You Could Do More by Bob Perks

March 17th, 2008 by sbvyl84

There’s
so much to be learned from those who have lost so much. We find
strength in seeing how someone wins their battle against cancer. We
applaud those labeled handicapped who, against all odds, not only run
the race but win it. We love the stories of the all too young or much
too old who do the seemingly impossible.
 
This might not rank up there with one of those awe-inspiring
stories, but it awakened in me the spirit to keep on trying just when I
needed it.
 
I was visiting a friend who works at a medical center just outside
of town. He had asked me to get involved with a fundraising project for
equipment they needed. I came to tell him I couldn’t do any more than I
did last year. I just didn’t have the time. 
 
We had been sitting in the waiting area just down the hall from
one of the therapy rooms.  After talking for a few minutes, he was
called away.

"This might take some time," he said. "Think about getting more involved. I’ll be right back."
 
"Well, I just don’t think I can," I replied as he walked away.
 
Off in the distance I could hear music playing. My curiosity brought me to the doorway of what appeared to be an exercise room.
 
"Excuse us!" I heard from around the corner.
 
"Oh, I’m sorry!" I said as I stepped back into the hall.
 
"We’ve got a train here," the voice repeated, "Excuse us!"
 
Sure enough, five or six wheel chairs and one bed came rolling
out. Each one commandeered by a hospital aide and occupied by smiling
patients.
 
"Looks like you had fun," I said to one in passing.
 
"We’re trying!" an older man replied.
 
When it appeared to be safe, I slowly made my way into the room.
There were floor mats, platforms, small hand weights and exercise balls
scattered throughout.
 
Thinking I was alone, I was startled when I heard someone say, "Is she gone?"
 
"Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there," I said.  I looked to my right and saw a man peering at me from behind some equipment.
 
"Is she gone?"
 
"Is who gone?" I asked.
 
"The drill sergeant!" the young man replied. "She said she’d be
back for me. She wanted me to keep exercising, but I can’t. She pushes
too hard."
 
Then out of nowhere I heard someone say, "You could do more!"
 
We both looked around and couldn’t find where the voice was coming
from. Then from around the corner in the far left side of the room a
man appeared. "I said you could do more," he repeated.
 
The deep, resounding voice presented itself as a voice of
authority. The stature of the man backed it up. He was of average
height but broad in the shoulders, with a muscular build.
 
"That’s easy for you to say," the young man told him.
 
"Oh, is it?" the man said, and then walking toward the younger man, he said, "Nothing
worthwhile is easy."
 
The young man still lying on the floor mat turned toward me and said, "Sir, could help me up?"
 
My view of him had been partially blocked by a stack of foam
blocks. I responded, "Sure, I’ll give you a hand."  As I came closer to
him, I choked on my words.
 
He had no hands. His arms were tightly bandaged and covered at the elbow.
 
"Oh, I’m sorry…" I began to stammer.
 
"You could do more," the other man repeated. I backed off as he took a stance right over the young man on the mat.
 
"I can’t do more!" the young man shouted. "Look at me!" He raised both arms above him.
 
Then, in a moment I will never forget, the man standing over him
appeared to reach down to help him, but instead raised both legs of his
trousers. He was standing on two stainless steel prostheses.
 
"You could do more," he repeated, now in a softer, reassuring tone.
 
I quietly retreated from the room. As I neared the doorway, I could hear them both talking about their challenges.
 
Soon my friend returned. "Okay, now what were you saying? You were a great help to me last year. I’m counting on you," he said.
 
Glancing back at the exercise room, I turned to him and said, "I could do more."
 
My experience that day has me taking inventory of my own life. There is
so much more I could be doing.

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All in a Day’s Work By: Naomi Rhode

March 6th, 2008 by sbvyl84

He was admitted to emergency receiving and placed on the cardiac floor. Long hair, unshaven, dirty, dangerously obese, with a black motorcycle jacket tossed on the bottom shelf of the stretcher, he was an outsider to this sterile world of shining terrazzo floors, efficient uniformed professionals, and strict infection control procedures. Definitely an untouchable.

The nurses at the station looked wide-eyed as this mound of humanity was wheeled by, each glancing nervously at Bonnie, the head nurse. “Let this one not be mine to admit, bathe and tend to . . .” was their pleading, unspoken message.

One of the true marks of a leader, a consummate professional, is to do the unthinkable. To tackle the impossible. To touch the untouchable. It was Bonnie who said, “I want this patient myself.” Highly unusual for a head nurse—unconventional—but the stuff out of which human spirits thrive, heal and soar.

As she donned her latex gloves and proceeded to bathe this huge, very unclean man, her heart almost broke. Where was his family? Who was his mother? What was he like as a little boy? She hummed quietly as she worked. It seemed to ease the fear and embarrassment she knew he must be feeling.

And then on a whim she said, “We don’t have time for back rubs much in hospitals these days, but I bet one would really feel good. And it would help you relax your muscles and start to heal. That is what this place is all about . . . a place to heal.”

The thick, scaly, ruddy skin told a story of an abusive lifestyle: probably lots of addictive behavior with food, alcohol and drugs. As she rubbed those taut muscles, she hummed and prayed. Prayed for the soul of a little boy grown up, rejected by life’s rudeness and striving for acceptance in a hard, hostile world.

The finale was warmed lotion and baby powder. Almost laughable—such a contrast to this huge, foreign surface. As he rolled over onto his back, tears ran down his cheeks and his chin trembled. With amazingly beautiful brown eyes, he smiled and said in a quivering voice, “No one has touched me for years. Thank you. I am healing.”

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Games I spend so much time for.. :)

March 2nd, 2008 by sbvyl84

Wedding Dash

Wedding_dash

Burger ShopBurgershop_1

Diner Dash :: Hometown Hero

Dinerdash

Diner Dash 2 :: Restaurant Rescue

Dinerdash2

Go-Go GourmetGogo

TurbTurbopizzao Pizza

Big City Adventure :: San Francisco

Bigcityadventuresf

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To Love Enough

February 29th, 2008 by sbvyl84
<Cynthia M. Hamond>
My mother isn’t speaking to my father. She hasn’t spoken to him in five years, and for that, my father is truly grateful.

I was crying the last time she did speak to him. I saw the exchange though I could not hear the words. His whisperings, her whisperings.

The two of them silhouetted against the window light at the end of the long hall. My father leaning over my mother’s gurney, pressed forehead to forehead. The word “Surgery” on the doors behind them forming a caption for the picture they made. Hands clasped together as if believing they held each other’s hearts. As longingly as the first time they had reached for each other, as desperately as two lovers being forced apart.

Being forced to part on this day of life and death.

They had made the decision together, to do or die . . . to do and die. These two who had lived for and in each other’s dreams these past forty years.

My mother with a disease that was cutting the blood flow to her brain. It was deteriorating her life and it would take it in three years. Her life could be prolonged if the surgery was done now. Twelve brave hearts had gone before her but only three of them had walked away.

I watched their process of decision making, both prayerful in the face of death. My mother wanting to live, wanting to try. The churning and turning until there was peace.

How brave we knew she was; we three sisters gathered around her hospital bed feeling time pushing us toward her fate the next day. We were quick to smile, slow to leave, hoping our “Good nights” were not our good-byes. Our father was left to keep his prayerful, loving vigil. It was painful to leave him that night, too painful to think of him alone. But he reminded us that he would not be alone, at least for this night, he had his Love.

And morning came. We gathered and prayed. We kissed our mother, hugged our father and then followed her gurney until we were told that only one of us could go any farther.

My father continued to walk alongside her as he always had. Two people who had stood together against all odds. My mother orphaned at a young age and moved from place to place. My father the youngest of nine in a family hurting with poverty.

They who had found their home in each other.

We children were loved in their home. Given by these two what they had not been given in their own childhoods: safety, nurturing, moral guidance.

We knew that we were created from their love but that their love was an entity separate from us, a circle complete within itself.

I see the kiss, the parting. My mother wheeled through the door, alone. My father, his back to me, placing his hand on that door, praying love and strength and hope to the woman on the other side.

He turned and walked slowly toward me. The sunrise lit his face and I glimpsed the depth of this man’s love.

This love of great self-sacrificing. A love so great that he was willing to bear the pain of being the one to walk alone.

And though surrounded by our love, my father walked alone for the two weeks we waited out her coma, the months of doubt and rehabilitation.

In the end, my mother had lost her speech but she had won her fight to live.

She has not spoken to my father for five years, and for that, he is truly grateful.

Posted in Chicken Soup For The Soul: Daily Dosage | No Comments »

But I Do Love You ..

February 28th, 2008 by sbvyl84

BlueI don’t like to be alone in the night

And I don’t like to hear I’m wrong when I’m right

And I don’t like to have the rain on my shoe

But I do love you, but I do love you

I don’t like to see the sky painted gray

And I don’t like when nothing’s going my way

And I don’t like to be the one with the blues

But I do love you, but I do love you

Love everything about the way you’re loving me

The way you lay your head

Upon my shoulder when you sleep

And I love to kiss you in the rain

I love everything you do, oh I do

I don’t like to turn the radio on

Just to find I missed my favorite song

And I don’t like to be the last with the news

But I do love you, but I do love you

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The Other Side of the Bed

February 26th, 2008 by sbvyl84

Cyndi S. Schatzman

It was the scariest day of my life. I sat next to the bed listening to the “beeps” of my newborn son’s heartbeat. The ultrasound tech kept very quiet, but I had seen enough echocardiograms as a thoracic ICU nurse to know. I looked away from the screen and gasped back a sigh and a cry. The results were confirmed when the pediatrician stepped in and said that our son, Carson, had been born with four heart defects. I felt all the strength in my own heart slip away.

As I called my husband with the results, I realized that my place as a critical care nurse was about to change: I was moving to the other side of the bed.

I was used to being the one in control, the nurse who fixed things, who could rally in an emergency, who could do something. I couldn’t do anything now but wait for six months until Carson had gained enough weight, or deteriorated enough, for the surgery to be performed.

So we waited. As Carson’s skin color slowly became blue, I controlled everything I could. We researched and handpicked the surgeon, anesthesiologist, perfusionist, and hospital. We were ready, or so I thought.

On a Friday when three of my best friends and their children were at my home, the phone call came. Carson’s most recent results showed he was declining more rapidly than we thought and the surgery needed to be moved up, fast.

“Oh, one more thing,” the nurse added. “We need O positive, CMV negative blood donated for him.”

What? How did I miss this key element? My husband and I had planned that one of us would donate blood for him. But we were different blood types. I hung up the phone and my friends’ faces mirrored mine. I shared the news and two friends smiled and declared, “We have O positive blood!”

Jan and Denise drove off to donate blood, while Melinda and I took care of four babies under the age of six months and their four older siblings. We changed dirty diapers, wiped runny noses, and at one point Melinda breast-fed Denise’s baby while I bottle-fed Jan’s youngest. We laughed at the sharing of care between moms, so another mother could provide blood for my son.
Denise and Jan returned in a couple of hours with the news: Denise was CMV negative and her blood would be ideal for Carson!

The day of surgery was emotionally exhausting. My husband and I handed Carson over to the anesthesiologist and tears welled in our eyes, while knots knitted in our guts. Knowing too much can be a blessing and a curse. As I watched the clock, I knew when they would stop his heart, put him on bypass, make the repairs, restart his heart, and close his chest. Several excruciating hours later, the surgeon came out and announced that Carson’s surgery had gone perfectly!

As I stood on the other side of the bed in the ICU, the nurse in me wanted to check the ventilator, his dressings, IVs, and chest tubes. Then, as the nurse hung Denise’s blood over Carson’s bed and the red drops ran down the tubing into his body, I realized why my role had changed. I wasn’t out of control, as I thought. I instead trusted another nurse to stand in my place, just as Denise’s blood dripped in the place of mine. Many nurses served as my substitute on the other side of the bed so I could just be “Mom” on my side.

That’s when I realized the core of nursing is being there for each other . . . as nurses, mothers, and friends.

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The Cost of Hope

February 26th, 2008 by sbvyl84

By Susan Hamilton

Danielle sat down with a sigh, discouraged and exhausted. The day had proven frustrating. With only forty dollars left in her wallet, she desperately needed to find a bank to cash her paycheck. She was living in a new city with no local bank of her own - and the banks were not eager to help her.

For more than two weeks, she made attempt after attempt - to no avail. With her cash supply dwindling fast, she had no other resources. How could she continue to support herself and her two children? She wondered just how much longer she and her children could get by on the little money they had left.

Taking a break from her struggles, Danielle decided to attend a meeting at the local women’s resource center. The women there had been a strong source of encouragement since she fled her home in fear for her safety. Her thoughts were far away as she settled into a chair in the meeting room. In deep despair, she longed for renewed hope that she could make it as a single mom. Live life more consciously by reaching out "Good afternoon, everyone," a voice said, breaking Danielle’s thoughts. It was the leader of her women’s group. "Does anyone want to start?"

Sitting next to Danielle, Amy cleared her throat. "I would," she said. Amy began to share the details of her desperate situation. She had run into severe personal struggles and was just days away from losing her home and her car. Her phone and electric services were both scheduled for disconnection. Her husband had gambled away their money. What little she had tried to squirrel away, he had used to support his drug habit. Their relationship had deteriorated to the point where she feared for her very safety. The last of the money she managed to tuck away allowed her to buy food for her children and diapers for her baby. She had nothing left. Nothing.

As Amy described the extent of the situation, Danielle heard God’s soft whisper in her heart: "After the meeting, give Amy twenty dollars." Danielle immediately thought, But I can’t. I only have forty dollars. She heard the order again. It was unmistakably clear. Danielle knew she needed to comply.

When the meeting concluded, she reached into her purse and quietly slipped twenty dollars to Amy. Knowing Danielle’s situation, Amy was reluctant to accept it at first. But as a crowd of women came to give Amy hugs of support, Danielle told her that God wanted her to have it. Then Danielle left.

As Danielle unlocked the door to her car, she heard someone call her name. She turned to find Amy walking toward her. Tears filled Amy’s eyes as she began to speak. "How could you have known?" she asked. A large tear rolled down her cheek and dropped onto her shoulder as she reached into her purse. She pulled out a small amber prescription bottle. "I took the last one yesterday." She pointed to the bottom of the label. "I’m a medication-dependent diabetic. I need this medication every day. I had no idea what I was going to do." Another tear rolled down her cheek as she pointed to the refill cost printed clearly on the label: $20.00. It was at that moment that Danielle was renewed with a sense of hope and peace. She told Amy that she did not know, but God did.

While Amy’s situation seemed to be a mountain before her, God alone could help her navigate every step and meet every need to move beyond that mountain, one step at a time. The words of hope that Danielle spoke to Amy that day were the very words of hope she herself needed.

Now with just twenty dollars left in her wallet, Danielle decided to try cashing her paycheck at just one more bank before heading home. While she anticipated the rejection she had received at so many other banks, she was somehow filled with renewed confidence and optimism.

With hope in hand, she walked into the bank adjacent to the women’s center. Moments later, the bank cashed her paycheck with no questions asked. Beaming, Danielle returned home. While she knew there would be days ahead that would certainly hold challenges, her newfound hope inspired her.

She never did see Amy again, but she continues to rest confidently that God is still looking out for her and is meeting her daily needs, just as he continues to look out for Danielle and her two children.

As for Danielle, it has been three years since that day. While she realizes true hope has no price tag, she continues to be thankful for the lifetime supply that she received for the price of just twenty dollars.

Posted in Chicken Soup For The Soul: Daily Dosage | No Comments »

A Hand to Hold

February 22nd, 2008 by sbvyl84

by: Stephanie Wass

(Very rare.. 1 in a million! And I’m happy and blessed I have her hand to hold ..)
“My dear, you are so lucky. I used to have what you have.”

The well-dressed elderly lady seated in the church pew next to me took me quite by surprise as she leaned in and spoke to me following the Sunday service. Somewhat befuddled, I managed to utter a quiet thank you, although at that instant I was a little unsure of the meaning behind her words. What did I possess that this obviously well-off woman did not? Strands of pearls adorned her neck, and I could not help but notice the many sparkling gemstones that graced her aging fingers.

As I looked down at my own hands, the answer became apparent. Interlocked in my hand was the hand of my husband. Listening to the sermon together on Sunday mornings had led us to a natural closeness to God and to each other. More often than not, my husband would reach for my hand during the sermon or put his arm around mine during the time of silent prayer and reflection. This time together was sacred to us in more than just the obvious way. With our two young daughters in their Sunday school rooms, we reconnected and recharged after a hectic week of work, playgroups, and diaper changes.

When I looked across the pew at the woman next to me, I realized that she sat alone. Most likely, the husband whose hand once held hers on Sunday mornings had passed on and left her with the memories of what I now share with my husband. “I am so lucky,” I whispered to her in reply. As I stood up and prepared to leave the church, I looked up at my husband, Allen, and smiled. What I have with him is indeed a special blessing.

As a thirty-something, stay-at-home mom, I relish the opportunity to talk with other women my age and swap stories about our young children. However, when the topic turns from life in the preschool carpool line to complaints about spouses, I become uncharacteristically mute. Stories of husbands who do not equally contribute to child care or housework are commonplace. The same holds for the husbands who travel for days (weeks, months . . . ) on end and have little energy left over for romance or family.

After seven years of marriage, I now realize that I am an especially lucky woman!

My husband, Allen, once an executive with all the pressures of long commutes, business trips, and the very real possibility of transferring across the country, away from my close-knit extended family, made the difficult decision to resign from his high-powered job. He now owns his own small business in our hometown. Instead of executive perks, he now gets to see the perky antics of our two little girls as we eat lunch together every day. Rather than coming home from work after 7:00 pm, Allen is home like clockwork for our nightly six o’clock family dinner. Like every household with young children, much work is left for the post-dinner hour. We draw baths, read stories, and wash the dishes. Instead of retreating to the world of ESPN or pretending to tinker with something “manly” in the garage or basement, my husband is right by my side as we complete the nightly household tasks.

When weekends roll around, I am the blessed woman who does not need to cook a single meal. Warm maple syrup and hazelnut coffee aromas waft upward from our kitchen as Allen prepares breakfast and allows me the luxury of lingering in a hot shower. This wonderful man does not hesitate to give me a much-needed break whenever I want to go shopping or out to lunch with friends. When I return I find snowmen in our yard, LEGO castles in our playroom, and my two sweet princesses wearing paper crowns that Daddy cut out for them to wear.

“Dad made us a teddy bear picnic while you were at Target!” my four-year-old excitedly exclaims as I enter the door, loaded down with shopping bags.

“We had real food! Pretzels and raisins on the big blanket!”

I am given alone time to shop and socialize sans diaper bags, but my children are the recipients of the real gift . . . time spent with their amazing father.

The man who irons all of our clothes, cooks, cleans, and wraps every Christmas present (honestly, all I do is put on the sticky bows and gift tags!) is also generous with his affection toward me. After the children are asleep, I often find myself sitting in front of a warm fire or a few lit candles. Herbal tea is served to me as we discuss our ­children’s latest antics or our hopes for the future.

I realize that the elderly lady in church was quite correct. What I possess is truly special. I am the luckiest woman in the world to be blessed with such a caring, giving husband. Through the words of a complete stranger, I am reminded to cherish each moment with the man I love. I fully intend to keep his hand intertwined in mine for as long as God allows.

Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment »

Desperate and Bruised

January 9th, 2008 by sbvyl84

I am now desperate.. Unreturned messages are so damn hurting!

My heart bleeding, my ego bruised..

I so hate myself right now!

waaaaaaahhhhhh

I can cry can’t I?

But that would be lame.. Who am I kidding by the way?

It’s just me who made all these..

I am hurting myself right now not her..

It hurts so bad I really wanna cry..

Kasi naman ten you expected so much..

That your feelings are mutual. When in fact she doesn’t even know you!

That’s the point! She doesn’t even know me but she somehow found and peeked into my profile! Wouldn’t that suppose to mean anything?

I just wanted to know that’s all.. That was all I asked from her..

Wait! Can it be that she’s not answering because she doesn’t want me to know how she feels?

Oh come on ten! You’re kidding yourself talaga! She doesn’t want to have anything to do with you  and besides, why should she? You have nothing to prove to her. You got nothing she can be proud of right?

Ouch! That hurts! I really wanna cry right now…

Ok! Ok! She wouldn’t have to blink twice to decide if she’ll answer your messsage! She wouldn’t even have opened it maybe.. Even if she did, she wont waste time for such nonsense..

Drawn conclusion again! That’s why you get hurt most of the time ..

One day, I swear, you’ll notice me. You’ll find time to send me tons of mails! You’ll fall in love with me so bad you never want me to be away from you even for a minute!

Haaaay kadesperadahan na talaga ten ito! hehe

Well, at least I took it out! For sure later I’m gonna be restless again!

I’m really gong crazy..

Was it that hard to answer those questions?

Or I wasn’t polite enough?

Either way, I’m just fooling myself.. Maybe one day I will have the answers to those questions.. It’s driving me crazier by the minute.

But for now, I’m going to listen to your lecture I recorded before.. And read your notes.. Then maybe, I’ll perfect busines laws.. :)

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so frustrating! grrrr

January 8th, 2008 by sbvyl84

please sige na po.. reply ka na sa message ko please please!

it’s driving me crazy! you’ve been driving me crazier since december 31, 2007!

yeah, ‘coz I already liked you the first time I saw you down the stairs.. just few steps behind us.. :)

have pity on me hehe

kahit isang reply lng with all the answers to my questions..

if it’s not what I think it is then I’ll leave you alone I swear!

I’ll just think of you like I have always been doing.. :)

and wonder how it feels like to be special to you :)

and dream of moments I know will never happen..

at least I can be with you for a while, in my thoughts..

and by the way, you were the character in my short story hehe

I’m kinda thinking of continuing it sometime hehe

haaaay

please kahit isang message lng po sana.. please!

if you are reading this, then lucky me..

hoping to meet you in another lifetime.. :)

haha if there is one..

if none, sana in the near future when nothing will be holding me back to say the things I want to say to you..

hope it’s sooner.. ‘coz I’ll be leaving very soon..

but who knows what time offers the both of us..

maybe, just maybe one day, you’ll sit beside me in a bus..

then we’ll have pizza..

and a stroll in the park.. :)

hehe

haaaay en! mangarap ka! hehe

well, that’s what I do best.. dream..

ciao! :)

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