One thing I love about Idaho is the 75 mph speed limit on the open road. Coming from a family of race car drivers (who waste their time on a closed circuit turning left) I find 75 to be a perfectly civilized speed. There is nothing like wide open spaces before and behind, with sage brush, mountains and endless sky - and a civilized speed limit. Hit cruise control and fly...
... which is fine until you see the detour sign and new posted speed limit - my experience on Saturday night. I was cruising along enjoying the view with my mapquest directions beside me, and all of a sudden I was turned onto a different road via the emergency room here in Meridian. A funny heart rhythm that had annoyed me since December unexpectedly morphed into something that came with pain and cold sweats - and didn't stop a few seconds after starting as it usually does. Even I, who was raised in a family that can claim denial as a primary coping strategy, sport and group accomplishment, knew that I could not pretend this wasn't happening. So with my "I hate hospitals" mantra playing loudly in my head, I went to the local ER anyway.
The care I received was outstanding - I have no cause for complaint. The negative mantra is clearly based in the past (as most of them are) and has no basis in the present. After my initial work up, they kept me in an observation unit for eight hours to make sure my I hadn't had a heart attack. My room was small, quiet (except for the alarms I kept setting off) and had no outside windows. Once I was settled in it, they turned off the lights, closed the door and told me to rest.
It was here in the relative silence of this semi-dark, windowless room that I got a better view of the new road I was on, thanks to this detour. The speed limit signs now said 45 mph, and soon my least favorite sign came into view: Construction Zone.
This was not the Lent I expected.
I hate construction zones.
Dr. Dean Ornish was one of the first cardiologists to point out that heart issues are never simply plumbing and electrical problems - there are always lifestyle issues (stress, negative emotions, nutritional choices) accompaning the electrical and plumbing problems. The doctors have the responsibility of choosing those tests that will help to identify what problem sends my heart either racing like we're running in the Daytona 500 or trying to play the drum solo in Brubeck's "Take Five", and then recommend treatment. I have the responsibility of showing up as a responsible medical consumer, and doing the work on the lifestyle issues so that their work isn't in vain. And as this is a construction zone, I have no doubt that I will stumble onto additional spiritual work that invites attention.
This was not the Lent I signed up for.
In fact, today I should be up at the Monastery of St. Gertrude's, soaking in the beauty, solitude and prayer. I even had my suitcase out and books selected for the retreat - I love Lenten Retreats! Instead, I will be spending this week getting to know the wonderful world of cardiology.
This was not the Lent I envisioned.
But even though this isn't the experience of my planning, hopes and dreams, God is still here. It was about 7:30 am as I stared at the wall in room 144 of the observation unit - the light from the monitor casting an odd glow in the room. And I knew I wasn't alone. God was as present as if I was standing at a window in the Spirit Center at St Gertude's watching a hawk soar - or snow fall - or the deer come down the hill at dusk. "Here we are..." I said. Here we are, indeed. Together - and that is all that matters.
At that moment I felt an invitation I to start thinking about all the things for which I could be grateful. No heart damage. Competent, efficient medical care. One of the flashing lights on the telemetry monitor was a lovely shade of blue. The migraine that was triggered from the nitro wasn't too bad. I would be ok. We are in this together. I am not alone. And in the midst of the beeping and blood draws and all that went with the experience, I experienced a moment of deep peace.
So here I am, on a road I didn't pick, at a speed limit I don't like, in a construction zone I'd rather skip, and hearing the lyrics from a country song in my head (not my music of choice): "Sounds like life to me." Time to just get on with it.
Have you ever had the experience of running into an unexpected detour when you clearly had other plans in mind? Where was God (for you) in the experience?
I've been told that you see more of the road when driving at a lower speed limit. I'll let you know if its true...
The journey continues...
Kim
No comments:
Post a Comment