THROUGH THE ENEMY LINES

In lieu of a proper motor vehicle, the Enterprise rented my husband a tank. "It is no extra out of pocket, the insurance will cover everything," they said. "Nice!" said my husband and drove the thing home with a Cheshire cat smile on his face.
My scrub top smelled funny. In its pocket I had plenty of Kleenex tissues for blowing nose and wiping eyes. I have not cried since Monday, and as if to say "we'll do it whether you will or not" my eyes and nose ran incessantly. In the other pocket there was a necklace. I put it there driven by an odd compulsion. Although assigned protective value, it laid there quite helpless to protect me from any harm.
I was on my way to see a patient for the first time since the accident. Reminding myself to stop holding breath, I drove the tank North as if in a trance.
I felt very similarly in the summer of 2004. A brand-new driver, I was trusted to steer a large, red pick-up from Texarkana to a piece of wooded land on Louisiana border. I was going a good bit slower than the speed limit, weaving my way on a two-lane road, oncoming traffic whistling by. I gripped the steering wheel with each upcoming curve, and tried to think my way through it. But before I could, my hands would do the job, and we'd be past it, heading to another curve down the road. "The truck turned itself!" I'd exclaim. Dr. A.D. just grinned, and mumbled something like "It did, didn't it." "Don't worry about the people behind you, they'll pass you if they need to." Mostly, I do exactly as Dr. A.D. says, because, well, he is right most of the time.
"Life must go on. Just drive. You need to see the patient," I kept telling myself.
The tank murmured pleasantly. I fiddled with automatic windows.
"I am real sorry to hear that," said my patient. "Thank God the baby was not with you!" The sentiment I heard all week.
Yes, indeed, thank God that the baby was not with me. And thank God, that I am not dead or badly injured, and that the other driver is OK.
My mind goes on to recall every evil, ill and indignity of the past few years and beyond. Do I thank God for not allowing the worst-case scenario in each instance? What a joyous gratitude list that'll be!
Deep into the enemy lines, caught in the cross-fire of my restless mind, I drive my rental tank.
How long do I gather strength to thank for that? And how dare I not, for through all this, I am not yet a casualty.
The silver flash to my left. The sound of my own voice, a squeal, rather than a scream. Airbags explode with a sound of a hand grenade, acidic smoke filling my nose. The windshield spreads with a web of cracks. I feel choked, and brush my face repeatedly, but there is nothing to remove. My hand puts the car in park, and turns off the ignition. My other hand opens the door, letting in more smoke coming from under the hood. Round pink beads and pink ribbons from my bracelet cover the disintegrated insides of my car. My first car.
"You need a car. Can't get anywhere in Arkansas without a car, " said Dr. A.D. "You're sure you want the silver one?" said A.D. grinning proudly a few weeks later. "Yes! I love it," I replied. "Oh my, it sounds like a plane that is about to take off," I laughed as we test drove. "It sounds just fine."
Paramedics got to the scene instantly, driving one block from Swedish Covenant. A dozen onlookers gathered. Someone stretched out a hand with a glass of water and asked: "The baby is not with you?" pointing at the car seat. "No, no, thank God!", and I cry again, sobbing and gasping as the firemen pry up the hood of my car to put out the smoke.
In my tank, I am aware that this is now and that is past. Five days in the past now. Yet the smell of smoke in my nose is very real.
Am I blessed? Cursed? Could it be that I am both?
From the safety of the tank I assess the fortunes and misfortunes of my life. All vivid, many unlikely, some practically unbelievable. As the cross-fire quiets for a time, I decide that there is no merit in evaluating my overall "luck" any further.
I just breathe and drive, knowing the sooner I get there, the sooner I go Home.

Reading List

Besides the Bible of course, these are the books I've read. Many are available at CPL. Feel free to ask me about any of these.

1. The Billings method: controlling fertility without drugs or devices by Evelyn Billings--a must for anyone with ovaries. Really, they should teach this in schools.
2. Feng Shui for skeptics by Kartar Diamond--does a great job of explaining what Feng Shui is and is not, and how to avoid the hoaxy side of the story. Otherwise, has no real practical advice.
3. The complete idiot's guide to feng shui by Elizabeth Moran and Val Biktashev--hate the name of the series, but this is a great book. Incidentally, they go onto great detail and get very involved with some concepts, so forget idiots, many smarty pants will not get this. Very helpful and practical.
4. Feng Shui handbook: how to create a healthier living and working environment by Lam Kam Chuen--simple and to the point. Explains concepts in rather unusual ways, and goes onto things other books are afraid to touch on. Great read.
5. The Circle of Stones by Judith Duerk--strongly recommended for thinking women.
6. The Truth About Children's Health: The Comprehensive Guide to Understanding, Preventing, and Reversing Disease by Robert Bernardini--just OK. I feel the author sensationalized a few issues for the sake of squeezing another few pages out. Does have helpful advice. Mostly yesterday's news though.
7. No more Mondays: fire yourself and other revolutionary ways to discover your true calling at work by Dan Miller--the jury is still out. Helpful, thorough, but at times unchecked and unrealistic. Could be more helpful. Good read.
8. The crazy makers : how the food industry is destroying our brains and harming our children by Caro Simontacchi. I have to be honest: I had to skip a few pages here and there. Some of the subjects I am simply very familiar with and this book had little to add. While the author is an outstanding nutritionist, her writing has a long way to go. Reads more like a dry textbook. I loved the last chapters, the recipes, and the meal plans.
9. Queen Jin's Handbook of Pregnancy by Fred Seligson. I cannot recommend this book, especially to pregnant women. In fact, had I read it while I was carrying a child, I would have ripped the thing into shreds and owed Chicago Public Library. As you may see, the authors name is neither Korean, nor Chinese or Japanese. Indeed, he is an American man that married a Korean young woman and became fascinated with all things oriental and pregnancy. This fascination often borders on creepy and inappropriate, especially when fueled by gravidas the author is not related to. The book indeed quotes some great sources, including ancient Korean sages and contemporary practitioners of oriental medicine. Most unfortunately, the author punctuated centuries-old pearls of wisdom with his at best mediocre poetry and oriental superstition ranging from silly to downright harmful. The book did get me interested in Embryonic Education, and I am looking forward to exploring the subject through better sources.
10. Diary of a Midwife by Juliana van Olphen-Fehr. I cried, I laughed. I wished I were a midwife, and I thanked God I was not. A wonderful book, although I am annoyed I cannot pronounce the author's last name. A must read.