The Blessing of Normal
Last spring my Dad had heart surgery and in the months that followed, he couldn’t get back to himself. He could no longer walk up the stairs to his bedroom without stopping to rest. He seldom had the energy to leave the house at all.
His surgeon realized last month that one of the arteries he’d tried to open up in May was still partially clogged. So this week the surgeon burnt up that blockage with a laser.
By the very next day, my father was able to walk up the stairs without stopping. Yesterday, 2 days after the surgery, my father and I went on 2 walks–one for 5 minutes, one for 10. Farther than he’s been able to walk in half a year.
My mom used to always say, “When I go to the doctor, I aspire to be is a boring patient.” My mom, diagnosed with MS in her 30s, tended to be a much more interesting patient than she would have hoped.
But this week with my Dad is reminding me of the blessing of being a boring patient. Of being normal. Of being able to take out the garbage yourself. Of a humdrum walk around the block. Of a heart beating, blood flowing unimpeded. Of blessed, ordinary, every day life.
Shabbat shalom!
YES! WONDERFUL, B’H!