Last night I fell down our steps. I fell hard, managing to hit every one of those hardwood steps with my behind from the top to the bottom (no pun intended). I was wearing a pair of bright psychedelic orange socks that I had bought a few days before. Sherri and I had gone Christmas shopping that afternoon. I put on a pair of jeans that hid those wild socks as long as I didn't sit down. I also wore a T shirt under a nice dress shirt. After we finished shopping we ate dinner at our favorite Mexican restaurant and came home.
I changed from my jeans into a pair of lounging pants that have become a little shorter after years of washings and dryings. I took my nice shirt off and settled down to watch a game still wearing my orange socks, my high water lounging pants and my T shirt that I had gotten on a cruise stop in the Cayman Islands that said, "Honey Badger don't care". After the game I got up and went down the first flight of stairs, to the first landing, took a left turn one step down to the second landing and then that is where I lost control.
Those orange socks started sliding. Before I could blink twice I found myself sprawled out on the living room floor moaning from excruciating the pain in my back and hip. I was afraid to move. Sherri called 911, and before long I was on a backboard with a brace securely fastened to my neck headed to the hospital in an ambulance. I was taken to the emergency room at the large WakeMed hospital in downtown Raleigh. I could see nothing but the ceiling as they wheeled me into a small triage room. This would be my home for the next three hours.
During that time I could hear many voices coming from what I imagined was a large waiting area. At times it sounded like a convention was being held by a bunch of angry people. From the conversations I could tell that some of the voices were coming from policemen and police women. One of the patients was a man who while running from the police had fallen over a cliff into a rock quarry. Another was a 32 year old woman who had received head lacerations from fighting another woman. The other woman refused medical help despite having a broken nose. She decided to not pass go and went directly to jail.
Finally, a doctor dropped by to examine me. He took the neck brace off and ordered a CT scan. Looking around I discovered that the place looked nothing like I had imagined. Outside the door of my room was a narrow hall. I can't understand how all of those people whose voices I had heard could have fit into that tiny hallway. Since my perspective now was focused on more than just a ceiling I could see the people being brought into the emergency room. I could tell that their pain went much deeper than the physical problems that they were experiencing. I could see it in their faces--hurt, despair, hopelessness, victims of violent living, so sad.
There I lay, my bright, psychedelic orange socks standing out like a neon sign, a two day old gray beard, high water faded lounging pants, and a T shirt that displayed a message that Honey Badgers don't give a care. At a little before six I was dismissed. Sherri and I went out and sat in the emergency room waiting area where we waited for our son-in-law, Clay, to pick us up. I noticed that the policeman who was patrolling the entrance kept looking at me. Finally, he walked over to where I was sitting. "You watin' for the bus?"
Reflecting on my experience last night-- those poor people, and the way I must have looked--I could not help but think of a saying that I have heard used many times. "But for the grace of God, there go I." Jesus came to this world on that first Christmas Day for people like these, for people like you and me. Jesus sees us all the same. We all need what he came to give us. This Christmas may our perspective be broadened to more than just the ceiling of our own personal desires. May we see others through the eyes of Jesus.
By the way, nothing was broken. I will be fine--just very sore for a few days. I pray that I don't ever have to spend another 8 hour night in an emergency room. So does poor Sherri.
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