Linda called a dear friend from church and told her that she could contact anyone she wanted except for my pastor. He’s okay it’s just that sometimes I find him to be annoying. I didn’t want to deal with him and a stroke. Evidently my pastor found out that I didn’t want to see him; however, he thought it was just a rumor. The first opportunity I set him straight that I didn’t want to see him, and it wasn’t just a vicious rumor.
By the time I got settled in ICU, it was around 6 pm I seriously had to go to the bathroom. I was hooked up to oxygen, and there was an IV in my wrist. One of the nurses pulled out this potty chair I asked her what she wanted me to do with that contraption. I told her that if I sat on that seat I was going to be wet; the chair was going to be wet, and the floor.
She saw things my way and opened the bathroom door, what a relief it is to be able to pee without help. I barely got settle in my bed and in walks two of my church members and my pastor. I was happy to see my church members, and I wasn’t mad that my pastor was there. They visited with me for a few minutes, said a prayer, and then they left. I’m just thankful he only said a prayer and not one of those awful nursery rhymes he spouts off every Sunday, now that would have been more than I could stand.
I didn’t get much sleep that night between the nurse taking my blood pressure and temperature every hour. I had spasms in my left arm all night; out of the blue my left arm started jerking. I called the nurses’ station and a technician came in, and I told her that I had spasms in my arm; she gave me this blank stare until my arm jerked three times in her presence. She ran out of the room as if her hair was on fire to get a nurse. I guess she had never seen anything like that either. The nurse came in an assured me that the spasms were a normal reaction in stroke patients. She explained that the nerves are out of sync.
The nurse then took me down to radiology to have a MRI done, I felt like sausage being squeezed into a casing. Then a cage like contraption was placed over my face and I had to hold perfectly still. A person's who's claustrophobic would have difficulty, I swear the last time I had a MRI I was given a sedative.
I was lying there trying to concentrate on anything except my straight jacket like confinement, it sounds like hundreds of hammers are hitting a spacecraft. I did my best to focus on the last movie I’d seen. That didn’t work because the last movie I saw was 'Terminator: Salvation'. I keep imagining that I was trying to outrun the killing machines, and they were gaining ground. So I thought about my last church service, which was like a comedy of errors, but at least it got my mind off the MRI.
Finally I got back to my room at 10 pm, for some reason the song ‘Somebody Prayed for Me’ was in my head, and I truly felt at peace because I knew that people were praying for me. I got just enough rest to get me through the next round of testing, and then I was awakened at 7 am to get prepared for three more tests.
As I sat there with 23 neurons hooked up to my head, I was wishing again that I was somewhere else. I didn’t have a phone in my room, and my nurse came in every once in a while to tell me my sister called. I would say really, which one and name off all five of my sisters, and the nurse would say she must be one of your other sisters. I told her yeah I got about ten of them; they’re the sisters of my heart. A friend from work tried to visit me and evidently there were three other Stephanie Smith’s in the hospital, one of them had the same middle initial. Can't I go anywhere without another Stephanie Smith showing up.
I was released from the hospital on Friday, two days after my stroke, and I have to tell you that I honestly felt fantastic. When I got home, I opened my get-well cards, listened to my voice messages, read my e-mail and text messages, my mood went from good to excellent.
I knew what my previous pastor meant when he said give me my flowers while I’m alive to enjoy them. Well I received my flowers, and I enjoyed them immensely, they’re the type of flowers the will never fade, wilt, or die. I will cherish my flowers and those who gave them to me. By the way, I love all of you too!
It's early Monday morning. I'm listening to Heather Headley's song "I Wish". Tears come to my eyes as I listen to the words that so aptly describe my mother's hopes and dreams for me. As tears rolled down my face, snatches of memories fill my mind, the many sacrifices she made for me. With a child's mind, I often viewed my mother's actions as a dictatorship. As an adult, I only see unconditional love. There is nothing like a mother's love, and this is why I'm so thankful.
Thankful
She bathed me when I couldn't bathe myself
She's been my legs when I couldn't walk
She's been my eyes when I couldn't see
She fed me when I couldn't feed myself
She's seen me through every bump, bruise, accident, hospital stay, and surgery
She's attended every graduation, play, or production no matter how small my part
She styled my hair every morning just the way I wanted
She indulged me, allowing me to change my name every day
She's been my strong tower, inspiration, and truly a loving mother
The tide has changed
Now...
I bathe her
I'm her legs
I'm her eyes
I feed her when she can't feed herself
I see her through every, bump, bruise, hospital stay, and surgery
I listen to her talk, even though she has told me every story a million times
I style her hair just the way she wants every morning
I indulge her and let her call me by whatever name she wants
I'm blessed to be her strength
I hope I make her proud
I'm so thankful for my mother
I pray that I've been a worthy child
They Lived
The older I get the more memories I accumulate, and the more I tend to forget the people who played a pivotal part of my life. I had a dream last night about two childhood friends who have long since passed away. I rarely remember my dreams other than if they were pleasant or disturbing. Well I feel I was meant to remember this dream because I woke up and 3:10 am this morning and I wrote down what I remembered.
I can see the faces of the girls from grade school so clearly, when, in fact, I hadn’t thought of them in more than 20 years. Is there some inherent message about the way they lived that should be momentous or am I letting my imagination run away with me once again?
Debra was in my third grade class; she didn't come to school regularly due to illness. She was diagnosed with a rare disease; no one knew what it was, and she was referred to as that sick girl. She had good and bad days, but mostly bad days. In my child's mind, she never seemed to be in poor spirits other than the fact that she missed school. I used to play over Debra’s house when her mother said it was okay. We’d play with dolls and talk about the cute boys at school, and she would tell me about her wedding plans, the type of house she wanted to live in, and how many children she planned on having.
The last time I spoke with Debra I was in junior high and her illness had aged her way before her time. She was walking from the store with her mother and I was riding my bike. I stopped briefly to talk with Debra and her mother. I could tell from the expression on Debra’s face that she wished she could ride with me. Debra was bloated from the toll the illness and treatments were taking on her body. Her beautiful brown eyes still shined bright with hope of the future as she talked about her plans for a husband and children.
I felt guilty for not visiting her, it was as if I shook her off and moved on with my life. Life moves on, and I respond to meet the challenges of the day. Debra passed away when I was in high school, and a small piece of me died. I would still see her mother from time to time. She would wave at me, and she seemed to be okay because finally her baby was at rest. Debra was what my mother called an old soul. It was like she’d been here before and she knew all along how the situation would end, but she still had hope for the future. I’m sorry to say that gradually time passed on and so did my memorie
s of Debra.
Yvonne was another friend from my childhood. I didn’t know what was wrong with her other than she had heart problems. Every two years or more Yvonne had to have surgery on her heart to accommodate her growth spurts. Yvonne was full of life and chattered all the time; she was a good-natured person even though her heart wouldn’t allow her to run like the other children. I lost touch with Yvonne after she moved away in sixth grade. I met up with her again when we were adults. I used to work at the mall, and I saw Yvonne while I was on my lunch break. She looked exactly the same, and she greeted me as if we had never parted.
We spent that brief amount of time catching up with each other, I was in college, and she had met and married the man of her dreams. She also told me that she was pregnant with what she hoped was a baby girl. I was immediately alarmed because she told me back in grade school that she could never have kids because her heart couldn’t withstand the strain.
Yvonne was too happy for me to bring that up, so I embellished myself in her happiness because this baby was more valuable to her than life itself. We exchanged information, promising to keep in touch. She told me that she would contact me after the baby was born. I promised to come see her and the baby.
Several months had passed when I spotted Yvonne’s brother in the mall. I smiled at him and asked him if Yvonne had the baby and if she got her little girl. There are some moments that I wish I could live over; this would be one for me. Yvonne’s brother's face was frozen with grief as he told me that Yvonne had died after giving birth to her daughter. Evidently she had a heart attack and went into a coma. Her brother went and sat on a bench in the mall and began to cry. I felt so awful that I began to cry too. My careless words had made him relive the loss of his sister, and I had lost another childhood friend.
I’m wiping tears off my face as I sit here writing this story, but suddenly something exceedingly powerful was revealed to me. Both Debra and Yvonne were sickly children, and both of them lived every day as if it were their last. I can honestly say Debra and Yvonne lived more in their short lives than most people who are twice their age. If there is a message in this, I would say life is a blessing. Cherish it and never forget the essential things in life like loved ones, family, and of course good friends. Rest in peace my sisters until we meet again.
Traveling With Mother
My family never took vacations when I was a child. There was no one to visit because my parents had no money, and there were too many kids. When I worked at the bank, I was required to take annual trips for educational purposes. Before my mother’s health took a turn for the worst, she had traveled with me. It was so pleasant having those uninterrupted one-on-one trips with my mother. Now I’m not going to lie, sometimes my mother’s stubbornness made me want to pull my hair out. I’ll never forget those times, and I will cherish them all the days of my life.
My mother and I took a train to Seattle, Washington in September of 1993; it was my first time on a train. Riding the train was more comfortable than a plane, and at that time the food on the train was excellent. That first night we were settling down to sleep, one by one the lights were turned off, and it was peaceful and quiet.
Out of nowhere, this woman starts singing "Kumbayah". Are you kidding me? Is this a Coke commercial? Who just burst into song when people are trying to sleep? The backlash was just awful; people started yelling and I started laughing.
This went on for about forty-five minutes. The woman was determined to sing Kumbayah no matter the cost. Eventually, an Amtrak employee came and quieted everybody down. Okay I was still laughing; my mother told me that I was a laughing fool as she wiped the tears from her face. Seldom had I seen my mother laugh so hard that she was crying.
In September of 1996, my mother and I traveled to Atlanta, Georgia. I was an adult woman well into my late twenties during taking my first plane ride, and I didn’t enjoy it at all. There’s just something about flying through the clouds that make you wish you were still on the ground. Back then, the airlines were still serving a whole can of soda with peanuts. I remember this clearly because I couldn’t get my tray to stay down and my mother’s tray wouldn’t stay down either. She looked at me dead serious like and said, “It’s because we’re fat, huh.” At first, I thought she was serious until she smiled. I agreed it was because we were too large, too tall, or just too much.
The Summer Olympic Games had just finished weeks prior to our arrival in Atlanta, and there were still many vendors on the streets of downtown Atlanta. We were staying at the downtown Hyatt, so mostly we walked everywhere we went; we walked to the Underground Shopping Center, the Capitol building, and even passed The Georgia Dome.
We were miles away from the hotel when I begged my mother to catch a bus, cab, or something. Do you know what this 70 year old said? Quit whining and try to keep up, a young girl like you shouldn’t have any problems keeping up with an old woman. By the time we got back to the hotel, my legs felt like cement bricks. I threw myself on the hotel bed and lay there like a slug. Only then did my mother say yeah we did walk a long way we probably should have caught the bus or something. I cracked one eye opened and looked at her and said “or something”.
In the summer of 1997, my mother and I took a train ride to Baltimore, Maryland. A train in front of us had derailed, and we had to make the rest of our trip by bus. Several Coach Buses came to transport passengers from a small town in Pennsylvania to Baltimore. I was worried about my mother because she’s a diabetic and we didn’t have access to water and food as we would have on the train.
My mother and I were on the bus for hours before finally reaching a rest stop. The rest stop included a restaurant with every type of food you could imagine, hot and cold. My mother looked gray, and her skin felt somewhat clammy. I wanted to get some food and fluids into her as soon as possible, but she was more concerned about using the restroom. People were getting off the buses and heading straight to the restroom. So, I told her that I’d get our food while she went to the restroom, and I would use the restroom later before we got back on the bus.
I never told my mother this but seeing her in that condition scared me. She had only been diagnosed as a diabetic recently, and I certainly didn’t know what to do for her. As a child, my parents seem bigger than life. Able to handle anything until I realized that they’re human. At that moment, I witnessed my mother’s frailty, and it was a humbling experience although a necessary one. I had to step up and be the strong one, which is only fitting since my mother had been carrying the load for so long. As luck would have it, food and water was what my mother needed. It’s surprising what an apple, bottle of water, and a chicken sandwich can do for a person.
We finished our lunch and got back on the bus, we were sitting in front of the bus on the second row. There was a woman sitting in front of us who was larger than both me and my mother put together. Sitting in front of us wasn’t the problem, although her constant toilet trips began to grate on my nerves. Every twenty minutes this woman stood up and started laughing because she had to go to the "potty" again.
“Hee hee I wonder what’s wrong with me. I just can’t stop going to the potty, hee hee.” It seems to me that a sane person wouldn’t want to use the gross toilet in the back of the bus unless it was necessary. I could hear the people behind me groaning as she made her way to the back of the bus, slapping people upside their heads with her breasts or her hips. She whacked me in the head the first time she went to the bathroom because I wasn’t paying attention.
Then she had the audacity to come back and chug on the gallon water jug she got from the rest stop. I said aloud to no one in particular, “If she’d stop guzzling that damn water she wouldn’t beat the hell out of us trying to get to the toilet every twenty minutes.” My mother bowed her head and told me that I wasn’t related to her. The woman didn’t stop drinking water, nor did she quit her frequent trips to the potty; however, on her last trip back to the bathroom I think she peed on the floor. Someone in the back of the bus b
egan talking loudly about nasty people peeing on the seat and floor. There’s just something about sitting on or walking through someone’s pee that just makes all urges to use the toilet go away.
My mother's quick wit and acerbic delivery always makes for an entertaining time. I have more traveling adventures to share, but I’ll save them for another story.
It's strange how some people can have a significant impact on your life. I knew someone like the woman in this story. She was a woman who resided at a nursing home where my sister worked. I use to take my sister her lunch and this old woman would come out and talk to me. I wore an enormous afro back then, and she thought I was her son. She would call me Sonny and speak to me as if I came to visit her. It ticked me off at first, especially since she thought I was a boy. For a few months in the summer of 1976, I was a boy named Sonny.
Tremble
When I was a child, an old woman came to one of our Christmas programs. You see she just escaped from the assisted living home down the street. She felt that she lived so long that she had nothing else to live for; her children had moved on leaving the state years ago. All of her friends had already gone on to glory to be with the Lord. She wanted to know why she was left there just to linger on.
When she saw all the cars in the church's parking lot, she came to investigate. You all know how nosey older people can be. Beg my pardon if you're the nosey older person, but hey you know I'm telling the truth. No need to get all puffed up, angry, and ready to fight.
Out Of Darkness Page 4