A few weeks ago my clock came
undone. The minute hand had been loose
for some time and I couldn’t seem to get it to stay on. It finally gave up and landed - plunk - on
the dresser. I gave up, too.
I have learned, since then,
that I don’t really need it. I can
easily tell time within 15 minutes of the “exact” time. What more do I need? It’s very seldom that I need to know to-the-minute
what time of day it is and I figure that using my clock in it’s current state is
just fine and dandy.
I was reminded, over the last
few days, that time is meaningless, anyway.
Tuesday, Mom was sick all day and ended up in the Emergency Room at a
local hospital. Wednesday morning I had
grandkid duty, then took Mom to the doctor in the afternoon. By the time I left her house that evening, I
was tired. Going to bed at 8:30, I
figured I’d have a good night’s rest and be ready to go again in the morning.
My body, though, had other
plans. After about 4 hours of dead-to-the-world
sleep, my mind and body kicked into hyper-drive. There was no more sleeping after that - until
both mind and body shut down - which was a little after daylight. I got up but could neither sit up nor hold up
my head nor keep my eyelids open. I laid
back down and spent the next 24 hours in a state of Nothingness, feverish at
times, and not even dozing until late in the afternoon. When my normal bedtime came, I slept through
the night.
This morning I feel weak but
am able to do those things I couldn’t yesterday - sit up, hold up my head, keep
my eyes open.
Hasn’t God created a
wonderful machine that we inhabit? A
machine that knows when to say, “Whoa, missy! Rein in those horses and get down
off that wagon. It’s time to put a stop to this.” Which is exactly what happened. I expect the technical name might be delayed
shock and adrenal exhaustion, but hearing my body speak with John Wayne’s voice
is more interesting.
The only other time I
remember this happening was during the last few weeks that Steve was in the
bone marrow transplant unit. I spent all
of my time there; trying to sleep in the family room (with the television
blaring in the break room next door) or trying to sleep in his room on a
rickety folding bed that was in imminent danger of collapse. Then one day I went home, walked in and laid
down, and didn’t arise for 20 hours. My
body called a halt, that time, too, although I don’t remember hearing from John
Wayne.
I’m thankful that God watches
over me and that he created such a wonder as the human body.
