Yes, first your name and then your birthdate. Repeat after me. The endless waiting rooms of the medical maze.
Chicago had Upton Sinclair, who bore witness to the meat packing district and it’s horrors. In a way you’re giving voice to the nameless now, honoring them in their existential moment.
Really you’ve been doing that all along with your writing. Opening doors to let the light in.
I knew that room well, waiting with my husband while he was going through treatment. One day, he leaned over to me and whispered, "You heat the city of Chicago with the anxiety generated in this room." Also, I'll always remember the brother of patient who we got to know who made wonderful soup and several times, brought extra for John. Just a wonderful heart.
Oh sweet Mary, you just made me cry. Standing in a mattress store (for my law professor) and wiping away a tear. Yiu just nailed everything: the furnace of worry, and the unbearable kindness for no reason other than pure human empathy. Gulping back tears now. Bless you. I love that you got to bring John to the table today. ❤️❤️
and the saddest of sounds in an echoeing chamber of not so quiet suffering is to bare your soul, as only you can do/love.
And you do this even when cancer collided and took residence, yet how has it not made you silent, as it would me?! Or mean spirited, you who take the awfullest air and turn it into the sweetest, swelling oxygen for those who suffer too.
Sweet friend, if humanity can be found in a hermit coming out of it's safe wood to greet my beside-myself-flatness, because I had nowhere to go but out and up in the ethers like a great pine, roots holding- determined still to hold fast to the common ground with the slugs and moss; I hadn't a prayer that day, only a song from a bird. And you, like the Hermit Thrush- have such a song that exposes not only your own magnificent beauty but to every heart that hears you, such undeniable grace you give, such space you lend. Thank you, thank you always.
i love you. and your story is proof and proof again that Holiness stirs and we know not its plot line. but oh it is glorious when it decides to be glorious. and in you Glory shines. i'm the one who was blessed on your porch swing that day. love love love you. xoxoxox
Aside from the Chair, you mean? Well, our family is in a holding pattern of its own, children and grandchildren and siblings rallying round to keep a beloved someone in her home as long as possible. Seeing so much love in action here in CA. And sending lots of love your way, darlin'.
Preparing for surgery, an elder shares this wisdom:
…wishing you well with surgery…. Will be thinking about you during the day. Give your body a heads up that it is happening. Do some visualization to it and travel around the inner scape with your love and gratitude. Thank the left hip for it's years of service and amazing performance. Have a conversation btwn the left and right hip. Travel through the body with color and joy and appreciation. If there's a way to take an hour to tune in uninterrupted, take it. Let the anatomy be informed. Cast a love circle around the medical team. Enter the theatre with awe, wonder, curiosity, Grace and welcome. Love to you is coming from many. Ride the ride, brother. ...
Speaking gently to the parts that make us the substance of who we are is a powerful way of healing. Joining powers. Relinquish the language iod the battle, and embrace the power to be whole. Godspeed to you, beautiful david!
Such moments of grace shining on you to hold your hand while walking those halls and sitting, waiting. A lovely essay, Barbara. Thank you for sharing your reflections.
You captured this so perfectly, the humanity of people at their most vulnerable meeting medicine at its mightiest. Those U of C hospital waiting rooms are seared in my memory 22 years after my husband received grueling treatment there for tongue cancer. Those long drives from the north side into the great unknown. There was a painting in the hem-onc waiting room titled “End of the Road.” I found the title appalling and mentioned it to a social worker who just kind of laughed it off. It wasn’t the end of the road for my husband. He survived and thrived for two decades. I’m hoping the same for you.
oh my gracious, lindsey! i remember you from medill, and soon as i saw your name i felt my heart melt a little. my stomach churned at your mention of that painting. i don’t think i’ve seen it, but now i am going to look. AND if i do…..well, i too am lodging complaint, but not till after i remove it from the wall. lord god, whose sick humor is that? i am soo sorry you know that landscape too. thank you so so much for dropping by.
Yes, first your name and then your birthdate. Repeat after me. The endless waiting rooms of the medical maze.
Chicago had Upton Sinclair, who bore witness to the meat packing district and it’s horrors. In a way you’re giving voice to the nameless now, honoring them in their existential moment.
Really you’ve been doing that all along with your writing. Opening doors to let the light in.
I knew that room well, waiting with my husband while he was going through treatment. One day, he leaned over to me and whispered, "You heat the city of Chicago with the anxiety generated in this room." Also, I'll always remember the brother of patient who we got to know who made wonderful soup and several times, brought extra for John. Just a wonderful heart.
Oh sweet Mary, you just made me cry. Standing in a mattress store (for my law professor) and wiping away a tear. Yiu just nailed everything: the furnace of worry, and the unbearable kindness for no reason other than pure human empathy. Gulping back tears now. Bless you. I love that you got to bring John to the table today. ❤️❤️
Hope and fear all together in one place. ❤️
Crushing and uplifting all at once. Love you. Praying every day.
I love you, the original “you got this” girl.❤️❤️
Stories with pages to go.
To see this, regardless of the view-
and the saddest of sounds in an echoeing chamber of not so quiet suffering is to bare your soul, as only you can do/love.
And you do this even when cancer collided and took residence, yet how has it not made you silent, as it would me?! Or mean spirited, you who take the awfullest air and turn it into the sweetest, swelling oxygen for those who suffer too.
Sweet friend, if humanity can be found in a hermit coming out of it's safe wood to greet my beside-myself-flatness, because I had nowhere to go but out and up in the ethers like a great pine, roots holding- determined still to hold fast to the common ground with the slugs and moss; I hadn't a prayer that day, only a song from a bird. And you, like the Hermit Thrush- have such a song that exposes not only your own magnificent beauty but to every heart that hears you, such undeniable grace you give, such space you lend. Thank you, thank you always.
Big love from Big Lake
i love you. and your story is proof and proof again that Holiness stirs and we know not its plot line. but oh it is glorious when it decides to be glorious. and in you Glory shines. i'm the one who was blessed on your porch swing that day. love love love you. xoxoxox
Aside from the Chair, you mean? Well, our family is in a holding pattern of its own, children and grandchildren and siblings rallying round to keep a beloved someone in her home as long as possible. Seeing so much love in action here in CA. And sending lots of love your way, darlin'.
Preparing for surgery, an elder shares this wisdom:
…wishing you well with surgery…. Will be thinking about you during the day. Give your body a heads up that it is happening. Do some visualization to it and travel around the inner scape with your love and gratitude. Thank the left hip for it's years of service and amazing performance. Have a conversation btwn the left and right hip. Travel through the body with color and joy and appreciation. If there's a way to take an hour to tune in uninterrupted, take it. Let the anatomy be informed. Cast a love circle around the medical team. Enter the theatre with awe, wonder, curiosity, Grace and welcome. Love to you is coming from many. Ride the ride, brother. ...
Speaking gently to the parts that make us the substance of who we are is a powerful way of healing. Joining powers. Relinquish the language iod the battle, and embrace the power to be whole. Godspeed to you, beautiful david!
Gosh, so very beautiful and poignant. Nobody tells it better.
thank you. xo
and we keep on keeping on. your words and strength lift folks you may never know. lifting you always 💕💕💕
Bamula. What a devastating and hopeful piece. Sending lots of love every day!
Thanks, sweet love.
You are an angel for all of and we hold you in our hearts
Memories of sitting with my own mother in a room like this.
❤️
Such moments of grace shining on you to hold your hand while walking those halls and sitting, waiting. A lovely essay, Barbara. Thank you for sharing your reflections.
Bless you, thank you.
No one escapes the human condition it binds us! Love your insight
Amen.
You captured this so perfectly, the humanity of people at their most vulnerable meeting medicine at its mightiest. Those U of C hospital waiting rooms are seared in my memory 22 years after my husband received grueling treatment there for tongue cancer. Those long drives from the north side into the great unknown. There was a painting in the hem-onc waiting room titled “End of the Road.” I found the title appalling and mentioned it to a social worker who just kind of laughed it off. It wasn’t the end of the road for my husband. He survived and thrived for two decades. I’m hoping the same for you.
oh my gracious, lindsey! i remember you from medill, and soon as i saw your name i felt my heart melt a little. my stomach churned at your mention of that painting. i don’t think i’ve seen it, but now i am going to look. AND if i do…..well, i too am lodging complaint, but not till after i remove it from the wall. lord god, whose sick humor is that? i am soo sorry you know that landscape too. thank you so so much for dropping by.
As I rack my memory, I think the title of that painting might have been “Journey’s End.” Either way, I hope they removed it.
I’m checking next time I’m there.