In case anyone is losing track of what day it is, let me take this opportunity to remind you.
Today is Monday.
I have a general routine I like to follow on Mondays. Last Monday was non-compliant. Fortunately, I was willing to be flexible.
It started with learning that my sons could not apply for their passports. Months ago, we had planned a summer trip to northern Minnesota where we would be able to fish in Canada. Change of plans. Not only are the licensing centers closed, but it is highly unlikely that the passports will arrive before our trip even if the boys could apply. It is even less likely that we will be able to fish Canadian waters due to the pandemic. No problem. We can wait for passports. The boys need haircuts before those photos are taken anyway. We can fish in Minnesota. The resort confirmed our reservation. All good.
I continued reading my devotions. Then my husband sent me a text to check Slack. I know, that makes no sense, especially since he was upstairs in his office. I checked Slack. We had a deep theological discussion while I attempted to finish my reading in Chronicles. I shortened one Bible study reading and moved the other to the next day. We continued the discussion at lunch. I had to sideline what I thought I would be studying, but it was a worthy discussion. All good.
While I was talking with my mom on the phone, I took a few minutes to hold a warm compress on my left ear. It had swelled up a few days earlier. My husband and I spent considerable time trying to figure out what was wrong. But, not much had improved in our understanding or the size of my ear. My mom suggested I send a picture to my doctor. I had thought about that, too. So, I did. Within the hour, I had a reply back and an appointment scheduled for 1:30 pm. Highly motivated, I finished my Monday chores and left the house by 1:15 pm.
Then I realized I had forgotten my mask.
During a normal day in May, I could have probably made a quick U-turn. But, this year spring has sprung early. Which means that construction season is well underway. Which means there was no way to make a quick U-turn. I had to detour. That led to a few roadblocks and dead ends. Eventually, I navigated my way home.
After retrieving my mask, I made my way to the clinic and pulled in with two minutes to spare. I secured my mask and entered the building. There wasn’t a line, and I was greeted by a pleasant receptionist. She checked my insurance information. Invalid. (Remember my husband just changed jobs.) I asked if I could pay out-of-pocket. She accepted my card. But, her computer wouldn’t accept her password. I moved to the next kiosk where I had to answer the same questions. Then the first receptionist said she had gotten her password to work. Which was good because the second receptionist said her computer was lagging. A few more minutes and finally the card was scanned. All good.
I was called back to the exam room. My weight was higher than I liked, but I didn’t have a temperature. I joked with the nurse, and my doctor was in good spirits. He asked me a few questions and checked my ears.
“That is impressively swollen,” he said when he saw my left ear. He took pictures and sent them over to an ENT for a quick consult.
I spent some quality time on Facebook as my fifteen-minute appointment that started fifteen minutes late clicked towards the sixty-minute mark. The doctor came in and said I would be getting a call from the ENT’s office to schedule an appointment as soon as possible. I heard just enough about the possible condition to know I truly didn’t want it.
I walked out to my car slower than when I walked in. I called my husband and asked if he wanted coffee. He asked how the appointment went. I told him. He remained upbeat. I wanted to be.
I also wanted coffee. I ordered my usual after outright lying by saying “Good” when asked “How are you today?”
Then I went home, this time without detours. I did some research. I thought about the good and not-so-good. I got a call from the ENT office and scheduled an appointment for the upcoming Wednesday. I talked with my husband and my three boys. I emailed my parents. I did some laundry, made dinner, worked on my poetry, read my friend’s poetry, ate dinner, and went for a walk.
Then I remembered my blog for that day wasn’t written.
After so many detours would it matter if I missed a day? Maybe not. Maybe no one would notice or care. Except I would. Because I would know that if I didn’t write my blog I wouldn’t be detouring. I would be stranding myself on the side of the road fully capable of turning around and making my way to where I need to go. Because I do know and I do believe no matter the possible detour I may encounter, all is good.
But, I also know sometimes it’s important not to create worry for others when there is more hysteria in everyone’s personal existence than normal. Sometimes we have to place a protective barrier around our situation. Sometimes we need to assess the damage and process the solutions. We need a better understanding of whether we are dealing with a pothole easily mended or a underlying sinkhole requiring extreme measures for reconstruction and restoration.
So, I re-posted poems last week. I read instead of posting a book review.
I went to my appointment on Wednesday.
I left my appointment relieved. Not only did the ENT drain the fluid causing the swelling and suture the incision with a bolster dressing, he assured me that I simply experienced “one of those things that happens.” I do not have a potentially life-threatening condition. All good.
In case anyone needs reminding, Wednesday is a different day than Monday. Yet, Monday’s detours allow for Wednesday’s reconstruction. We may need to pull over and assess a situation before moving forward. We may encounter roadblocks and dead ends. But, we may also find a safe route home. We may discover we were simply dealing with a fixable pothole, a mere bump in the road.
All is good.
Categories: In Addition
Book Reader and Reviewer
Labrador Retriever Owner
Mother of Three Boys
Quiet Moments (a rare commodity!)
Singer in Church Choir
Wife of My High School Sweetheart
Yarn-Lover (the wool kind and the story kind)