Blog for July 22, 2008

It is two-thirty in the morning, and I know better than to lie in the dark during the Hour of the Wolf. I may as well face it by lamplight, listening to the crickets and the wind blowing across the pastures.

My sister offered me a room at the Inn she is managing this summer. My brothers are visiting Dad and the house is full. Staying here has been a very welcome respite from the heat and the crowds at the other end of the island. My brothers have offered me this break from nursing and are doing their best to keep Dad comfortable. Meanwhile I am staying in a lovely stone cottage overlooking Bliss Pond, watching the horses grazing beyond the stone walls. I feel the peace of this place seeping into my bones.

It had been a rugged week. There have been times when I thought my head would explode. In fact, my mouth has broken out in a rash that puzzled both doctors at the Walk-in clinic. “Yes, that is quite some rash you have there. Haven’t seen anything like it in 30 years,” they said. They prescribed a mouthwash that tastes like a combination of Pepto-Bismol and Novocain and makes my lips so numb I cannot talk.

My experience with the Vineyard Nursing Association has nearly put me over the edge, with their inconsistent care, erratic scheduling and lack of communication. The latest episode was the worst. They sent a nurse out to re-evaluate Dad following his stroke. The man left with my purse by accident. He said it looked just like the green bag he used to carry supplies. When he called, he told me he would return it in 15 minutes. An hour and a half went by. I called him back on his cell phone to tell him I was stranded without my wallet, which contained my driver’s license and my money. He told me he was not coming back to my town for hours, and that he would drop it off at the VNA office at lunchtime.

This meant that I had to get Dad in the car. I could not leave him alone and he had just returned from the hospital. Then I had to drive through heavy noontime traffic to the next town in the muggy heat to get to the office to fetch my bag. I was driving without a license, which worried me. It is bad enough that the car is still registered and insured to my mother who passed away seven years ago. If I had an accident, they would throw me in jail and throw away the key. I was furious and frustrated, and on the verge of biting someone. My brother pointed out I was a little tightly wound.

It was perfect to move up to Chilmark, at the peaceful end of the island, away from the crowds and mopeds and sirens. The night sounds here are timeless. I hear geese muttering on the pond, and moths hitting the screens. The wind rustles the wide oak leaves, and surf roars against the south shore. This old farm has stood for centuries, lichen spreading across the stone walls over the years. The paths worn in the land by our quick little lives fade like the summer roses wilting in the heat. I feel like I am regaining some perspective.

This summer, I feel as though I have been riding a ridgeline between Heaven and Hell. Tonight in these dark hours, I am filled with peace. These have been the Green Pastures that have restored my soul, and I am grateful.