Walking Out Alone

Clean gleaming floors stretch before me,

Corridors leading to elevators,

Which lead to more corridors.

I walk alone toward an exit.

I have walked out of this hospital

And left my mother as a patient,

My father, my mother-in-law,

And most recently my father-in-law.

Each in their turn,

I have left behind in a bed,

As a patient in this hospital,

And I have walked out alone.

But this time is different,

Painfully, achingly different.

My husband is in the bed.

The love of my life is the patient.

We did not anticipate this event,

He eats healthy, he exercises,

He is still a runner.

The last person you would expect.

I cannot wrap my head around it,

The slurred speech, the drooping mouth

The symptoms don’t compute,

It can’t be happening.

But this is the reality,

He has had a stroke,

I walk toward the exit alone.

More alone than ever before.

I feel his mortality,

I feel my mortality,

I am walking in a dream.

And I am by myself.

Weeks pass and he is better,

The stroke was minor,

The residual is minimal,

A haunting melancholy remains.

A flashback of walking out alone.

Productivity Lost

Before the age of television, computers and video games, people had to find a way to spend their free time without such entertainment.  Even in the age of radio only, a person’s hands were free to work at something.  Of course, one could read, but suppose a woman wanted to fill her evenings in some quiet activity other than that.  Women in the pre-electronic era busied their hands with knitting, crocheting, tatting, and quilting.  Eventually they actually had a tangible product…something to show for even their “down time.”

Today we have many modern conveniences to give us more free time.  Automatic washers, dryers, dishwashing machines, vacuum cleaners, microwave ovens and other marvels reduce the time spent in tedious drudgery.  But, we have less to show for our free time.  No product results from an evening of television watching or web-surfing or online gaming or X-boxing.  These activities so absorb our focus that we don’t even think of them as wasted hours with no tangible outcome.

I have been thinking about this recently, because we are cleaning out my in-laws home.  In a box under a bed upstairs, we found four hand-pieced quilt tops.  My mother-in-law did not do this type of work, so we are fairly certain that they came from her mother.  It is mind-boggling to look at all of the tiny handmade stitches that went into their construction.  Various family members have expressed interest in these works of an ancestor’s hands.

So, I am wondering, what will members of the present generation have to pass on to their descendants?

Hecuba by Euripides

Hecuba is the widow of King Priam, who was killed by the Trojans.  She has become a slave to the conquerors, although she was previously a queen.  At the outset of the play, she believes that although some of her children were killed in the Trojan War, she still has 3 living children:  Cassandra, who is revered as a prophetess has become the wife of Agamemnon (the conquering Trojan king), Polyxena, who is with her mother in slavery, and a son Polydore, who was sent to live with the neighboring king of Thrace in order to escape the Trojans.

Odysseus arrives with the message that the Trojans are seeking to honor their hero Achilles by sacrificing Polyxena on his grave.  Hecuba begs Odysseus to spare her daughter, reminding him that she once spared his life.  He argues that the dead must be honored, and the sacrifice must occur.  Polyxena bravely accepts her fate and goes off with Odysseus.  

Hecuba begs for, and is granted, the privilege of preparing her daughter’s body for burial.

However, she is delayed from this task by the arrival of a young maiden accompanying a covered corpse.  Hecuba thinks it must be Polyxena, but learns, to her horror, that it is her son Polydore, who she thought to be safe in Thrace.  It turns out the Polydore was sent to Thrace with a large amount of gold, and the King of Thrace, Polymestor, decides the gold is worth more than keeping his promise to protect Polydore.  He has killed Polydore and thrown his body into the sea.  It washed up on the shore and was found by the young maiden who is bringing it to Hecuba.

Agamemnon arrives to inquire what is keeping Hecuba.  She convinces him to look the other way while she seeks revenge on Polymestor.  Agamemnon doesn’t see how a woman can do this, but of course, there is strength in numbers, and Hecuba enlists the help of the other captive women.

Polymestor and his sons are invited to visit Hecuba.  She inquires about Polydore’s well-being, and Polymestor lies and says he is well.  Hecuba claims that she wants to inform him about the whereabouts of additional gold, so he goes with her into a tent without his guards.  There his sons are killed and he is blinded by the captive women.

Polymestor appeals to Agamemnon, but it doesn’t get him anywhere.  Then he prophesies the death of Agamemnon and Cassandra.  Agamemnon thinks he is a raving maniac and doesn’t believe the prediction.  The play closes with Agamemnon anxious to catch the favorable wind and sail for home, where unbeknownst to him his wife Clytemnestra will indeed kill him for several reasons….one of which is that he has brought the lovely Cassandra home to replace her.

While Polyxena is praised for the bravery with which she faces death, Euripides once again displays negative attitudes toward women.

*Agamemnon inquires, “How are women to master men?” 

Hecuba responds, “Numbers are a fearful thing and joined to craft a desperate foe.”

Agamemnon:  “True; still I have a mean opinion of the female race”

*Polymestor commenting on women:  “for neither land or sea produces a race so pestilent, as whomsoever hath had to do with them knows full well.”

Other interesting quotes:

“’Tis never right that those in power should use it out of season, or when prosperous suppose they will be always so.”  (Hecuba)

“Ah!  There is not in the world a single man free; for he is either a slave to money or to fortune, or else the people in their thousands or the fear of public prosecution prevents him from following the dictates of his heart.”  (Hecuba)

“’Tis strange how each extreme doth meet in human life!  Custom determines even our natural ties, making the most bitter foes friends, and regarding as foes those who formerly were friends.”  (the Chorus)

“For the gods confound our fortunes, tossing them to and fro, and introduce confusion, that our perplexity may make us worship them.”  (Polymestor)

As I’ve said previously, I don’t have any use for the Greek gods!  They are morally no different than humans…they just live forever, supposedly.

Two Young Women

I sat in a doctor’s office today thinking about the contrast between two young women who were in the waiting room with us.

One was propped up in an adult stroller.  Her arms and legs were in abnormal positions and appeared to be permanently distorted. Her hands were semi-closed and claw-like.  Drool was running from the corner of her mouth.  She was accompanied by two care-givers who did everything they could to comfort and quiet her.  Initially, she just grunted and moaned as though she was either in pain or having difficulty breathing.  Eventually the sounds escalated to anguished wails which filled the waiting room.  One of her care-givers took her outside.  The day was sunny and warm and being outdoors seemed to relax her, but as soon as she re-entered the waiting room, the cries began again.

The other woman was able-bodied and appeared to be the mother of two children she had in tow.  She paid minimal attention to them, occasionally interrupting her love affair with her electronic device to reprimand them.  Most of the time was spent either texting or talking on the cell phone.  The empty-headed conversation to which we were “treated” was about some guy who had said something about some girl on Facebook, and how she had responded. Maybe those of us over-hearing it were supposed to think she was clever.  It didn’t work on me.  Not only was it none of our business, but we had NO desire for it to be our business.  Listening to this meaningless blathering was worse than listening to the wails.

My heart went out to the first woman.  I wanted to stroke her arm or hug her, but comfort was probably more acceptable coming from a known caregiver than from a stranger, so I thought better of it.

I wanted to smack the second woman upside the head….but I thought better of that too.

The Only Post This Month

The month of June is almost over, and I have not yet written a blog post. 

This month my 96 year old father-in-law died.  This month a new granddaughter was born.  This month a whole lot happened in the lives of family members between the youngest and the oldest.  A number of these incidents are not to be written about here….no way to change names and protect the innocent or the guilty. 

Life is full of good and bad.  There are achievements and disappointments, good decisions and poor ones, moments of joy and moments of grief.  June has been a month of extremes.  I could allow myself to feel distressed and depressed.  But, I can also choose to place all of these in the context of my belief that God is in charge, and that what seems to be a horrible thing can, in His hands, bring about His purpose and blessing to those who love Him.

I don’t understand the nasty things that swirl around my life, any more than I understand the great pain and suffering of others around the world.  Horrors far greater than those in my life happen every day to good people.

We live in a sinful fallen world.  This is not the world God originally created and intended for man.  We have made choices that have led us to this point. 

It will be so until Christ returns to make the crooked straight and the rough places plain.

It will be so until the Lion roars.

All creation will continue to groan waiting for His appearing.

As part of His creation, we groan waiting for His appearing.

He hears our cries.

He sees the sparrow fall. 

He puts our tears in His bottle.

I owe my life to a manic-depressive.

During my last year in nursing school, I had to spend 3 months at Chicago State Hospital….a truly horrible place in the 1960s.  At one point, I was assigned to a female lock-up ward with some pretty disturbed patients.  We were instructed to never attempt to take the blood pressure of one of the women.  I knew that, but one day I felt as though I was in a real predicament with her.

I had been assigned to check the blood pressures of all the patients on the unit.  After taking the blood pressures in the day room, I proceeded to the corridor outside where there were a few chairs in what amounted to a “dead end.”  As I checked the blood pressures of the patients in that little cul-de-sac, I realized that my exit from the area was blocked by the patient whose blood pressure was not to be checked.

Standing between me and a way of escape, she asked, “Why don’t you take my blood pressure like everyone else’s?”

My brain was spinning weighing the possible answers and what she might do as a result.  No other staff members were in sight.  Partly in naiveté and partly stalling for time, I replied, “Do you want me to check your blood pressure?”

“Yes,” she said.

I thought to myself, OK…I will just wrap the cuff on her arm but I won’t pump it up.  Maybe it is the pressure on her arm that sets her off, and I can get away with faking this.

But, I had no sooner wrapped the cuff on her arm, than she was on me with the agility of a cat and had her hands around my throat.  She squeezed, and things started to go gray.

But then….I heard a cheerful voice.  A heavy-set lady who was manic depressive, and fortunately for me, in a manic state, came bouncing down the corridor saying, “What are you doing to the little nursie?”

She grabbed my attacker and pulled her off in one swift movement…not even a struggle.  I rapidly retreated to the safety of the nurses’ station grateful to have survived.  I had finger shaped bruises on my neck.

A few weeks later, while assigned to another ward, I was asked to take a group of sociology students on a tour of the grounds.  It was winter, and I was wearing a blue wool coat over my uniform, as we went between buildings.  We entered one of the units as the patients were finishing their meals.  A lady hopped up and came running toward me with her hands covered in mashed potatoes.  “Oh, Nursie,” she said, and gave me a big hug.  My nice winter coat now had mashed potato handprints. 

I had to forgive her, because she was the patient who had earlier rescued me.  

Rage of the Virgin

The recent murders in Santa Barbara have prompted criticism of multiple groups.  Some people fault law enforcement for not picking up on the extent of the young man’s problems in their recent encounters with him.  Some criticize the mental health network for inadequate assistance to the man and his concerned parents.  The father of one of the victims has come out strongly against the NRA and against legislators for failure to enact more stringent gun control laws.  I would like to point the finger at yet another “guilty party.”

We as a society are guilty of allowing young people to think that sexual activity is the norm and is, in fact, their right.  The young man’s primary complaint seemed to be that he was still a virgin and had never had a relationship with a young woman.  Having sex while still in high school seems to be a cultural norm.  We teach young people about “safe sex” and make sure they have their HPV immunization, because we expect they will engage in sex.  Sexual encounters among young adults prior to a committed marriage relationship are routine in the media.  It is portrayed on television and in the movies.  It is unavoidably described in the lyrics of songs.  

Recently my nine year old grandson asked me to find music on the radio while driving in the car.  I had a hard time finding a station that I felt comfortable with him hearing.  A song might begin with reasonable lyrics, but it then progressed (or regressed) into foul mouthed descriptions of activity not appropriate for nine year old consumption.  We have allowed ourselves to become a society in which our young people are constantly slapped in the face with their sexuality…or lack of it.

If one dares to suggest that this is WRONG, that person is out-of-touch, Puritanical, rigid, intolerant, and lots of other nasty things.

I DON’T CARE….IT IS WRONG!

Young people are rarely ready for the commitment that should accompany engaging in sex.  Sex outside of a committed marriage relationship is never “safe sex.”  We have failed our young people by allowing them to believe that it is just a physical function and can’t be helped.  Everyone must do it….like eating and having a bowel movement.  The connection that sex has to ones very soul is ignored.  The intricate dance of exploring the heart, mind and soul of another human being before exploring his or her body has been lost.  But, sex is much sexier when it does not involve instant gratification; when it is the culmination of getting to know a person socially, emotionally and intellectually, prior to hopping between the sheets. 

A young man in a rage over his virginity is only one of many fall-outs from our negligence.  It is, however, a particularly obvious and tragic one.