Patching Up Superman...

Another chapter has been added to the Haney Chronicles of Near Hits and Misses whereby God has once again swooped in to save our worthless butts. This tale is a bit convoluted (really, aren't they all?) filled with fear, faith, reckoning, gratitude, love, laughter and a not-so-small dose of embarrassment. Pop some popcorn, grab a DP and settle in.

It all began in February, at our Concerts at Sea cruise. This is an annual rock and roll cruise we have been enjoying for a dozen years and many of the cruisers have become very close friends. One such friend – Dave – took the Dickman aside and made him promise to get a stress test. Dave had recently suffered a heart attack and was on a mission to save his friends from the same fate. Dickie explained that although he is freakishly healthy, he has always expected to die with a heart attack... just like his Dad. And frankly, he was fine with that.  Dave brushed away Dickie's bullsh*t and made him promise to get checked out.   Dickie promised. 

The Dickman always keeps his promises.

After returning home, Dickie was single-minded about scheduling a stress test but kept running into obstacles. Three months later, he finally went in for testing. To his surprise, an abnormality showed up on the EKG, indicating possible cardiac issues. The doc wasn't worried, but thought it would be prudent to undergo a heart cath for further diagnosis.

We went in for a radial heart cath and I fully expected to hear nothing but Good News. Not just because of my rose-colored glasses, but also because over the years, the Dickman had somehow managed to convince me that he truly might be Superman.

Even so, there was that tiny niggling reminder of how God is always working in our lives to put us right where we need to be at the right time... placing people in our lives to direct our paths. I couldn't help but wonder if God might be using our friend Dave as His messenger. There was that.

Sure enough, the heart cath revealed Superman's kyptonite: Plaque. Coronary Artery Disease. Blockage in All Three Main Arteries.

Yet, God was already at work. Dickie's RCA had become totally blocked, but over time a network of collateral blood vessels had formed around the blockage, creating a thoroughly efficient bypass. God's bypass. 

Isn't He amazing??

As for the other blockage, it was decided that stents and medication would be sufficient at this time.

The diagnosis was a bit overwhelming. As the Dickman and I walked out of the heart clinic, we felt the ground shifting beneath us. So, we did what any self-respecting heart-clogged Texan would do: we went to eat Mexican food.

While munching on tacos, I looked across the table at my Dickman. My dear, sweet, crazy, beloved Dickman. I have been looking at his pretty face, staring into those gorgeous eyes since I was 14 years old.

“How ya doing, buddy?” I asked. 

“I'm awesome!” he replied while wiping queso off his chin.

“This is the worst part...” I told him. “Finding out that you're human.  I've suspected for years, ever since you made that wrong turn coming back from Dallas and we got lost in Paducah.”

He swore me to secrecy. I understood that he would need some time to process all of this.  It would take a while to readjust his super-hero cape. I complied. Because he's mine, I walk the line.

His stent was scheduled for Thursday. Our family surrounded the hospital-gowned Dickman while he told tall tales from his gurney and flirted with nurses. After hours of delay, a surgical tech finally came to take him back for the procedure. She asked him his name and he said, “Chris McDonald”. Without missing a beat, she replied, “Yessir. Taking you back for your hysterectomy.”

I sat with My Tribe in the waiting room, covered in prayers and cookie crumbs.  I would be lying if I told you I felt no anxiety. Unlike Chris McDonald or whoever that guy is - I am very human. Though there are few things that unsettle me, the thought of being on this earth without Dickie is devastatingly unsettling. I wouldn't last a day. We're the Dynamic Duo: Dickman & Robin. Are there times I want to kill him? Certainly. But I never want him to die...

The doc finally came out and briefed us on the surgery. All went well, except that he had to tell Dickie to stop talking so that he could concentrate on the procedure. Bottom line: the Dickman is now sporting an extra long stent in his 'Widow Maker' and has to stop eating chicken fried steak with extra gravy.

It had been a long day. A long couple of weeks. But once again, God made everything okay in the end.

As we got in the car to drive home from the hospital yesterday, we were a sorry sight.  My wonky eye was blurry and his right femoral artery was still clotting. We decided that if we worked together, we could efficiently and safely operate a 2-ton vehicle. I worked the pedals and Dickie helped me steer.  Which is pretty much a metaphor for the rest of our life together... 💗

Why am I allowed to share all of this now? Well, since he's all patched up and ready to go, the Dickman has determined that he is, once again, indestructible. And like his friend Dave, he wants to spread the message to all you other mere mortals to GO GET A STRESS TEST! (And also get your eyes dilated while you're at it.)

FOOTNOTE: After his surgery and while under the influence of morphine, Dickie asked me to send a text to update his friend, Brian. I didn't have Brian's number in my phone so Dickie rattled it off to me. I typed in Dickie's message as he dictated it to me, rolled my eyes and hit 'send'. When Brian didn't reply, I asked Dickie to check the phone number. Imagine my embarrassment when I realized I had sent this message to the wrong number...

Never Run Out Of Light!

"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it."  (John 1:1-5)

Am I the only one who thinks John might've had too much wine before penning the first chapter of his book?

It's a little bit jumbledy-jivey, if you ask me...

As I pondered upon this inspired verbiage of mixed metaphors and divine ideology, I was reminded of a homeless lady I encountered a few days ago...

Sunday morning, the Dickman and I were driving home from church. We had left a bit early because one of us had eaten TWO bowls of buttered popcorn the night before and had thoroughly pissed off all the diverticula within my intestines. I could not wait to get home and mainline a bottle of Pepcid.

A few blocks from church, I spied a bedraggled homeless lady in a fluffy pink bathrobe wrestling a grocery cart down a busy street.  I started to panic when I realized the pink-robed lady was pushing her cart INTO the street, causing cars to drive erratically while dodging her as best they could.

I screamed at the Dickman to pull over and he obeyed me promptly, as always 😉.  I jumped out of the truck (that's a lie, I haven't jumped in years)... I bounced out of the truck and hurried over to the obviously disoriented lady.

“'Scuse me, ma'am... can we get you out of the road? I'm afraid you're gonna get hit by a car!”

She glared at me through cloudy eyes. “No! I'm fine! Didn't you see the rainbow? The birds? The rain is coming. The flood. You better get somewhere it's about to happen. Big storm. Get to the Ford House and you'll be safe. Hurry! You need to go.”

“Okay, we'll go. Let's all go.” I urged, as we maneuvered her and the grocery cart out of the street. “Please, let us help you. Can we take you somewhere?”

“Oh, no. The birds. A storm is coming. I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to that place over there. There's a bench. I sit on the bench. Do you want to come with me? They'll feed you there, you know. Are you hungry? They'll feed you. Go away. Leave me alone.” She was clearly becoming more agitated and I wasn't sure what to do next. As she continued her animated and nonsensical tirade, I stopped and looked at her. Really looked at her.

Her gray hair was matted, her face weathered and dirty. She was missing a few teeth. Her fingernails were filled with grime. She had mittens and extra clothes stuck down the front of her shirt. Her grocery basket overflowed with plastic sacks filled with rags.

Dickie tugged on my arm and said, “We better leave her alone, she's safe now, she's out of the street.”  I reluctantly got back in the truck.

And promptly started bawling.

As he pulled back into traffic, Dickie gave me a concerned look and said, “I know it's hard to leave her, but what can we do? What do you want me to do?  Look, there's a Dairy Queen! We'll buy her some food.  Will that make you feel better?”

“Yes”, I sniffled. It would make me feel better, because I am Texan enough to believe in the healing powers of a Hunger Buster and an M&M Blizzard. The DQ sign suddenly became imbued with all the magical healing powers of the universe.

In spite of her poor dentition, I opted for a Chicken Strip Basket because... gravy, man.  Gravy makes everything better.  We sped through the drive-through and went back in search of our lady.

She was nowhere to be found. As we cruised up and down the street, I finally saw her sorting through her grocery basket.  She was stopped near an alley, just a few hundred feet from where we had left her. Dickie pulled into the parking lot and I rolled out of the pickup.

“Mary!” I called out to her. I had no idea what her name was. I had no idea why I was calling her 'Mary', but she turned to me when I called.

The wariness returned to her eyes as I walked towards her. I slowed my pace and plastered a dazzling “trust me” smile on my face (it usually works, even with my toughest patients; but never with cops). As I drew closer, I extended the box of food towards her like a holy offering.

“What's that?” she said gruffly.

“It's food. We thought you might be hungry so we brought you some lunch. Chicken strips and fries.  And gravy!"

She asked where the food was from and I told her DQ. She said, “Oh, no! I can't eat anything from Dairy Queen. It will kill me. Eats holes in my stomach. Are you trying to kill me? I know the cook at Dairy Queen... she's an old lady and she STILL bleeds. Are you bleeding? Do you have your period?”

“Uh... no ma'am. As a matter of fact, I haven't bled in years.”

“You don't?! It can come back you know. You don't have your period anymore? How old are you?”

“I'm 62.  Barely.”

She glanced over at Dickie, leaned towards me and whispered, “But what about him??”

“He doesn't bleed either?” I offered.

“Is he nice?” she asked, suspiciously.

“Oh, yes, ma'am. He's very nice.”  I replied.

”Well, be careful. Old ladies can still have babies. You be careful with him. Take that food and go. I'm going to the Ford House to see Nixon. Do you know Nixon? I love him. We used to dance on the tables until the lights went out. Then it went dark. Darkness everywhere.  Don't let the lights go out.  Go buy you some lights. You never want to run out of light.”

“Yes ma'am, I will. I'll be sure to get more lights”, I reassured her.

And with that, I took my unwanted DQ Chicken Strip Basket home.

*********************

John and Mary. A disciple and a vagrant.  Both of them spreading messages of darkness and light.

"There was a man sent from God whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify concerning that light, so that through him all might believe. He himself was not the light; he came only as a witness to the light. The true light that gives light to everyone was coming into the world. He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him..."  (John 1:6-10)

The man sent from God was John the Baptist. Elijah revived, the front runner, the camel hair wearing, locust eating, Levitical Jew who came out of the wilderness to usher in The Light to a dark and desperate Israel.  

I picture him looking not so very different than our dirty, disheveled Mary – minus the shopping cart.

Yet, even though John was chosen and highly favored by God... he was still no match for the darkness.

But Jesus was.

Jesus entered this world and The Light came on. A Light so bright and overwhelming that it was noticed by Magi almost 1000 miles away. How could anybody not see such a Stunning, Spectacular, Omnipresent Light?

We can all see darkness.  But who are the ones who cannot see light? 

The blind.  The spiritually blind cannot see the Light of Jesus.

Even with eyes wide open and standing right in front of Him, there were those who did not see Jesus. Could not see The Light.

So, they remained in darkness.

*********************

It's hard – if not impossible - to help someone who refuses to be helped. For people like Mary, I'm not sure what the answer is. I do not believe an elderly, mentally ill homeless woman belongs on the streets. She belongs in a shelter or a mental hospital.

I could have called the police. But I've worked with the homeless population enough to know that nothing would have happened. Unless Mary was willing to accept our help, there wasn't much we can do.

And that is why I wept. 

I cried because I couldn't help Mary. Her brokenness saddened me. I was filled with frustration knowing that, if she would only let me,  I could make a difference in her life.

Can you imagine the depth of sadness that Jesus must feel? How often does He cry over the brokenness of this world? How impossibly frustrating it must be to see His perfectly sighted creation wandering blindly in the darkness.

My prayer today is that ALL of our eyes be opened to the Glory of God and that EVERY soul be filled with the Light of Jesus. 

The Light that is Eternal. Everlasting.

Because like Mary said, you never want to run out of Light...