Wednesday, June 25, 2014

A Non-Ordinary Day

Don’t let anything be ordinary is the sign on my monitor at work. It’s been there for years and is looking pretty beat up. The message is still clear.

Last week I defintely experiened an UNORDINARY day. I felt grungy, weepy and fine

When I worked in a counseling center years ago a therapist enlightened me on what fine actually means:  

"Fiercely Intentionally Naurotically Emotional."

After reading the sign and grumbling to myself, I walked into the company lunchroom.

"How are you? Tammy said,

"Do you really want to know or do you want me to say fine?"

"Fine will do, I think," Tammy said.

Sam stood at the sink rinsing a coffee cup. She laughed at Tammy.

"You do know what fine means, right?" I asked.

"The way you say it, I probably don't." Tammy said.

"Don't think you do, Tammy," Sam said. "Just the tone of her voice makes fine sound daunting." 

After I put my cup in the microwave I peeled off the words.” Fine is Fiercely Intentionally Neurotically Emotional. I’m too old to feel this way,” I said. “But you asked for fine. Have a great day gals.”

Neither of the two ran after me to find out why I felt fine or why I bothered to share with them. But then, they probably already received the email about my eyes—the one that said my work days will be erratic. I’m back to legally blind while my cornea transplant heals from the trauma and the eye specialist can fit me with a new set of contact lenses.

I wore patches over my eye for ages--my co-workers joined me. 
I’ve been through this before. It’s nothing new. Fuchs’ Dystrophy left me legally blind in 1999. An eye specialist said, “Well Mrs. Crawford, the bad news is you are legally blind. The good news is with cornea transplants you will see again.”

The doctor didn’t tell me what might happen after the transplants. How long they might last. How the transplant is a graph—like a thick scar and would leave me not feeling pain in my eyes until I’m really in trouble.

Of course, I didn’t ask those questions either. Had no idea the questions to ask.

Even my Team Leader wore a cute patch to support me. 
So why am I just fine? The doctor talked me into buying glasses last summer. “They will be a band aid on your Oregon trip.” I bought them. They lasted me three months—not even long enough to be fit with the contacts that give me miracle vision.

So what's my problem? Is it the expense? The length of time for fittings? The many doctor visits I face? Or the fact I’m measurably slowed down to a grinding halt and can't drive?

How about all the above….

Working on being Lionhearted through the process, Kat
Lion Soak by Savannah Wilkes 

Guess I'll soak my troubles away for the moment.

I've about soaked enough. I feel like a prune. Between the writing and the publishing I faced another glitch in my publication...oh well, it's me. Never late. Right on time.