must be in for a mighty big blessing. At least that’s what I keep
telling myself. I hope my thoughts will take root and sprout something
of interest after the ordeal I’ve been through.
What ordeal, you might ask?
Well, after losing five family
members over the course of six months, not to mention my mother going
into a nursing home last May, I honestly didn’t think things could get
I was wrong.
All because of a mole.
What does a mole have to do with
When I received my yearly scan a
few weeks ago, my doctor said I needed one of the critters removed—on
the bottom of my right foot. No big deal, right?
The day of the procedure, right
before the doctor stuck the needle into the sole of my appendage to
numb it from the pain, he said, “You’re not gonna like this.”
I wanted to wave my hand and
say, “Please, I’ve survived more than this, mister,”
but I held my peace, which I normally wouldn’t do.
He plunged the needle into my
foot, and I grunted and groaned, gripping the edge of the table in
front of me. “You weren’t kidding,” I forced between breaths. “That’s
what I call an attention getter.”
I never realized how sensitive
the bottom of a foot is. I suppose that’s why most people are ticklish
I’m glad I kept my mouth shut.
The doctor came back for round
two. It’s a good thing somebody held my big, bony foot down on the
table or I would have kicked him in the chops. Purely by reflex of
He worked on my foot, and I
stared out the window, wondering what I could write about pertaining to
this particular situation.
After he finished sewing me up,
he said, “You did good.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. I
nearly screamed like a baby.”
“No, I’ve done a lot of these,
and you handled it well. Oh, you might have some trouble walking for a
I nodded and smiled, knowing the
worst was over.
After arriving home, I made my
way upstairs, picked up the phone, and called my big brother. “I’m
“Well, just stay off your feet
and take it easy, Sis.”
“I am. I’m in the office—in my
“Deb, maybe you should stay
downstairs. You have a bedroom down there.”
“I know, but my room is up
here—all the stuff for my writing.” Heaven forbid I be caught without
my tools. That would be as bad as walking around naked.
“Well, just don’t overdo
I waved my hand. “I won’t. In
fact, I’m going to take a nap as soon as we hang up.”
And I did.
A few hours later, I woke to
throbbing, accompanied by burning, in the bottom of my foot. I swung my
legs to the side of the bed, winced, tried to stand, and winced some
more. I fell back on the bed and looked around the dark room. “Honey .
My beloved rushed through the
door. “You okay?”
“Call my brother. I need Mom’s
“Deb, I can help you.”
I shook my head. “No, I don’t
want you to hurt your back.”
My husband murmured in the next
room as he talked to my sibling. Did he call me stubborn?
The phone clinked as he sat it
on the cradle. I cupped my hand around my mouth and hollered. “Is he
coming right over?” I lowered my arm, made a fist and released it,
grateful I still had use of my fingers. I could type.
He immerged through the doorway.
“Yeah, why? Do you have to use the bathroom or something?”
Did I ever. My bladder begged
for mercy. Normally I’d tap my right foot at a time like that, but I
couldn’t do that either.
I almost missed my mole.
“I do, but I’ll be fine till he
gets here.” I folded my arms across my chest. “Why is this hurting so
“I don’t know, honey.”
“You think it’s because I’m
“I mean, the mole was big, but
not that big.”
“The doctor apparently dug
deeper than you thought.”
I tapped my finger on my chin. “The man must have something against
“Deb . . .”
“I’m kidding.” As I sat there,
I eyed my foot, wondering what kind of war had really gone on beneath
the white bandage, but I had to leave it covered for twenty-four hours.
Within ten minutes, I heard my
brother thumping up the steps. I’d never been so glad to see his blue
windbreaker and baseball cap as he passed through the door. “Thank you
so much. You’re a lifesaver.”
“It’s okay, but I’m going to
get out of here. Looks like freezing rain’s coming.”
I’m sure there might have been
freezing rain in the forecast somewhere on the planet, but I also knew
my brother. He can’t stand to see me in pain. “Oh, okay—I love you.”
And I did love him. He could have said, “I told you so,” but he didn’t.
My husband gripped my elbow, and
I gripped the sides of the walker. “It’s a good thing I made it
upstairs before the anesthesia wore off.”
“Deb, maybe you should stay in
the bedroom down—”
“No.” The walker clunked as I
made my way to the bathroom. “Everything for my writing is up here.”
As I exited the restroom, my
husband continued as though I’d never left.
“You can take your laptop with
“But then I’ll need my Webster’s
or one of my other books for something.” Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. “I’m
going to my rocker.”
That was a week ago, and I’m
still there. When I changed my bandage, I saw that my doctor made about
a one and a half inch incision, followed by stitches with little black
knots in them. Apparently, he doesn’t like moles either.
And he said I’d have a little
trouble walking? He and I need to have a chat when I get these stitches
Anyway, I’ve noticed many things
while sitting in this room. First, my bookshelves need dusting, as well
as my desktop monitor, and my oriental rug could use a good vacuuming.
Even though I can put some of my weight down on my foot now, I don’t
dare try to vacuum while using a walker. What if my husband came in and
I also discovered I’m a die-hard
writer. Not that I didn’t consider myself one before, but when faced
with this particular situation, when I knew I’d be trapped somewhere, I
chose to be in my office—with my books—the things I loved.
So I guess the mole served its
purpose somewhere along the way, don’t you think?
Oh, I almost forgot to mention
the most important thing of all. Things can always get worse, so I need
to be grateful for the blessings I have. It just so happens that one of
them is writing.