Last week because of unexplained pain in my leg, I went to the emergency room of our local hospital, and several hours later came home with what I felt was a band-aide approach to checking it out. This week I found an orthopedic doctor who would fit me into his busy schedule, and this is where this post really begins.

Family were all at work, so I had to drive myself there. Armed with a copy of tests done in the ER, I headed to a place to park as close as I could find to this doctor's office. Feeling like some caring angel was looking out for me, as I turned into the underground lot, I was more than surprised to see an empty spot only one car length away from the entrance.

I pulled right in and sat there a moment, getting together courage to walk about a half block to the doctor's office. Pain can affect you much more than you might think, and it pounded in my leg, as I got out of the car. Thinking I would just nimble along, and be o.k., turned into fear as I saw how steep the sidewalk was. But I had started early, so I could take my time.

I wasn't feeling sorry for myself, at least that's what I thought. But each step closer to the intersection I must cross, I am sure raised my respirations. Almost there, I think it raced some more, when a car making a right hand turn whizzed right around that corner.

It is difficult enough to come to terms with how old the calendar shows I am. And not only that, I hardly ever get sick, and my job is to take care of others. So I think I played a little mind game to ignore my fear about getting down that steep sidewalk, told myself how pitiful it is that elderly people have to deal with this, and wondered if they got as scared as I was. I can't tell you how relieved I was when I got across that street.

A short walk after that I made it to the lobby of the doctor's building, the first thing I saw was some poor old person in a wheelchair accompained by her very own assistant. Some kind of IV was attached to her wheelchair, and the sight of it caused another shudder to rush across my chest. I almost had a conversation about it with myself. Not only that, when I finished my appointment with the doctor, I would have to deal with getting across that lively corner again.

I make my way to where the office is, and feel brought up short. So many patients are waiting that few empty seats are left. Years ago I was in another waiting room, because of facial surgery, and everybody there looked like they had shiners of varying shades of black, or a little green, and some were even purple. In the room where I was today, most of the patients including myself limped.

The doctor put me at ease by not seeming rushed. Gave me to time to speak, and he answered questions well enough, I thought. The outcome of it all was a cortisone shot in my knee, and we'll see if that fixes the problem, but what he didn't explain, and I did not know, is that those kinds of injections may take a week before they get rid of the pain. For two and a half days I've conjured up all kinds of reasons for hurting. I have faith that eventually this leg problem will be fixed, and resolve to not let pain dominate me.

I thank the doctor for seeing me on short notice, and find the elevator that starts my trip back home. What bothers me most right then, is getting across that busy intersection. When taking care of my own patients, and situations are tense, I've learned while getting them to take deep breaths, to take one for myself, and that's how I started the walk back to the car.

I mentioned having faith that whatever is wrong with this leg will be taken care of. What I understand about faith is, it is knowing in advance without any proof of it, that something will come to pass. When I think about my life, and many situations, some of them even dangerous, my Savior's never failed to take care of me, and get me through it. I have probably brushed shoulders with at least a few angels, completely unaware they were there.

I reach the ground floor, and leave the elevator, then walk toward that corner, but stop, as fear falls off my shoulders. I suppose angels are sometimes disquised, but this is the first time I've met not one, but two, wearing hard hats. Two young men are surveying on the corner.

I explain that I've just come from the doctor. and need help getting across the street. That was the hardest part of it, admitting I needed help. But the young man was already reaching for my arm, and let me get my bearings, for what felt like a slow waltz we took to the other side of the street.