This night is growing away. All day I've wanted to write this to you, but let other things fill the spaces. About three weeks ago, realizing I must change important things about my work, I got the nursing home to make a big change in my schedule. From then on, I would work only when I want to. Less money would come in, but I'd have more time for living. I was so relieved, and happy, and proud for doing that, I celebrated the day, by giving myself a perpetual bouquet, a rosebush already showing blossoms, not red ones, or pink, but somewhere in between, stunningly beautiful.

My son offered to plant it for me, but I was emotionally high from changing my life, and wanted to mark the day by planting the rosebush myself. and so I did. The dirt was dry and hard, but I handled the shovel allright, and gave that little plant so hungry for life a parting smile, as I walked back in the house.

In the kitchen I celebrated more, by twirling round and round to happy music. It felt almost sinful for deciding to really live. But something about my hip or knee felt strange, as if it wasn't quite right, but I ignored it. I had let go of what getting bigger paychecks was doing to me, and it would take more than a twinge in the hip, or a knee to steal the freedom of that.

But then it happened again and again. At inconvenient times. I'd be at a store, and realize it was hard to walk back to the car. The day I went to get new tags for it, and renew driver's license, I got scared, trying to walk back to it. And it happened other times, while walking in the yard, or to get the paper. Because this was gradual, it was a while before I realized how bad it is, but when the pain set in I knew I was in trouble.

I have dealt with an emergency room doctor, and three different orthopedic ones, and was given a cortisone shot that isn't helping enough. So far, treatment has only been for guessed at diagnosis. The only thing that hasn't changed about it is the constant pain, so today I convinced a doctor to allow an MRI, to check it further.

Besides realizing I need to speak up more convincingly, this is what I've learned from all of this. If you let it, pain can consume you, drain your energy, mask an otherwise great personality, and some people are uncomfortable around pain. They don't know what to do about it, unless you tell them, and it's really selfish of me to not let them.

Another thing I'm glad I learned, is how difficult it must be for patients who are hurting, how helpless they must feel, having to wait for nurses to get pain meds to them, and the humiliation they must feel, needing help getting to bathrooms, or being changed. Maybe a kind word, or at least a ready smile might help them feel better.

I remember a patient from long ago. I believe she had Lou Gehrig's disease, and was already quite helpless. She couldn't even lift up her arms. As a student, my job was to spend a little time with her, and figure out how we could communicate, to fill her needs. She started, and kept making sounds I didn'tunderstand, so I tried various things, adjusting her seat, turning the wheel chair some, things like that. But nothing worked. She just kept shaking her head. and getting louder. I didn't think I would ever figure out what she needed, until the teacher explained, all the poor lady wanted, was someone to hold a kleenex, to wipe her dripping nose.

I never realized how many freedoms of movement we take for granted, and how frustrating it is when you can't use them. My situation about this leg will soon be fixed, and back to normal. But I now have a new appreciation for the handicapped.

It is alright to decide how much of me I'm willing to sacrifice to my work place. How much more am I willing to give? Should I not attempt to write the books I know are in me? Couldn't someone reading them benefit from the medicine in the words? And don't I owe it to myself to at least know I tried to write them. When I chose the rosebush to mark the day I decided to change all this, the troubles that followed were not invited, but I've learned so much from them. I think I will always be glad I planted the rose.