Unexpected Potholes

The one thing that a bicyclist knows is to expect the unexpected. That straight road seemingly stretching as far as the horizon is quite likely to contain potholes, gravel, 1000 ft. of rise (three times), some smelly roadkill, and an unforeseen detour due to a bridge out. That’s not to say that one shouldn’t enjoy the here and now – in fact, that’s exactly the point.

We only have today. Whatever piece of road that you are calling home this very minute is all you have. So reach out and hug the person who is occupying that space in time with you. You never know what is around the next bend in the road. Trust me, it’s worth putting the brakes on, unclipping those pedals, and even clunking your helmets together as you embrace. If you happen to be standing next to a stranger – well, scare the heck out of them by giving them a big smile and telling them to have a wonderful day. Put a dollar into the bell-ringer’s Salvation Army bucket.

Before you write me off as falling into the pit of mushy, melancholy, melodramatics, let me tell you about a friend.

I think perhaps the phrase “What a woman” was invented with her in mind. No, she’s not on Capitol Hill, nor the Supreme Court. She’s not in Darfur, picketing the U.N., or meeting with Bono or Al Gore. She might stand right next to you, and you wouldn’t know that you were in the presence of greatness. Like most of the truly heroic, she wears her strength, her valor, her greatness, on the inside, not garishly displayed.

She’s living in New Jersey, loving and raising two adopted children, teaching hundreds (if not thousands) of people about living with diabetes, and teaching me all about courage. She’s received her master’s degree and moved cross country, twice, while managing peritoneal dialysis. What a woman. She’s survived the rejection of one kidney, and the successful transplantation of the second. And in-between all that, she got married, and (among other things) came to family weddings and reunions. She always borrows one of our bikes at those family reunions, and puts me to shame with her pleasure in vigorous exercise. She listened to rowdy one-upsmanship among “the boys” (now ages 50 to 40), didn’t buy any of their stories, and cooked like a vegetarian combination of Martha Stewart and Mario Batalli. She’s loved her in-laws as if she’d been born to them, and, (with her husband), taught their children all about extended family even with 1000 miles of separation. What a woman.

She’s enjoyed the fruits of a successful pancreas transplant, taking her fair share of the cookies and chocolate and giving up her unfair share of the glucose checks and insulin pump. And she quietly and calmly kept on with all of her life: mother, sister, wife, friend, daughter, medical social worker, and good neighbor as the labwork demonstrated that her pancreas now is travelling a slow, but steady path toward rejection. When I saw her in October, she was rail thin. Oh, she’s always been thin – but, she’s one of the few I forgive for that! No, this was a different thin, the effect of medication being taken to help regulate her blood sugar. She gave no hint that her energy, her joy, was any different. Her eyes sparkled, she visited with all the family, she tended to her kids as usual. And she hid any public sign that anything more was amiss. What a woman – that moment in life was not “about her” and that’s how she lived it. In bicycle parlance, she let someone else lead and she fell into the pack, drafting, keeping pace, head down, riding the ride.

Truth is, she was and is very, very ill. Surgery was done 10 days ago, intended to correct the problem that has resulted in more than a month of severe pain and even more weight loss.

What a woman. If it were me, I’d have been at the doctor after the first bout of pain exceeding a 2.5 on a scale of 1 to 10. Whining. I wouldn’t have the character to do what she did – get up every morning and go to work.

The surgery hasn’t worked. In fact, what the problem is isn’t really clear right now. And with all respect to world peace, global warming, and other pressing problems; when someone you love is in pain and caught in the unknown – that’s an earthshaking, priority-resetting, humbling kind of experience. I imagined life with Fansie, my sister-in-law, as one of those straight roads. We’d have lots of time when life was less busy. To talk. To take walks at those family reunions. For me to say “I admire you” and “I love you.”

And we just may have that time. But, the road ahead is not clear, and not straight. And I’ve already outlined the troubles that can happen on a nice straight stretch of road. On this crooked path? I’m afraid of what I can’t see. And I wish I hadn’t taken the times of clear road for granted. Unexpected potholes are just that – unexpected. Look around you – who and what do you take for granted? Don’t.

Oh yes, and please pray for Fansie.