peace and darkness

Tonight is Christmas Eve. We are being smattered by pouring rain, while in the states south of us there are tornado watches, and over a foot of snow in Oklahoma. Even Texas will get a white Christmas.

I went to a candlelight service at a nearby church that I hadn't been to before. Since we moved here I've been intermittently attending a nondenominational "mega-church." Not much like me, considering that I was raised in what seems to be one of the most oppressive Protestant religions around. I won't name the church, because it already seems to be having enough trouble with the congregation without me helping it along.

The service wasn't exactly my idea of a candlelight service. I mean, they did light candles, but they kept the lights on. So it was hard for me to really focus on the service as I like to do when I attend these sort. I had too many distractions: holes in each of the big toes of my socks where I could feel them poking through, like a loose tourniquet (poor choice in socks--what was I thinking?); the headache I've had all day that Advil won't alleviate; my eyes going spazzy from the overhead lights, needing to constantly look down and not be able to watch the pastor speak, feeling rude; being tired from the end of a long day preparing for the big family meal tomorrow, mixing up desserts, vacuuming, scrubbing down bathroom walls.

I'd like so much to find peace and God in a church, but my body distracts me from it. I would think that most people, as they get older, tend to enjoy longer sermons. I've never asked anybody this question, but I would think that older people would be more patient with a long-winded pastor. But not me. The older I get, the more I want to get out. No, that's wrong. What I mean is that I love to listen to the teachings--I could listen all day--but the damn eyes won't let me just sit there and listen quietly. And even the noise from a crying baby makes it hard for me to stare straight. They seem to have a mind of their own lately.

I find more peace in my car, driving in the dark late at night when the roads are empty, than anywhere else. Tonight while I was heading home, the rain was coming down hard and my brights were on. I suddenly came upon a possum walking across the road. I was probably 8 feet away when I actually saw it. The little guy kept strutting along as if he didn't notice the large machine bearing down on him. That's one of those major decisions in life that are not very fair--where there is no turning back if you are wrong, yet you aren't given enough time to figure out the correct course of action. And I was wrong. Hoping he would stop walking and move safely through the underside of my car as I drove over him, I hit the brakes just slightly in order to give him a little more time to get between the wheels. But it didn't work, and I could feel the car slice into him as I rolled over his body with my right front tire. I cupped my hand over my mouth and tensed up. The thought went through my mind that possums are unfriendly creatures and hiss and bite when people come near, just for a split second, maybe as if to unconsciously exonerate myself from the murder of this animal. I drove most of the way home in a state of very little movement. What small amount of peace that I may have found in church while singing Christmas carols and taking communion was gone.

My only resort tonight is to go into the dark to find the calming love of Christ. We originated from the dark--the earth, our bodies, our knowledge--and we will someday return to it in death. It is in the dark where rest and growth occurs. And it is in this restful place where I will go when I need to be moved.

B-Day

Waiting room. There are such things as "botox buddies," sitting kitty-corner from me, discussing the workout sessions they attended yesterday. The nurse calls them back together. An overweight, lopsided woman enters, her clothes hang carelessly, looks me straight in the face with an understanding smile, sits down. I'm thinking that I don't look so bad to be in this cosmetic procedure/eye surgeon office--perhaps that's magical or wishful thinking though. I could pretend that I'm just getting a little touch-up because my kids and nightshift schedule are causing my face to age, since I don't smoke and I avoid the sun like it's poison. A few minutes later the fat lady is called as well. Get the saran wrap ready, she cheerfully commands.

Now it's my turn. Follow me please, right here, yes--the first room here on the left, where is the restroom?, sign consent (risk of blindness? and millions of women have this done electively??), aftercare instructions (no lying down for 4 hours, no exercise today--we don't want you to sweat), but could I go for a walk?, yes that's fine. Nurse draws up 3 TB syringes and leaves them on the counter. Wait in chair a long 60-minute version of 20 minutes, read book the same line and paragraph a couple of times over, think, think, read, stare at door, note noises in hall, unstick my elbow from armrest, adjust wedgie, look in mirror and smooth down flyaway hair wisps, apply lipstick (I might as well look good for this).

He enters wearing a suit, asks how I've been doing with this blepharospasm thing I've got going on somewhere inside my face and brain. Fine, it comes and goes, worse when I'm tired. Terrified of this. Why? Let's see, it's my first time, I'm a botox virgin. Are you sure you want to proceed then? Yes, yes, I'm not tired now, it hasn't been so bad lately, but who knows the future? Driving is still difficult in the morning. Staring into my eyes, yes, I'm still blinking a lot, just not now when you're looking at me so much. Did my eye doctor send you the memo that I am pretty much the worst patient ever?

Holds syringes up to light, checks for air bubbles, says I'm going to start with a relatively low dose if that's okay with you. Uh, yeah, that's perfectly okay. I have to work the next three nights, I was hoping my eyelids wouldn't be hanging over my mouth.

The needle comes near. I instinctively close my eyes. I only know I'm supposed to because a friend told me that's how it's done. Quick, cautious, seemingly inadequate wipe across my brow with alcohol. Prick, bee-sting burn, prick prick prick prick, ouch (my eyelid!), jump, grab around for arm of chair, prick prick prick. How many of those do you need to put in each eye? I don't count, he mumbles. A quick blot of dry gauze to indicate that he's through with the right side.

Can you give me a moment to compose myself? I need to breathe. I can't believe women have this done because they want it done. That's what they say, he says, the ones who need it don't like it and the ones who don't need it say it's not so bad.

Now to the left side with barely a warning. Close eyes, quick. Prick prick prick ouch, damn! the eyelid again. Will my aqueous humor (this is far from humorous) leak out from my eyeball after he accidentally punctures it? I remember that word from anatomy class--a distraction. Prick prick prick prick. We're done. Blot blot. Call me in 10 days. Come back in 3 months.

The skin around my eyes is red and white dappled with tiny blood spots at the injection sites. I'm embarrassed to walk out into public like this. The receptionist says it will go down in an hour. Beeline for the bathroom to wipe the blood off. First I have to make my way through a waiting room full of old people staring at my face, probably wondering if I had collagen injections out of vanity while still in my relative youth.

There's a numb sensation all around my eyes. I count the hours at home--1,2,3,4--naptime. I've been up half the night worrying about this. I really am tired. I lied earlier, I guess. Or it is that I live my life in a state of exhaustion, so I don't really notice it anymore.

When I wake-up, that little furrow by my right eyebrow is gone. I smile. No forehead wrinkles. I'm still blinking a lot though, the sun a bit irritating. 3 days to work medically, 4 hours to take 5 years off. Nice. My face feels pretty normal, but normal for me is always tense and tight around my eyes, with my eyebrows having a mind of their own. Wondering if I will wake up in the morning and its contrary personality will be muted, or if I will need to tape my eyelids shut for the next 3 months.

So my little curse may be a blessing--only time will tell.