i half-walked, half-ran down the stairs yesterday after work, slipping out the door and into the car with a huge sigh of relief. not that work itself had been so stressful - it hadn't - but the past few weeks had been overwhelming, and after coming dangerously close to crying at work, no less, i was more than relieved to be done with people for the day.
dad turned to me, putting a finger on his lips as he muted his phone (on conference call), and then we began our usual i-ask-dad-about-his-day-and-he-asks-about-mine ritual, which we've established over the past few months.
i didn't have much to say about my day, so i handed him coffee and asked about his. he accepted it gratefully, while mentioning that he'd been dying for a cup around 3, but couldn't get away, due to a sudden influx of patients.
'there was this one guy...his hand was all swollen, oozing with pus, and it had spread all the way up his arm...from a dog bite.' he began, and i shuddered because that sounded so incredibly nasty - and painful.
well, as the story continued, turns out this patient had been bitten by his dog at around 2am Sunday, and yet it took him till Tuesday afternoon to go see a doctor.
what absolutely floored me, though, was when my dad went on to say that 'I finally convinced him to go to the hospital - '
and i interrupted in utter disbelief.
'wait. wait. this guy..has pus streaming from his arm and hand, multiple dog bites all over his hand, could lose his arm, and yet you had to convince him to go to the ER!?'
dad nodded. 'he wanted to go home.. and take care of his dog.. the same one that bit him'.
i couldn't believe it. 'why didn't he want to go to the hospital?'
'oh, it's more expensive, takes longer, they'd have to do a full examination, and he doesn't want to be sick. i told him that he could lose his arm, and he said he didn't care.'
I sat back, dumbfounded. that seemed like the stupidest, most foolish thing in the world. there was no doubt in my mind that he was being an idiot...frankly, i couldn't believe that he was even for real. how is that even possible?
...goes to show how little i see my own blind spots...because as i mused, it suddenly hit me...
i'm the man with the dog bite.
oh, not a literal dog bite, but i had just spent the entire day fighting my friends, God, even the rational part of myself which says that i am killing myself, because...i would rather go back to the familiar even if it kills me, than actually humble myself and get help.
funny how these things work...
what astonished me most about dad's story was that a man with such an obvious wound, obvious infection, damage, decay... had to be convinced to do what he knew would be best for him, what people who knew better had told him was the wisest course of action, and what would, ultimately, heal him.
and yet, i regularly do the same thing.
just earlier that day, i had been told in no uncertain terms that 'if you want to get better and be helped...at some point, you will need to start confiding in people because you know its the right thing to do. not because someone has convinced you that you need to for your own sake, over the course of a four to five hour discussion'.
...which....guilty.
see, what the man with the dog bite hated was the hospital. it was expensive and time consuming and potentially far too invasive for his preference.....he wanted a quick fix, a topical anesthetic to numb the pain so that he could go back to life the way it always was.
and if i'm honest, i'm the same way. i don't want to trust, to get help, to let people in. it's costly - i have been left far too many times by those who swore to stay, and most of the time i do not want to take that risk, because what happens when they leave and take my secrets with them?
it's time consuming, and invasive, not because i don't trust them per se, but because i still find myself chasing after the all-elusive 'independent, strong woman who doesn't let anyone in'...and there is always vulnerability which comes with allowing someone to see the parts of you that you hide away, the flaws and failings and damage and infections and yes, even the pus, and i hate being vulnerable.
i tend to want the quick fix. i want something to make it better real quick so i can go back to the dogs. especially when i don't know how to handle what hurts me, i forget the lessons i have learned in the depths of my pain, and then refuse to let people in who will remind me of what i know is true.
ridiculous, right?
i know.
but sometimes the long road is oh, so long... and sometimes the valleys are oh, so deep, and i find myself hanging by a thread, refusing to grasp the rope which has been thrown to me.
but, i am learning that i must.
for i can't go back.
there's a fantastic passage in Pilgrim's Progress, where Christian is standing on the crest of the Hill of Difficulty, and encounters Mistrust and Timorous, who tell him that ahead lay beasts of prey, lay fear and even more danger. the closer to the Celestial city they get, they say, the more danger they encounter.
which, truthfully, is the way i've been feeling lately. like, the closer i feel to finally being free, the more gets thrown at me, the more i struggle, the more danger and fear and heartache comes my way.
but I love Christian's response.
'Then said Christian, you make me afraid, but whither shall i flee to be safe? If i go back to mine own country, that is prepared for fire and brimstone, and i shall surely perish there...'
(if the man with the dog bite goes back to his beast....if i go back to mine...)
'if i can get to the Celestial City, i am sure to be in safety there.'
(and i love this next part so much)
'I must venture. to go back is nothing but death. to go forward is fear of death, and life everlasting beyond it. i will yet go forward'
as will i.
as must you.
as shall we all.
because to run back to the darkness is death. certain death.
and while help may be costly and invasive and hard and painful and uncertain and take ever so much longer than slapping a band-aid on our wounds.....the end of it is life.
life and freedom.
i will yet go forward.
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