Radioactive

Magic Touch

On The Stereo: You Say, Lauren Daigle
In My Bloodstream: Lisinopril, Omeprazole

This past week has been one of the most routine that I can recall.  Last week I "leaked" the story of my Moffitt visit, so to speak, and promise no more of that for a while.  I was surprised that I was offered sympathy by only one of my male friends, who understood implicitly, my plight.  No women commented.  Huh.



Kat and I have talked numerous times about several occasions that I have been, literally, touched by someone who has created something special in my heart.  What do I mean?  Let me go back in time.

We have recounted, if you remember, our early days in Tuscaloosa, and my first visit to DCH to see Dr. Merle Salter.  We left that meeting with the understanding that I had a deadly cancer that could not be treated there, and was referred to Birmingham, and the UAB Cancer Center, which had the facility and staff to better care for my needs.

Dr. Salter walked us to our car, and simply put her arm around my shoulder and squeezed, firmly.  She told me that she would pray for me, and to have faith.  My anxiety and realization of my mortality, were absolutely washed away by her sincerity.  Her honesty, simplicity and humanity demonstrated the true meaning of grace.  I had likely used the word before, but for the first time, I felt it.  I was astounded by it.  I had never before experienced anything like the calmness she gave me that evening.  With a physical touch, she gave me a different type of strength.



In 2010, Kathy and I traveled to Australia and New Zealand.  It was one of the few expansive trips we have made without the Smiths, our regular travel partners.  We had booked accommodations, mostly in NZ, where we planned to spend the greater portion of our time.  We had a bagful of airline points, so we were able to enjoy the luxury of a first class flight.  During years of working travel, the best I had done was business class, for inter-continental trips, and most flights within the U.S. were economy.  This was a treat.  We began by flying from Fort Myers to Atlanta, where we changed planes and then flew to Los Angeles, for another plane, and then an overnight flight to Sydney.


                                              The view from our hotel room in Sydney.

We all boarded the plane in LA, and, having somewhat private sleeper seats, were given pajamas and cocktails to give us comfort for the long, direct flight.  Each seat had a short privacy wall, so, as we were lying down, our only visible neighbor was the person across the aisle, not your partner.  We changed into our new duds and Kath was immediately chatted up by a man across the aisle from her.  I assume that he was admiring her nightwear, or what was in it.  Could not blame him.

The rest of the passengers continued to load.  And then the luggage hatch was slammed closed,  and we were going to be on our way.  Nope.  The sound we heard was the door being damaged by the luggage lift truck.  After an hour, we were advised that we were not going, and that we would need to go back to the gate and re-book tomorrow night's flight, at the same time as was this one -11pm.  Accommodations for the night would also have to be arranged, in a different line.  Kath and I would each take a line and rally when we were finished.  Some might have been off put by the inconvenience and loss of a vacation day.  I was in full vacation mode and was absolutely unfazed.  We would have a full day to see whatever we wanted of LA, and that was not the worse thing that could happen.

We spent the lost day in Manhattan Beach, and thankfully for our friends, the Murphys, who live there, we did not have their contact information, or they would have had unexpected visitors.  Our luggage was still at LAX, so all we had were the clothes we started with, and our airline pjs.  We spent the day walking the beach and touring the beautiful town.  A late dinner and back to the airport to do it all again.  And we did.

Our tour of N.Z. was self organized.  We had planned to combine flying and driving, booking our accommodations, cars and flights, in advance.  The only part of our trip that did not go as planned, was our trip to Milford Sound.  Home of the Hobbits.  There had been a tremendous rainfall, and the road to the coast was blocked by a giant mudslide.  We booked a helicopter, but after waiting two days for the weather to clear, we gave up hope.

With little to do in Queenstown, we did find a scotch bar.  It was intimate. It  was fully equipped, with  a sterling collection of single malts, one bartender and two comfortable chairs in front of a roaring fire.  A royal respite from the cold rain and in fact, an early snow.

We had a cocktail there before dinner, and a return visit immediately following a great meal right on the ocean's edge.  During our first visit, we met a nice young Kentucky boy, on leave from the army.  He had never been away from home before and had, with his momma's blessing, come here on his leave,  rather than go home.  His momma  had  said he may never get a chance like this again.  We had left the bartender $200 and told him not to accept the soldier's money.  After dinner, as the night was miserable, I told Kath that we better have a nightcap, before turning in.  When we entered the bar, this time, there was a big cheer and  round of applause.  The barman gave us our usuals and our young man was doing quite nicely with a couple of young girls.  They evacuated the big chairs for us and our drenched clothes.  We felt warm with the fire and the thought that we had made friends, if just for a night.  The next morning we moved on.

When we arrived at  Rotarua, we were somewhat beat up from our time behind the wheel and the stress of driving on a two lane highway, on the opposite side of the road.  We would have a massage before dinner.

Kath sat in the massage room, as I took the first turn.  I was on my back, naked, and the masseuse removed the tiny towel from my central time zone.  The lady was statuesque, to say the least.  She would be middle aged and had an engaging smile, and exuded an aura of tranquility.  She was Maori and wonderfully pleasant.  We talked about our trip and the countryside.  Smalltalk.  She laid her hands on my chest and tummy and stood very still.   For a lengthy time she did not move.  She asked if I had cancer.  Yes.  She said "You are very sick".  And our talk became more serious, although still positive.  She could feel my illness.  Kath witnessed all.  I almost cried at this lady's spirituality.  She was mystical.  She hugged me and wished me well, and I left Kat alone with her, while I went back to our room to clean up before eating.

We left the next morning, uplifted.  I have seldom, if ever, felt such a powerful soul.  She was a most unexpected gift, and I wished I had properly thanked her, for her honest care.

Kath and I still talk about her power and our privilege.

                                                     In front of "The Shark's Tooth"

The news this week of the mosque shooting in Christchurch, was unbelievable to us, after spending a few weeks in that country.  It is a most peaceful place, seemingly a throwback in time.  Air travel inside the country was  a breeze.  We would park our rental car, walk our luggage in, where someone would take it from us and we would wait in the lounge to be called for our flight.  There were no lines, and little, if any, security.  Meals and wine were always a part of commercial seats.  We laughed at the staggering difference.  Everybody was amiable and polite.  Everybody.

                                                       Christchurch Botanical Gardens

At one point, I could not help myself.  I commented to a lady about the obvious disregard of security, when compared to our country.  She was bemused, and almost giggling, said,  "Why would anyone want to bother us.  We are too far away and really, quite inconsequential."  This past week was their first taste of hate.  Pray this was their last.

Next week....