A Tale of Two Waiting Rooms

This couch is the focal point of the waiting room in Clinic A.

At Clinic B, I wait in a row of chairs in the hallway.

Since my accident in July, I have spent a lot of time at two excellent clinics (I'll call them Clinic A and Clinic B) here in the Twin Cities, receiving therapy for different repercussions of my injuries. I am so grateful for the doctors and therapists who've treated me in both places, have been impressed by their knowledge and compassion, and will gladly recommend each of them to anyone.

I'm not sure I feel the same way about their waiting rooms, however. You see, I've spent a fair amount of time waiting at each of these clinics, and it's the waiting that sometimes has the strongest effect on me. Based on my waiting room experiences, I have to recommend Clinic B.

Don't get me wrong: I'm not complaining about EITHER clinic running behind schedule (especially not since I've had such attentive, helpful appointments once getting in). The actual waiting hasn't been the problem. Rather, the problem is my heart, and one waiting room seems to be much better therapy for it than the other.

Clinic A sports the most luxurious clinic waiting room I've ever experienced. It's obvious that an interior designer had a hand in its appearance. It's lovely. Some furniture still fits the waiting room mold, but the room is flavored with something akin to opulence.

Clinic B, on the other hand, ran out of waiting room space a long time ago. Patients wait in the corridors of this hospital-turned-clinic space. There is no classical music playing while you wait here. Instead, the constant bustling of patients being transported to appointments and clinicians conferring with each other as they hurry to their next assignment provides background noise.

The activity and noise in the hallways of Clinic B have not always been comfortable for my oversensitive brain; however, the things I've observed while waiting in those hallways have been good for my heart.

See, when I'm at Clinic A, I look around and see people who, like me, have choices about the medical care they seek and the places they go. In that waiting room, I'm often reminded of what I don't have. I find that suddenly I'm concerned whether I wore the right pair of shoes to match the jacket I chose that morning. I think deep thoughts like, "Why did I not switch purses before I came?" I worry about fitting in and measuring up.

That's not true at Clinic B. There, I see people who have limited choices, people who have injuries far more severe than mine. One man I saw regularly for weeks had just one leg. Another had screws holding his head and neck brace in place. Some people are there as inpatients because there is no one to provide support or care at home. I've seen people who are making it, but who face immense challenges.

And I'm reminded of how much I have. How much is still intact. How much I have to be grateful for. How much I have to give. Instead of discontentment, I often walk out of Clinic B with a profound sense of wealth. I pray that sense may turn to gratefulness and compassion. I hope that what I've seen while waiting there changes the way I see the world and live in it.

Letters to an Absent Miss Djerf

One question I’ve constantly fielded this winter is “Are you missing teaching?” There are two answers:

 No, I’m not missing the stress of teaching. Right now, the idea of managing the noise and activity of first and second graders all day is synonymous with thoughts of torture.

But yes, I’m missing the students. Terribly!

I missed them even more when I received letters from the class near Christmas. Their unfettered affection, creative spelling, and imaginative drawings (one featured me snowboarding down a steep mountain with the caption "your wining Miss Djerf", while another depicted me with some serious eyelash augmentation) triggered all kinds of warm-fuzzy emotions. 

Here are a few of these precious missives, nothing added except for titles (which double as summaries of my experiences with those particular children):

The Compassionate One

Dear Miss Djerf

I am having a good time at sckool. it was nicer when you wher hery. today wee are having hot choclit. The sckool has chached sinc your gon. But I feel bad that you hert.

The Enthusiastic One

Dear miss Djerf,

I was excited when I hrd this nys!

I hrd this

I hrd i wus cuming in youer klasrum.

I jumpd up!

I wos so hape!

I love your voys

it sos god.

you or nis

The Distracted One

Dear Miss Djerf

I hop you feel betr so you can come to shcool but after the shcool yer you are going to go to shcool so you will feel betr so you can go to shcool nest yer

I hop you cood feel betr I like you a lot

The Precise One

Dear Miss Djerf,

I really am looking forward to seeing you next year. Why not come on February third that is my dad’s half birthday.

Merry Christmas.

Boy, do I miss them.

A New Favorite Grocery Shopping Story

[image: mbeans.com]

Last month, my mother, niece, and nephew brought me to the grocery store for the first time in over eight weeks. (I'm still recovering from the moped accident and brain injury, and up until now, have been receiving grocery deliveries from others. So getting to go along was a BIG DEAL.) I have never had so much fun grocery shopping.

So many things about it were delightful; I don't even know where to start...

I'm still smiling about my one-year-old nephew's evident belief that we were doing this all FOR him. He displayed his jubilation and expectation with grunts, yells, arm-waving, and leg-kicking every time we put something in the cart. Quite the show, and he didn't lose a bit of enthusiasm throughout the store.

I haven't yet stopped teasing my mom about caving to my two-year-old niece's constant suggestions throughout the store. "Grammy, don't you think we should get a treat? Grammy, don't you think we should buy a ball to play with? Grammy, don't you think we should buy some macaroni and cheese?" The first time I saw Grammy turn her down was when she brought a clock (I know, a clock? In a grocery store?) she'd found down an aisle somewhere. Had the clock been made of chocolate, I think it would have ended differently...

We made our way so, so slowly through the store, and I loved it. (I was a pretty slow person before this brain injury, and now I just have a great excuse.) I chuckled later to realize that my niece and I had constantly walked right in front of people throughout the whole store, though for different reasons. She was lost in her imaginative chatter (and occasional suggestions to Grammy), while I've grown accustomed to wearing my hat pulled down low in bright environments and sometimes miss things peripherally as a result.

But the best part, the cherry on top, was the woman who came up to me as I was waiting at the checkout. Pointing to my niece's hair, she said, "Wow, her hair is so blond it's almost white. MY daughter's hair was like that when she was a little girl..."

I agreed that her hair is white-blond, to which the woman responded with several more assurances that her daughter's hair had, indeed, been so blond it could be mistaken for white. (Apparently, having a small child with you is an invitation for people to conduct random conversations with you in public places.)

I'd almost stopped listening when she ended with this gem: "And you know what was the strangest thing about it?" She paused dramatically, and then continued in a hushed voice. "When it was wet, it smelled like chicken feathers."

I say, every once in a while, you just need a story that ends up being about chicken feathers.

Detours: Under Construction, Part Two

“You might let me cry/ You might let me sing, 

You might let me feel a fraction of Your suffering/ but You won’t let me down.” 

(Never Let Me Down by Andy Gullahorn) 

Image: www.signsshipped.com

While there are multiple word pictures I’m holding on to in this season of life (perhaps I’ll blog another time about beetles or dahlias), the one that resonates the most is the one of construction and detours, leftover from an unpublished blog post written last summer.

Then, many of my thoughts were in the theoretical range. Now, some of those ideas are defining my life, and I have a few more thoughts to add.

The analogy in that blog post broke down because I knew the outcome of the driveway construction in five days. Five days of upheaval, and then poof! Beauty. But life isn’t like that.

Life construction happens more like the massive highway overpass project that’s been underway near my home for the past two years. You don’t build bridges and re-route roads and revamp intersections (all while keeping pace with traffic) in a quick-and-easy fashion. It takes time.

In fact, the first leg of the project was simply bringing massive piles of dirt to settle where the bridge would eventually be erected. They sat there all winter. Big, ugly piles of dirt.

Once the actual construction began, the hallmark was its detours.  Three major roads meet at that place, and none of them was ever closed down for more than a few hours at a time (usually in the dead of night). Those of us who commuted daily on these roads had no alternatives in this area but to keep driving on them. Or, to be precise, to keep driving on the detours which bore their names.

Some early changes remained constant, while other sections were completely new every few weeks. I learned that zoning out while driving home from work was not an option. If I wasn’t paying attention, it was easy to miss my exit or end up heading the wrong direction.

Nearly four months ago, I was in an accident which left me with a mild-to-moderate traumatic brain injury (TBI).  It could have been so much worse, and I’m incredibly grateful for all that is intact in my body and mind, as well as for the myriad ways I have seen the love and faithfulness of God as a result of the accident.

However, the recovery has been one of detour upon detour.

In the hospital, I was told that I’d likely be back to normal in a month. (I now know that 80-85% of people with this type of head injury recover fully within a month, so to be told such wasn’t out of line.)

Nearly a month later, and nowhere near my former “normal,” I learned that it could be more like three months before I could drive again or return to work. Starting the school year with my students was out of the question. I cried for hours after that appointment.

Just recently (fourteen weeks after the accident) I had a similar appointment with that doctor. This time she delivered the news that I cannot return to work at all this school year. My progress has not been consistent enough to consider adding the load of teaching (or any work right now).

Detours, and more detours. Just when I think I know where things are headed, the road veers a different direction, and I squint into the future, looking for signs of any sort. Any reassurance I’m still on the right road.

There have been days lately when I've been consumed by wondering about this detour. How long will it last? Will it ever end? Will I be able to cope with the transition to the next season? If this detour has been difficult, how will I ever face more challenging things?

Two thoughts are lighting the way before me, giving me enough confidence to keep moving even though this detour is both uncomfortable and unrecognizable.

First, I trust the One who can see the whole project, both the work inside my heart and the work in His world. He has demonstrated His trustworthiness to me time and again, and the past sixteen weeks have been no different, except in one measure: the acuity of my need. Keen awareness of my need for God –not as an insurance policy over my agenda at large, but instead as the air I breathe and the strength I must have to do whatever He’s placed before me- is a gift, however it is packaged.

Second, when I picture the final result of that overpass project by my house, I smile. The finished product is far superior to the previous, dangerous intersection. Whoever planned and executed that project did a good job. How much more can I trust my Heavenly Father to do a good job in me?

 “What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?” (Romans 8:31-32)

Demolition: Under Construction, Part One

[Note: I wrote this entry over a year ago (August 2010), but didn’t feel right about posting it then. I do now. How strange to peruse my drafts folder recently and realize that I’d received a word picture for a future time frame! Have more to say, but that will be another post.]

[Image from seamanconstruction.com]

Several weeks ago [as I said, August 2010], I woke up early on a Monday morning to the sound of a giant piece of machinery pounding our driveway into bits, while a Bobcat zipped around leveraging chunks out and lifting them into waiting dump truck. By the end of the day, the assault was over, and no pavement remained. (Things like this can happen to your driveway when you share it with all the other townhome residents and the association decides what happens to it and when.) 

As many things do, it got me thinking. I've felt a little like I've been under construction this summer.  A brush with ill health and physical limitations, along with a shift from many of my typical activities, have left my identity on the ground, cracked and fragile. I'm pondering who I am underneath, what's left beneath the things I do.

Being sick -even though it only lasted a few weeks- revealed how flimsy my grasp on health and independence is, and it scared me. Life changes quickly, easily, and we don't usually see those demolitions or detours coming. Instead, you wake up one morning and something you have no control over is tearing up the pavement. The things that defined you, gave you purpose, secured your position in the world -- those same things are being mercilessly hauled away. And you wonder what to do with what's left.

I've recently watched several people in my life face this kind of major upheaval, due to health problems, loss of a job, consequences of choices, or fallout from the choices of others.  Few, if any, have the luxury of seeing where they're headed; all they know is that life is different. Entirely different.    

In front of my house, the purpose behind the upheaval was revealed soon enough. Over the rest of the week, other workers (and vehicles) arrived to level the dirt, pour new concrete, and eventually spread and smooth new asphalt.  [The freshly minted driveways make me want to dig out my rollerblades and go for a spin. If a driveway can be drop-dead gorgeous, mine is.]

It's at this point that this comparison falls apart, because life construction happens at a MUCH slower pace.  We see the piles of rubble, but we cannot envision what will replace them. 

  

Seems that God knows we won’t usually sign ourselves up for construction.

I don't know God's timetable, but I do know that the big-picture blueprint states that He is working to transform me into His likeness (2 Cor. 4), and that He who began a good work in me will be faithful to complete it until the day of Jesus Christ (Philippians 1).  

Small Discoveries

In a summer awash with some rather big stuff, there have been some less-than-life-size thoughts that have made their way into my awareness. Some important, some not. For instance, I have discovered that...

...warm Gatorade is super comforting.

...ground-up pizza tastes unbelievably good after eating broth and jello. (Hooray for a mother who doesn't think in terms of limits.)

...I like goat cheese. (Thanks, Amy!)

...I still do not like tofu. (Also thanks to Amy.)

...I actually don't like blue cheese. I thought I did. Disappointed by that realization.

...I have become a big fan of chicken nuggets. (Thanks to Dave O.)

...moped accidents can bring about remarkable changes in one's life.

...adjusting to said changes is quite the learning experience. I hope it will make me more sensitive to others facing similar learning curves in the future.

...I have a lot of protective people in my life. Getting into a moped accident on a date will totally bring those people out of the woodwork.

...insignificant changes to my environment, like turning the lights down or turning my back to the light, can make my headaches go away.

...I know about those insignificant changes because of the really tuned-in people God has brought into my life in the past few weeks. (Really grateful for the TBI Clinic at HCMC!)

...the people in my life (my family, friends, co-workers, school families, and others, too!) are far more amazing than I even thought they were. (If I were to name them all here, this blog post would never end...)

...being a part of the Body of Christ is an incredible privilege. 

...God never fails to surprise me. Or to come through.

...sometimes, less is more, like keeping a blog post short enough that it can be finished before a headache surfaces. :) The end!

Grow, Plants!

Being away from my garden for the past week (due to my accident), I'm thinking about it. Thankful that my roommate has taken on the job of keeping it alive while I'm away. But still wondering what its future will be...

I spent the better part of a late May evening out on my deck, ordering my little garden just so. First had to spread the whole thing with trash bags and cardboard so as to avoid raining dirt on our downstairs neighbor. Tiff, of course, when she re-potted all her stuff three days later, was smart and took her mess around to our front yard. My common sense, however, floundered and didn't make an appearance until later. Oh, well. This is how I roll.

Nearly two months later,my basil, cilantro, kale, and parsley are going crazy; the peppermint, spearmint, rosemary, and chives are catching up. Geraniums, Gebera daisies, petunias, phlox, and two very perky dahlias, nearly all gifts from students at the end of the year, are blooming happily. My thriving jalapeno plant is a constant enigma to me, since I don't like peppers. Every time I water it, I wonder, "Why did I buy this?!" But I'm happy it's growing nonetheless.

Part of me loves growing things. Each day requires just a little of me; a full watering can, a few blooms deadheaded, a mint leaf ripped and chewed just to assure the garden that it's doing its job. 

But part of me is wary of this garden thing, too, for the same reason. I know myself too well. I know my track record with things that require small investments over long periods of time. You see, I'd like to be able to complete it on the first interaction with it, to guarantee its success while I still have sufficient time and interest for it. 

Beginning the garden was delightful. Keeping it alive for this long: an accomplishment, to be sure. But unless I actually harvest and use these herbs, my efforts feel a little wasted. I hesitated at the beginning of this process for that very reason. My schedule and lack of time spent cooking the past month has validated some of those worries. 

So much of life is like this, though. Rarely is anything meaningful begun and wrapped up in one day. Relationships are built upon thousands of small investments. Books are written a few hundred words at a time. Painful experiences are healed through consistent, loving responses in the opposite direction. Slowly, always. Slow isn't bad. It's just how growth happens.

I'm seeing this as I recover from my accident, too. Each day, I have to rest in the understanding that while big recovery is not visible on a daily basis, what happens in all the tiny daily pieces matters. All I have is to be faithful with the small part that is in my hand on that day. I can't make myself heal, but I can drink another can of Ensure or take another nap when I'm supposed to...

I'm relieved to know that I'm not depending upon myself for growth. I'm depending upon the One who is faithful to begin the good work He's started. 

I do have a perfect model to look at when it comes to patience. I'm amazed that God is willing to participate in bringing growth and healing in us when it's such a messy, slow, discouraging process! When He opens our eyes to see and value the gospel, He doesn't automatically change everything within us. He allows His Spirit and Word to work slowly, from the inside out, and He doesn't give up on us along the way. 

"Therefore, my beloved, as you have always obeyed, so now, not only as in my presence but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God is works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure." Philippians 2:12-13

No Reading, Still Learning -- Just Different Stuff Than Planned

This will be brief. I'm not supposed to allow my brain too much time like this, but it simply drives me crazy not to write at all!

It was supposed to be the sixth week of reading. Never made it to posting week five (it's slipped on the priority list), and week six has involved no reading whatsoever. That's because I had an exciting incident which involved flying over the handlebars of a moped on Wednesday evening and landing on my face in the middle of Lake Street, which precipitated 48 hours at HCMC on the neuro-trauma unit, and then forced rest at my parents' since. 

Wednesday night, just after ER but after they cleaned me up.

I have a lot to learn about resting over the next month. First lesson: I do not do this well. Working on it.

Thursday. Yuck.

I AM trying to sleep more than usual these days. My little brother just walked into the living room and asked, "Megan, what time do you go down for your nap?" We both cracked up.

Saturday. Improving!

Gratefulness, which guards me in so many ways, is something I want to cultivate during this season. So I'll share my list today. I'm thankful...

...that we were wearing helmets on Wednesday night. Multiple doctors have told me that my helmet probably saved my life. 

...for nearby, competent, caring medical personnel. I was in good hands.

...for loving, encouraging words from every corner of my life (representing loving, encouraging people everywhere I go -- how did I end up being connected to so many amazing people like that?! You know who you are -- thanks!).

...for parents who are well in the habit of going above and beyond the call of duty. (I've been woken up at 6 AM every morning by my dad, who gets me my pain med and then prays for me before he goes to work. And the list of things my mom has done for me --grinding up food since I can't chew, constantly refilling my drinks, not even blinking when I threw up in her car, patiently helping me remember things like the order of the alphabet, listening to me tell the same story multiple times-- would be a massive blog post all by itself. And that's without any of the effusive commentary I'd want to include!)

...for Scripture which has come back to my mind even when I haven't been able to read it, and for all of the people who have sent me Scripture. (I've been particularly grateful for the many verses which have come from Li, Tiff, & Dave. Thanks, guys, for sharing your meals with me!) I laid awake early Thursday morning, highly frustrated by the fact I was immobilized, they wouldn't remove my catheter, and the doctors wouldn't come back for at least an hour. Peace came as I mentally rehearsed James 3, which wasn't even connected to the situation, but just truth. And truth is life.

...for an adorable nephew who keeps coming across the living room while I type and pulling my laptop screen down to share a flirty smile with me. He's not bothered by all of my wounds. :)

Today. Looking better! Wish the inside felt as good as the outside, but moving in the right direction...

OK, so I lied about this being short. But it felt so good to write. Might be a while before my next one, especially if the guardians of my recovery find out about this...

Summer Reading, Week Four

My reading list was much shorter this past week, so you get an image for every one!

Picture Books

*Splash! by Ann Jonas. If you have kids who are learning to count, I highly recommend this book. Animals sliding, falling, and splashing in and out of the pond make the count different on every page.












That Rabbit Belongs to Emily Brown by Cressida Crowell. I brought this book along while nannying this week, and we read it several times amidst much laughter.

Intermediate Literature

**One-Handed Catch by Mary Jane Auch. Great story. Set just after WWII, it's the story of Norman, a sixth-grader who loses his hand in an accident. I particularly enjoyed the tone and voice of this book. A bit smart-alecky, but not too much.

***Moon Over Manifest by Clare Vanderpool. This is one of my three favorites so far! Best Newbery winner I've read this summer. Vanderpool weaves two story lines together in a way that made me feel like I was a part of the community she wrote about. Reminded me of Holes -- perhaps as good, even. (Coming from me, that's high praise!)






Teen / Young Adult Literature

**The Latehomecomer by Kao Kalia Yang, who lives in Minnesota! Excellent memoir of life as a refugee, first in Thailand and then here in Minnesota. I learned much about the Hmong people from this book.








Page count this week: 1,144. Eight fewer books than last week, but 120 pages more. They were some big books...