http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0085M3BZ6
Before I wake up, I'm
dreaming that an old Indian with white braided hair and riding a White
Horse flies up to me as I sit on the top of a mountain bemoaning my
fate. He is carrying a pair of homemade cru...tches
decorated with Indian beads in the shape of colorful little feathers
that look like sequins and says, "Here, there is more work for you to do
on this earth. This will help you get around. Your spirit will do the
climbing for you, but you must do the heavy lifting. You must fight to
overcome your disability. Here take this. We, your Ancestors, are always
with you. Go with the pain Na-go-to-cup-wah-the Indian name for Billy
Flower- do not fight the flow of the river of life. "
I ask
myself what all this means. Is this a sign? Is this just a dream, or is
this a vision that I'm having. Why Billy Flower? Is this my real Indian
name? Is God with me too or only my Ancestors?
Where are you
dear God? I didn't hear anything from you in my dream. I don't know what
possessed me to say that. Sorry, God, another poor choice of words on
my part. The words just tumble from my mouth. Must be the medication.
I finally awake after the better part of a day in Intensive Care to
unbelievable racking pain. I feel my whole leg is inflamed, but the
truth is the leg isn't there. This is just phantom pain-feels real
enough. I spend better than a month in the hospital living on strong and
addictive painkillers. Most of the time I'm only half coherent. Cindy
says I keep mumbling about flowing rivers of pain and ancient Indian
Warriors. I constantly ask Cindy for my sequin crutches so I can get out
of here. Some of the time I repeat over and over, "My name is
Na-go-to-cup-wah. Cindy is beside herself. In my more lucid moments I
explain to Cindy about the dream I had. She doesn't know what to say or
to do. Finally she asks the hospital for a pair of plain wooden crutches
that will be the appropriate height for me to use.
Cindy, when
she isn't at the hospital with me, spends her evenings at home working
on my crutches, painstakingly applying little colored sequins all over
them in feather patterns with crazy clue except where I will hold them
for support, or on the armholes. Finally after about two weeks she's
finished. She shows them to me and says, "What do you think?"
I
say, "I think they are perfect and just what my Ancestors brought me in
my dream. Suddenly I feel a heavy cloud of depression lifting from my
heart."
Cindy says. "Here, these are from your Ancestors and
me. I think it's time you climb out of the funk you are in and start
living again. We need you at home, the City needs you." Cindy finally
understands that the sequins are not really anti-social, but a symbol of
my Indian past. She isn't sure I understand this. She needn't have
worried. I do.
I get a big smile on my face. I hop out of bed
and start wheeling around the hospital ward on the crutches saying to
everyone, "These are a gift from my Ancestors and my wife, Cindy. She
made these for me. I'm going home."
I insist on leaving that
day, and get the doctors to agree only by promising I will come back
three times a week for rehab and chemo treatments.
On the way
out of the hospital I grab Cindy by the hand, holding the two crutches
to one side and say, "Thank you for this. Thank you for understanding my
spirit. I love you."
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0085M3BZ6
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