njjen3953
4th Level Orange Feather
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- Apr 18, 2001
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WALK ON, WALK ON
by Ron Gold
It will be all over by the time you read this.
I will either exit the front door of the hospital with one less toe,
or... well, you can imagine.
Two days ago, my podiatrist said the minor bruise on the toe next to
the big toe on my right foot has an infection in the bone. It should
probably be amputated. The toe, she said, could probably be saved but it
would require long-term weekly treatments and, then, there are no
guarantees.
"No guarantees," I said, "that's the story of my life."
She looked solidly in my eyes. "Yes, that's true," she said smiling
the smile you expect from a beautiful blonde lady. "That's the story of
everyone's life."
I am a poster boy for diabetes -- a type 2 (adult onset) diabetic.
I am also a human being. And I insist on being judged by the totality of
my life, not by my affliction.
This insidious disease blinded me. (My sight was restored by very
sophisticated surgery.)
One day, I died twice due to heart problems, was resuscitated and
later underwent quintuple bypass open-heart surgery.
I suffered kidney failure and I am tethered to a dialysis machine
three times each week.
I have become a professional surgical patient who has learned a few
things about living through knives and saws. And I want to share them
with you now.
As you roll onto a hospital gurney and begin your ride to the
operating room, you can choose to view the experience in one of three
ways...
One: You can be content to watch the ceiling move.
Two: You can contemplate things that can go wrong and kill you.
Yes, you can die.
And three: You can visualize your gurney ride as your return to good
health.
I always choose the third. I convince myself that I'm riding forward
to recovery. I ride with hope in my heart.
My heart is warmed by the words of two great songwriters -- Johnny
Mercer and Oscar Hammerstein II.
Johnny Mercer wrote, "You gotta accentuate the positive, eliminate
the negative, latch on to the affirmative and don't mess with Mr.
In-between." It works for me. I'm still alive.
Now that you understand my gurney-rider credentials, let's look at
productive ways you can view any gurney rides you may be facing.
Beware of self-destructive thinking.
Let's face it. It's easy to throw a pity party as you ride to and
from surgery. It's easy because you feel vulnerable, guilty and
inadequate. But who wants to attend a pity party?
But why feel down, blue or negative? It won't help you.
Convincing yourself that you are living the very last few minutes of
your life doesn't make you feel stronger or better. That attitude won't
speed your healing process.
And spending this "life" time reliving petty indignities is a fool's
paradise. You can only frustrate yourself by asking questions you cannot
begin to deal with on a gurney ride.
This negative thinking is less than creative or healthy. On a
gurney, it is downright depressing. It sabotages you, the people you love
and the people who love you. It slows recovery and jump-starts
exasperation. You deserve better.
You deserve to live and recover. Remember that life is your most
precious possession. And although death is our final reality, it is never
our option. Too many good people are relying on your good spirit.
Share your medical updates with the people you love. Take them into
your confidence. They will be your staunchest allies and your most
enthusiastic cheerleaders. Their good wishes will help you feel better
and stronger.
The righteous will pray for you. Their messages of hope and good
will can help you cope.
Trust in the Almighty who has given you life. Pray. Talk with your
hospital chaplain. He or she will give you the comfort of prayer and
ritual as well as pre-surgical and convalescent blessings. You will be
reassured that God, and good people, love and treasure you.
I recall and recite the wise words of Oscar Hammerstein II:
"When you walk through a storm, hold your head up high and don't be
afraid of the dark. At the end of the storm is a golden sky, and the
sweet, silver song of the lark. Walk on through the wind. Walk on
through the rain. Though your dreams be tossed and blown, walk on, walk
on -- with hope in your heart. And you'll never walk alone. You'll never
walk alone."
It's worked for me -- every time.
When he was asked to define life, poet Robert Frost responded, "In
three words, I can sum up life -- it goes on."
Get well. And go on with your life. And remember, too, Bette Davis'
sage comment, "Getting' old ain't for sissies."
-- Ron Gold <[email protected]>
by Ron Gold
It will be all over by the time you read this.
I will either exit the front door of the hospital with one less toe,
or... well, you can imagine.
Two days ago, my podiatrist said the minor bruise on the toe next to
the big toe on my right foot has an infection in the bone. It should
probably be amputated. The toe, she said, could probably be saved but it
would require long-term weekly treatments and, then, there are no
guarantees.
"No guarantees," I said, "that's the story of my life."
She looked solidly in my eyes. "Yes, that's true," she said smiling
the smile you expect from a beautiful blonde lady. "That's the story of
everyone's life."
I am a poster boy for diabetes -- a type 2 (adult onset) diabetic.
I am also a human being. And I insist on being judged by the totality of
my life, not by my affliction.
This insidious disease blinded me. (My sight was restored by very
sophisticated surgery.)
One day, I died twice due to heart problems, was resuscitated and
later underwent quintuple bypass open-heart surgery.
I suffered kidney failure and I am tethered to a dialysis machine
three times each week.
I have become a professional surgical patient who has learned a few
things about living through knives and saws. And I want to share them
with you now.
As you roll onto a hospital gurney and begin your ride to the
operating room, you can choose to view the experience in one of three
ways...
One: You can be content to watch the ceiling move.
Two: You can contemplate things that can go wrong and kill you.
Yes, you can die.
And three: You can visualize your gurney ride as your return to good
health.
I always choose the third. I convince myself that I'm riding forward
to recovery. I ride with hope in my heart.
My heart is warmed by the words of two great songwriters -- Johnny
Mercer and Oscar Hammerstein II.
Johnny Mercer wrote, "You gotta accentuate the positive, eliminate
the negative, latch on to the affirmative and don't mess with Mr.
In-between." It works for me. I'm still alive.
Now that you understand my gurney-rider credentials, let's look at
productive ways you can view any gurney rides you may be facing.
Beware of self-destructive thinking.
Let's face it. It's easy to throw a pity party as you ride to and
from surgery. It's easy because you feel vulnerable, guilty and
inadequate. But who wants to attend a pity party?
But why feel down, blue or negative? It won't help you.
Convincing yourself that you are living the very last few minutes of
your life doesn't make you feel stronger or better. That attitude won't
speed your healing process.
And spending this "life" time reliving petty indignities is a fool's
paradise. You can only frustrate yourself by asking questions you cannot
begin to deal with on a gurney ride.
This negative thinking is less than creative or healthy. On a
gurney, it is downright depressing. It sabotages you, the people you love
and the people who love you. It slows recovery and jump-starts
exasperation. You deserve better.
You deserve to live and recover. Remember that life is your most
precious possession. And although death is our final reality, it is never
our option. Too many good people are relying on your good spirit.
Share your medical updates with the people you love. Take them into
your confidence. They will be your staunchest allies and your most
enthusiastic cheerleaders. Their good wishes will help you feel better
and stronger.
The righteous will pray for you. Their messages of hope and good
will can help you cope.
Trust in the Almighty who has given you life. Pray. Talk with your
hospital chaplain. He or she will give you the comfort of prayer and
ritual as well as pre-surgical and convalescent blessings. You will be
reassured that God, and good people, love and treasure you.
I recall and recite the wise words of Oscar Hammerstein II:
"When you walk through a storm, hold your head up high and don't be
afraid of the dark. At the end of the storm is a golden sky, and the
sweet, silver song of the lark. Walk on through the wind. Walk on
through the rain. Though your dreams be tossed and blown, walk on, walk
on -- with hope in your heart. And you'll never walk alone. You'll never
walk alone."
It's worked for me -- every time.
When he was asked to define life, poet Robert Frost responded, "In
three words, I can sum up life -- it goes on."
Get well. And go on with your life. And remember, too, Bette Davis'
sage comment, "Getting' old ain't for sissies."
-- Ron Gold <[email protected]>
