reeked of my long-term pain. Who have I become and why? The only thing to do is put the kettle on and mindlessly eat cookies. My computer keys record the oddest things, like "I am getting older," and "Who really loves me, I mean....really loves me?" Two people on the planet. My husband and son. Not enough, not nearly enough. "Who do I love?" seems to be a fair question. Those two tall and kindly men. Men who are saying a long goodbye. It's tough; it's very, very tough. > > Vicki Woodyard > http://www.bobwoodyard.com > > > > /join > > > > > > "Love itself is the actual form of God." > > Sri Ramana > > In "Letters from Sri Ramanasramam" by Suri Nagamma > > > > > Links > > > / > > b.. > > > c.. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted January 16, 2004 Report Share Posted January 16, 2004 Yes Joyce, I would like to add my agreement. I think that, while all comes from the one source, some actions, like sending your message to Vicki, come directly from the source, and, they emerge into this realm of time and change like newborn children, "trailing clouds of glory". Love Warwick - Lady Joyce Saturday, January 17, 2004 4:52 AM Re: ER Dear Vicki: It is hard to just pass by when you write. Sometimes I do, just because I don't want to write to you every time you post. Yet, this time there is something that cannot let you go by without a hug. I am in the middle of what is supposed to be my work day and I came online. There you were :-) Here I am. All I can say to you is that there are many of us who love you and are there with you in our hearts even when we don't post and say that to you. Since you sometimes need to hear that, I thought I would say it. Love, Joyce PS I also want to tell you that what you feel is the lack of emotion of the doctors is sometimes their own mechanism to survive the agony and despair which they see on a daily basis. While they may seem arrogant (and some are) often they are protecting themselves from a breakdown of their own by closing out the emotions that would interfere with their ability to give you the medical care. It is a hard balance to strike and the doctor who gets too caught up in the emotion can also get lost in it. - skiplaurel Friday, January 16, 2004 12:16 PM ER January 16, 2004 ERER. Two lettered-hell. It began on Monday when Bob was driving to the doctor. In the parking lot he blacked out at the wheel and hit a car in f ront of him. Unhurt, he saw the doctor, who checked his heart and it sounded ok. At the kitchen table later that night he tumbled from the chair unconscious. My son told me to call 911 and the emt's were there in a flash. Two kind men examined Bob and left it up to him whether or not he would go the ER. He thought he might have broken a rib, so my son and I went with him. He had a third seizure there and luckily the doctor caught it. "Temporal lobe seizure," he said. Dilantin was ordered and a battery of tests. You see, taking a trial drug for cancer has its downside. But then so does multiple myeloma. The xrays of his ribs were displayed in the examining room. The doctor grinned wryly, "You've broken all of your ribs," he said. Not really. The next day I came down with a virus but managed to get Bob home. Lordy, lordy, lordy. When it rains it pours. Sometimes the vichara, "Who am I?" becomes, "Why, me, Lord?" Curiously, I have stayed calm--as if reacting would put me over the top. There are more lines for me to read in this curious script and that's the truth. Sometimes I forget them and have to improvise. Or dig deep to find an old emotion that I can call on...you know, the Actor's Studio.The doctors have their lines down pat--emotionlessly delivered. (I know a secret. They are not really doctors. They are just playing one on Planet Earth). They have forgotten this, as most of us do. They seem to have forgotten that we have brains, although our bodies seem simple enough for them to master. They knock us in the knee and elbow, poke our bellies and shake their heads. Who are they kidding? They are playing doctor.Coming home from the hospital seems to shine the light on all of the cobwebs and loneliness that you left behind and hadn't noticed. The first night that I came home alone, the rooms reeked of my long-term pain. Who have I become and why? The only thing to do is put the kettle on and mindlessly eat cookies. My computer keys record the oddest things, like "I am getting older," and "Who really loves me, I mean....really loves me?" Two people on the planet. My husband and son. Not enough, not nearly enough. "Who do I love?" seems to be a fair question. Those two tall and kindly men. Men who are saying a long goodbye. It's tough; it's very, very tough.Vicki Woodyardhttp://www.bobwoodyard.com/join "Love itself is the actual form of God."Sri RamanaIn "Letters from Sri Ramanasramam" by Suri Nagamma To visit your group on the web, go to:/ To from this group, send an email to: Your use of Groups is subject to the /join "Love itself is the actual form of God."Sri RamanaIn "Letters from Sri Ramanasramam" by Suri Nagamma To visit your group on the web, go to:/ To from this group, send an email to: Your use of Groups is subject to the Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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