Previous Challenge Entry (Level 2 – Intermediate)
Topic: Sharp (03/07/13)
TITLE: I'm Not That Sharp!
By Rita Minner
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The pain shook me to the core; I lurch forward in agony as my left hand reflexively finds its way to my right side. The precious china gravy boat slips out of my other hand and crashes to the floor just before I do. It shatters to pieces spewing gravy across the kitchen floor as I scrunch into a fetal position.
My husband should hear the commotion. I call out for him−no answer. I yell his name, louder this time, ďFrank, Iím dying here!Ē This is worse than labor and I must look like a beached whale swimming around in this gravy. Where is a telephone when you need it? The cell phone is in my purse on the counter; I try to get to my knees to reach for it. Itís only then I see the shard of glass protruding from the heel of my right hand and a steady pulsating stream of blood dripping off my wrist. I didnít even feel its razor-sharp slice and without thinking, I pull it out; Big mistake! Now a nice little river is flowing. Can things get any better? I shout again, ďFRANK!Ē The only response is the monotonous drone of our lawnmower. I reach for my handbag and everything clatters out to join me on the floor. I manage to dial 911 and while it seems like a lifetime, only minutes pass before I hear ambulance sirens. The big honking noise grows louder and louder. The next thing I see is my husbandís horrified face as he leads the charge of emergency personnel through the front door and into our kitchen. What a sight!
Tests, X-rays, blood tests, an MRI and a diagnosis later, leaves us stunned. A large egg-sized tumor on my liver is discovered. Surgery is day after tomorrow and the kids are flying in. This reversal is flooring to say the least (pun intended), as I am always the individual to take charge, wrap it up, get everything organized, the all-our-ducks-in-a-row-and-get-things-done person. I am in control, always! Now my husband calls off work to take care of me and my children will sit at my bedside to hold my hand in a consoling gesture. That too is irritating because I canít use my right hand. Evidently the remnants of my great-grandmotherís gravy boat nicked a nerve and I canít move my thumb or close my hand; A piece of china I guarded so closely; I wouldnít use it when my children were small for fear theyíd break it. Ironic, isnít it? The Dr. said my hand should get better after some time if Iíd just relax and rest it awhile. If he knew my personality he might see this as highly problematic. This whole nightmare is worse than swimming around on the kitchen floor in gravy. Will someone please wake me up?!
While the happy medicine the nurses inject shaves the edge off the pain in my side; Fearís razor chisels into my heartÖI CANíT be sick. Thereís too much to do, too much I still want to do. I donít have time to die. I never allowed myself to think about dying. I have always been the person to take care of the details in our lives. Control makes me feel secure. All these thoughts are swimming around in my mind. Then, with brilliant clarity, reality rolls through the cobwebs of my medicated mind. Just as this pain came without warning; I had no control over it. The precious china I guarded and kept from my childrenís hands, sharply cut into my own and injured it. I had no control over this either and now my hand lays open and useless. No clutching, no control.
The sharp realization that Iím not, nor have I ever truly been in control is as shocking as the sight of that glass sticking out of my hand. Even though I always fool myself into believing I am in control of my life, my husbandís, my childrenís; Iím not and never have been.
I can release my fists of control and rest in the One who loves me so much, He died for me. My job is to rest. Unclench my fists of control, relax, open them and allow Him to take care of the details of life. Fear flees. I can trust Him to take care of the details tomorrow brings.
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