My stitches came out yesterday. My appointment was at 8.45am. I got there half an hour early. Usually the parking at the South Infirmary is brutal and expensive. I first tried the road outside but could not find a space. I chanced the hospital carpark. The barriers were up. I didn’t have to pay and there were plenty of spaces.
After checking in with reception I made my way down the one-way system to the Outpatient clinic. The rows of fixed seating in the waiting room has been ripped up and replaced by a sprinkling of chairs. Where was everybody? Where are all the patients that usually throng waiting rooms? I just had enough time to watch a video on the origins of Covid-19 when I was called by the nurse. Using a tweezers she murmured approvingly as she eased back the bandages. Then using a blade with the tweezers she gently snipped and plucked out the blue stitching. She then handed me a small hand mirror. The scar is bigger than I expected. It's over an inch long and runs east west across my cheek. The nurse reassured me that it would fade and over time would, “take on the colour of the rest of your face.”
When I got home, Hubbie came bustling into the hall to inspect the damage. He looked at my face and quickly drew back. “Wow, it’s big,” he said. Then on closer inspection said, “It looks grand. It’s sealed well and it’s smooth. He did a good job.” I logged in for work.
My friend Margaret doesn’t have Wi-Fi at home and so bought a dongle for her computer. She accidentally racked up a huge phone bill and only realised this when she attempted to log in for work and found herself disconnected. She rang the phone company. She was told she had exceeded her data and, “By the way, do you realise your balance now stands at 700+ Euros.” I’m a customer of this company too and a few years ago, I accidentally ran up a huge bill. Despite pleadings they did not budge, and I had to pay. I didn’t hold out much hope. Margaret appealed. Drawing on her years of customer service skills, she emailed and telephoned and kept a record of everyone she spoke to in customer service; the dates, times and their names. When I rang her yesterday morning, she was making progress. The company had gone from giving her a 20% off as a ‘goodwill gesture’ to 70% off but only if she signed up for another package. Margaret refused these and planned to keep going. She sounded upbeat.
My friend Susie, who is a nurse and also has skin cancer, rang me on Wednesday evening. We got on to the topic of surrender. Neither of us liked the word as it implied giving up and being weak. I told her about the time I was on holiday with my sister in her mobile home in Ventry. Tucked into the sand dunes bordering the beach, the mobile home had no electricity and at night it was utterly black. Joe, then eight months old, woke up for a feed. The blackness was so dense, I couldn’t see him and so I guided my way towards him by his crying. As I lay in the pitch black feeding my son, the complete darkness unnerved me. I sensed the devil tapping me on the shoulder saying, “I can take you away from all of this.” In my terror, I prayed saying, “I can’t fight this God. I surrender.” In that minute, an incredible peace settled over me and I wasn’t afraid anymore. From that moment on, everything just seemed to flow. I stopped complaining about the rain, the inconvenience of the mobile home and the swarms of locust like children tormenting us to be fed. Just saying the words, and meaning it, seemed to flip the filter in my mind from bleak to mellow.
Speaking of flow, I am the quiz master for the family Zoom meeting this week and have to come up with original but witty questions by Sunday. I love quotes but had to dig deep to go beyond the usual stock of Abraham Lincoln/Mark Twain and Marilyn Monroe. Son (20) introduced me to Homer Simpson – an absolute goldmine of wisdom - “Trying is the first step to failure,” and “Operator, give me the number for 911,” – and my favourite Cork man, Roy Keane who said, “People tell me, 'go with the flow.' You know what goes with the flow? Dead fish.”
Yesterday evening, just as I was heading to bed, Margaret sent me a text; the phone company agreed to waive the entire fee. I haven’t had a chance to talk to her yet, but I’m astonished and intrigued. How did she do it? Did she surrender or go with the flow? Whatever she did, she did not back down. She persevered in the face of the seemingly impossible. She did not play the dead fish. Roy would approve.
When I got home, Hubbie came bustling into the hall to inspect the damage. He looked at my face and quickly drew back. “Wow, it’s big,” he said. Then on closer inspection said, “It looks grand. It’s sealed well and it’s smooth. He did a good job.” I logged in for work.
My friend Margaret doesn’t have Wi-Fi at home and so bought a dongle for her computer. She accidentally racked up a huge phone bill and only realised this when she attempted to log in for work and found herself disconnected. She rang the phone company. She was told she had exceeded her data and, “By the way, do you realise your balance now stands at 700+ Euros.” I’m a customer of this company too and a few years ago, I accidentally ran up a huge bill. Despite pleadings they did not budge, and I had to pay. I didn’t hold out much hope. Margaret appealed. Drawing on her years of customer service skills, she emailed and telephoned and kept a record of everyone she spoke to in customer service; the dates, times and their names. When I rang her yesterday morning, she was making progress. The company had gone from giving her a 20% off as a ‘goodwill gesture’ to 70% off but only if she signed up for another package. Margaret refused these and planned to keep going. She sounded upbeat.
My friend Susie, who is a nurse and also has skin cancer, rang me on Wednesday evening. We got on to the topic of surrender. Neither of us liked the word as it implied giving up and being weak. I told her about the time I was on holiday with my sister in her mobile home in Ventry. Tucked into the sand dunes bordering the beach, the mobile home had no electricity and at night it was utterly black. Joe, then eight months old, woke up for a feed. The blackness was so dense, I couldn’t see him and so I guided my way towards him by his crying. As I lay in the pitch black feeding my son, the complete darkness unnerved me. I sensed the devil tapping me on the shoulder saying, “I can take you away from all of this.” In my terror, I prayed saying, “I can’t fight this God. I surrender.” In that minute, an incredible peace settled over me and I wasn’t afraid anymore. From that moment on, everything just seemed to flow. I stopped complaining about the rain, the inconvenience of the mobile home and the swarms of locust like children tormenting us to be fed. Just saying the words, and meaning it, seemed to flip the filter in my mind from bleak to mellow.
Speaking of flow, I am the quiz master for the family Zoom meeting this week and have to come up with original but witty questions by Sunday. I love quotes but had to dig deep to go beyond the usual stock of Abraham Lincoln/Mark Twain and Marilyn Monroe. Son (20) introduced me to Homer Simpson – an absolute goldmine of wisdom - “Trying is the first step to failure,” and “Operator, give me the number for 911,” – and my favourite Cork man, Roy Keane who said, “People tell me, 'go with the flow.' You know what goes with the flow? Dead fish.”
Yesterday evening, just as I was heading to bed, Margaret sent me a text; the phone company agreed to waive the entire fee. I haven’t had a chance to talk to her yet, but I’m astonished and intrigued. How did she do it? Did she surrender or go with the flow? Whatever she did, she did not back down. She persevered in the face of the seemingly impossible. She did not play the dead fish. Roy would approve.
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