“If you know you have to wait anyway, why not make a decision to enjoy your life while you’re waiting? Why not be happy...? - Joel Osteen
To wait... it's not that bad. Or at least I've come to find if you enjoy yourself living you won't notice the wait too much. It's not longing that keeps you waiting or pressing matters and quite often it's patience that stills the impulse to react badly. Don't get me wrong, rushing into things has its moment too. But with some things you wait. You find the delicate balance and you let it all happen without intrusion. Why? Because sometimes another person knows better than you... it's trust you place upon another person. If you can not, then it's best not to enter those situations where you must rely upon another besides yourself. Your life is yours to care for, trust yourself first, then you trust another. Here's an old story, with an update that came the published ebook, that reminds me of waiting and a bit of trust.
Enjoy! Kisses, m.
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| Tub - c/o tylershields.com |
On Ice
(8-12-09)
On Ice.
There are things you put on ice.
Sore necks.
Bad news.
Hot tempers.
Vodka.
Dead bodies.
All of which are among the countless uses for frozen water.
My teeth start to chatter. I’m pretty certain my lips are blue. Hypothermia can set in the body in a matter of minutes depending on the temperature. Which in this instance the warmth in the room is anywhere in the vicinity of below 59 degrees and continuing to drop. Upon entrance to this walk-in freezer I disabled the controls to the thermostat in the hope it would extend my life while I wait.
As soon as I enter the room and secure the door behind me I began removing my shoes and clothing. I carefully step into the vat of ice. Delicately I submerge my torso inch by inch beneath the cold blanket of ice. The blood from my open wound spills out staining the ice. Slowly the flow of crimson begins to lessen. The waves of freezing set into my body as I wait. My skin takes on a new color and my face feels the blush of winter. My breathing is slower and shallow. I’m getting sleepy.
I’m not certain how long a person can live without a kidney and proper medical attention, but I wait. He promised he’d come. Follow shortly after I did. Rather after we did this. See you can’t cut out your own kidney. It requires assistance.
Chance said, “I’ll be there in a matter of minutes behind you. Wait. Don’t do anything stupid. You can not risk your life. Just wait for me.”
So I wait. Keep in mind. Neither of us are doctors. Actually Chance was excommunicated from the world of medicine for a similar abuse on school property during his last term as a med student. His calling as a surgeon washed away with one foolish irresponsible move. But we didn’t have time to find someone else. He gave me a local anesthetic and promised it would hurt like hell. Well, it didn’t tickle. Laugh. Pain. Smile. Chatter.
Wait.
Now why am I missing a kidney? Money. Of course, right? I would be thinking money. Not at all. It’s quite the contrary. To simplify it, Chance asked me for it. I agreed. What woman gives a man her kidney? A crazy one. I trust him with all my heart. This explains why I’m waiting here instead of the emergency room at the nearest hospital. This rationalization seems ridiculous when I think about it. The long story isn’t much clearer in my opinion either.
Chance returned home quite distraught. He wouldn’t speak to me or look me in the eye for over an hour. It was clear he wrestling with something in his mind and it was winning. When I could no longer bear to watch him suffer I grabbed him and refused to let go until he told me what was going on.
“I need a kidney,” he says like it’s a gambling debt he has to repay. I can tell he’s quite serious though. I mention cadavers. With that thought he breaks free of my grasp and shakes his head no, moving his entire body in this denial.
“It has to come from a person… a… a… a living person.” He’s terrified and shaking fiercely. “I don’t need to keep it. Just need it for a little bit. And his voice gets quiet and stops with a pause before dropping the final blow, “TONIGHT!”
I walk over and hold him to stop the shaking.
He whispers, “Its life or death. Mine.”
I love him, so I offer.
He declines and pushes me away.
I pause.
He asks, “Are you sure? I won’t unless you are.”
I am. We agree. He promises to come for me. So here I wait for him to return, with or without my kidney.
The icy bath has the rancor of death. Frozen slow death. It’s my blood mixing with the ice. Red, glistening, breathe taking, numb, creeping in without a warning.
Chance, where are you? I think I’m dying. On ice. Alone.
There’s not enough life in me for anger or sadness. It’s cold. Quiet. I trust him. My breathing has slowed even more. The precise hole in my torso has temporarily cauterized from the cold. I’m thankful that bleeding out isn’t what’s killing me. I manage to stay coherent a little longer.
My eyes flutter.
The door swings.
Eyes closed then open.
It’s Chance. Maybe it’s too late.
Closed.
Open.
He’s bent over next to me with both hands fiercely digging in the ice to free me.
Closed.
Open.
Red ice.
Closed.
Closed.
Maybe not.
Open.
Open.
Chance.