Three Healing Minutes
Denial is one of my witless coping tools when I get sick. “How’s that workin’ for you?” Dr. Phil would ask. Well, today it kicked my butt, doc. Still, the humiliation I brought upon myself had to lead to some kind of inspiration. So God said, “Now that you’re done agonizing, share your shame, and give others a good laugh.” “You’re right, sniff, sniff… thank you God. I was way overdue on my posting anyway.” But, if I sound like a complete loon, I plead SINUS INFECTION!
11:00 a.m., yesterday — “Babe, will you go to the Vitamin Shoppe and pick up a supplement for me?” Devoted husband takes off, returns with an herbal treatment, and leaves for work. I had already viewed the ingredients online before sending him, but, was I thorough? No! Again, I plead sinus infection, grr. Upon further examination of the box, I find that it has 7.5 mg of eucalyptus. Online sources don’t agree with that dosage and neither do I. Shoot! I’m not taking it. In the grand scheme of things, I can’t remember the last time I took a nap. I was feeling so cruddy and frustrated that I decided to crawl back into bed. Hours later, I decided to drive my silly self to the Vitamin Shoppe to exchange the remedy. Not smart in my dull condition. Ha, ha, I’m not in my right mind; I just think I am. Got my keys, cell phone, return item with receipt, wallet… oh, let me grab the trash while I’m at it. The dumpster is on my way to the car.
8:00 p.m., walking to the dumpster next to my garage — Oh no, where’s my garage door clicker? I dump the trash (in the industrial sized dumpster) and head back home for my clicker. Locking the front door and holding my cell phone, check; garage door opener clipped on, check; car keys, check… Oh no, where is my return item? My blood runs cold. In the giant dumpster! Now I make an even bigger clod of myself. I call the complex’s evening maintenance guys who are mainly there for emergencies. Really?! I actually did that? I left a message. “Hello, can someone help me retrieve an item I accidentally threw in the dumpster?” What a doofus! I don’t even have a flashlight because we just moved here. Twenty minutes go by. No one is coming or calling back. They’re probably still falling off of their little folding chairs laughing. I knew that a flashlight and some clothes hangers could save me, but, it boils down to calling my hubby before anyone else decides to throw more trash on top of mine, yikes!!! His warehouse is practically down the street, but, I absolutely hate to interrupt him while he’s working. Big swallow. “Hello?” “Hi Babe, can you please come home and help me?” I feel like such a mensa (dummy in Spanish) recounting how I got here! It’s real quiet on the other end of the line. I suppose it’s no accident that my hubby was named after Ricky Ricardo. I don’t know if he’s trying not to laugh or go off. “Ok, I’ll be right there.” I wait and guard the stinky dumpster in the dark.
You can be as organized as the Red Cross, but, when you don’t know when to switch off the “I can do it all by myself” ego, there’s a dummy in the driver’s seat. Worse things can happen! Plus, underestimating the effects of having germy inflammation oozing so close to your judgement center lacks intelligence. Most of the time, sick means easily distracted and mush for brains (no question if your medicated). In the end, it took my gracious hubby about ten seconds to collect the bag for me. Clearly God didn’t want my goosey headlights on the road last night. How very good of him to expose my dimmed down marbles before I could do any serious damage to me, my car, or someone else! Moral of the story: Rethink your perception of competence. Wisdom is proactive and humbly asks for help. After all, isn’t that what great leaders do? Baking cookies for my new neighbors and the maintenance guys a.s.a.p.