I am waiting.

I am waiting for this onslaught to end.

Many hours ago, I fell down the stairs. I was not really thinking about where I was because I was thinking about what I had just seen in the mirror. So, down I went. After shrugging off the books that had fallen out of the bookcase at the bottom of the stairs, I tried to stand. Big mistake.

A mighty rushing wind sounded in my ears and the next thing I knew I was on the floor the rest of the way down the stairs, looking up at the green chair. When I tried to get up there, I was so dizzy I vomited the corn I had managed to eat for dinner. So, I wisely lay on the floor for over a hour.

When I tried to stand again, the world shifted once more and the last of the corn came up. So, after resting for another hour or so, I crawled to the couch and pulled myself up without opening my eyes or moving my head much at all. There I have been for the past few hours, dozing off an on, waiting for my head to clear, and thinking how stupid it is that I am too scared to call for help. I thought if I concentrated on writing, on thinking clearly, it might help. I am less dizzy than I was around 9:00 last night, so I am hoping that by the time I need to leave for the office, driving will be okay.

Why not call? Help, I've fallen and I cannot get up? Like those commercials? I just cannot go back to a hospital by myself. Not after last time. I have not been able to put out of my mind how helpless I was after the surgery. I am not ready for that. Asthma attack ER visits are awful, but they have clearly defined parameters. I am fearful of calling an ambulance, of who might show up and what would happen thereafter.

My vision is really blurry. I tried reading the Psalms, but whereas I can enlarge the font on the screen, I cannot enlarge the print on my bible. I also tried to remember the things I have been studying and the verses I just memorized because a woman from church agreed to do so with me. But I keep thinking about why I fell...or why I think I fell.

I had just taken a shower, and even though I tried not to do so, I still caught a glimpse of the bruises on my arms. They are from Sunday, from when those two men helped me get to the car. They must have been working really hard, since I obviously was not helping much.

I tried to talk with JW how I felt on Monday, but she is so infernally happy about Sunday, that I gave up and have not talked to her since. [She is busy this week with friends and family still there celebrating A's baptism, so I am sure she has not noticed my silence. Perhaps that makes me less rude?] She made a very, very cogent point that I have tried to keep in mind: It is not your story that matters at baptism; it is Christ's. Couple this with her comment on Sunday, It is not you walking to the font, but Christ bringing you there, and I should be happy about being baptized. But how can I be happy about a day that started with abject shame, continued with fear, and ended with me collapsing at church? I do not remember actually being baptized. All I knew was that if I dropped A, JW would not forgive me, even though the only reason I was holding the baby was because she dumped her in my arms and refused to take her back. I have not worked so hard at anything in a long, long time as I worked to hold on to A. Once that duty was over, I think I was already starting to let go of myself.

I have the certificate and the candle. I have those things, but I wanted to...well...have the moment, not the proof. I wanted to be able to say, "I am baptized!" because I know that fact, not because I have an entire church who watched me tremble from head to toe the whole time. I wanted to at least sit downstairs at the celebration meal even if I wouldn't be eating those cakes I heard about. I wanted to at least see them.

JW would probably say the angels are rejoicing. She did say that she thought the devil waged a mighty battle Sunday morning and lost. Why do I feel like I lost, too?

Working has been difficult primarily because I am shaking and having trouble walking still. I am tired and my vision, even prior to falling down the stairs, has been blurry. Several people asked about my baptism. I had to pretend that I had a good day. They wouldn't understand. They think I got too hot again.

I have read through the Book of Concord bits on baptism again and again. While I have read copious amounts of text that would support JW's position, I did not find mine. I wonder what Luther would have to say were he here or I there. He'd probably be rejoicing, too. But perhaps because he wrote so often of despair, he might also have a bit of empathy.

What really matters is that I was baptized. I know that. My soul knows that very well. My heart is the one with the trouble. But, then again, I do not know why I expected anything different, why I would think that I could have a good day.

Monday, when I got home from work, I sat out on the deck and cried for hours. Even now, the cage I set outside in the futile hope that my bird would see it and fly back home is still there. I cannot bring myself to put it away, yet seeing it there deepens my sorrow. I cannot believe that Smokey is gone. That I have yet another loss. Just a few weeks ago, I had three birds. Now there is just one.

I have done nothing but work, pretend that everything is fine, and come home and read and think and read some more. Later today, I get to show up at the surgeon's office and pretend that it is fine with me that she is pulling out the stitches. After all, in her opinion there is absolutely no reason I should be experiencing any pain. Everything looks fine.

I could almost bring myself to call an ambulance just for the chance at leaving them in longer, but knowing my luck, she would show up there and take them out anyway... or another doctor would. The incision is either going to open again or not. The pain is either going to go away or not. There is nothing that I can really do about that.

There is nothing I can really do about Smokey.

There is nothing I can really do about the bruises.

There is nothing I can really do about Sunday.

There is nothing I can really do.


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The other thing JW said on Monday that has troubled my waters was how much she has longed to be a god mother. None of her friends and family who have been pushing out babies right and left chose her, and she thought that opportunity had passed her by. Now, I still do not know exactly what a baptismal sponsor is, but I surely know what a god parent is. I had no idea they are one in the same...or at least that she thinks so, thought so when she said agreed to Pastor's request to be my sponsor. I was speechless. If she only knew how long I have wished for such a thing, given the family I have. It is a silly notion. I am a woman grown and older than she is. However, I do believe she is going to be taking that role rather seriously...already talking about what she plans to do for my baptismal birthday next year. Oh, how I do not understand that woman!

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I thought I would type my verses, since I did not see my new scripture memory partner yesterday to say them to her. Although I realized just now that in memorizing them, I neglected to note the punctuation. I am sure to get that part wrong...

But now, thus says the Lord, your Creator, O Jacob and He who formed you, O Israel, "Do not fear for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name. You are Mine! When you pass through the waters, I will be with you and through the rivers they will not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be scorched, nor will the flames burn you. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Saviour."

~Isaiah 43:1-3a