Wildflower Writes

I gave blood the other day. For most people, that's no big deal. I have overcome great obstacles to be able to give blood. When I was 12, my ear started bleeding after I got them pierced. I saw it in the mirror and nearly passed out. When I was 19, I gave blood for the first time in college. I got so dizzy I had to lay on the floor for 45 minutes instead of sipping orange juice. When I was 34, I gave blood at my daughter's school. I passed out. The nurse called my parents to take my daughter and me home. I've given blood a couple times since, always with fear and trepidation that I might have an embarrassing episode. I have to focus on my breathing, be sure not to look at the needle or the tube or the bag, and think about anything else except where I am and what I'm doing (I have a very active imagination). So giving blood is like a rite of passage for me, overcoming a long-held fear of... what? Maybe pain, or death. But when I got the text that my blood typ...

Finished with my business at the hospital, I pushed open the massive door with the pretty green EXIT sign above it. I started heading down the three floors I had until I reached ground level. On the third step or so, my heel wobbled and I had to grab the handrail to steady myself. My imagination ran away with me. What if I had fallen? What if I had tumbled head over heels until I landed against the door of the third floor? How long would it take until someone came down that particular staircase? How long would I lay in a pool of my own blood, slowly dying? Or if I were able to make it out into the hallway, crawling on my hands and knees, dizzy from the concussion and dragging my broken leg behind me, would someone help me? With all the nurses and other hospital staff roaming the halls, would anyone stop? Or would they be too busy? Would they think I was being strange and call security? Would they stuff me in an elevator and send me to the ER? Or maybe just kick me down the...

I made sure the ladies from corporate had their reports for their noon conference call. I left the two of them and my administrator in her office. I clocked out, informed the receptionist, and headed to the car. The clouds were dark and ominous, and a wild wind whipped my hair into my face. It felt like a storm was brewing, and I felt a breath of anticipation in the air. I drove to my husband’s workplace where we shared reheated salsa chicken and veggie quesadillas. I was proud of him for fixing a healthy lunch. We chatted and before long, it was time to head back. As I walked into the nursing home, small groups of people were milling about, talking in hushed, excited voices. I slowly walked to the time clock, trying to make sense of what was being said. “Is he still in there? Don’t open the door! I hope it’s okay. How did that happen? Where’s [the administrator]?” “What’s going on?” I finally asked the receptionist. Her eyes were wide. “A deer went through her window.” I followed a sm...

Continued from 4/18 post… With alarm, Wendy noticed the two boys walking her direction. She could not be seen like this, almost out of control. Despite the downpour she began walking toward the parking lot. As soon as she passed the front gate, she broke into a jog, then a run. She began sprinting toward the “A9” mounted on a pole that designated her parking area. She didn’t see other people, or cars, as tears blurred her vision and mixed in with the rain, washing over her face. She jammed the key into the lock, swung open the door to her red Corolla, and sat quickly, slamming the door. She swallowed and blinked, trying to regain control, but then crumpled. The sobs came out loudly now, and she pounded her steering wheel. “Why daddy, why?” she screamed. She had called in sick at work that day, not able to face anyone. She tried to escape the inner turmoil by going to the park, but it had caught up with her. The cancer was supposed to be gone. When he was diagnosed the first time, both ...