It’s November. I’m going make this short and sweet. I’ve been home since October 10, and I am giving a grand hallelujah for leaving behind me eight months of rehab for CIDP. I’m still receiving physical and occupational therapy at home, but the important words here are: at home. Therefore, as I get settled and comfortable in my new space, I’m going to be brief.
Gone, for the time being anyway, is the cacophony of doctors, nurses, nursing assistants, medications, and the politics of teaching people to treat people like people. Today is golden.
A couple of weeks ago M came over for dinner.
“I’m not washing paper plates!” she laughed.
I wanted to use paper plates. But I also wanted to rinse them off before tossing them away. I know; weird. M pointed out —um — that the purpose of paper plates is to avoid washing dishes, therefore we would use real plates and wash those instead. I’ll tell you that this was guaranteed the best laugh I’ve had in eight months.
Strangely enough, in the past week I’ve received two e-mails where the word “luminous” was used. There’s a lot to reflect and a lot to enjoy. As little things come together — plants, a closet full of my own clothes, my stereo, books; the bedroom so beautifully arranged by friends who moved me here without my presence, luminosity reigns. Health is luminous. Equality is luminous. Beginning the work of eliminating the veil of belief systems built on the rocks of myths, stereotypes, and lies is filled with the power of luminosity. CIDP — oddly — retains elements of the luminous. Luminosity is now.
Once again, I’m inspired by the late Erma Bombeck. I heard that she had something she wanted to say to God if she faced him in heaven and he asked her what she had brought for him. The story goes that she said she would tell him she had nothing to give. She had used every gift He had given her, and there was nothing in her pockets to return. I dare to say she did this through luminous living; through being at home in her own skin.