Yesterday, I got an instant message from a coworker, causally asking, “Hey, can you save me?” I agreed before inquiring what, exactly, he needed saving from. “I’m trapped,” he replied, “to your right.” We work in an open office plan and the sliding glass door to the conference room had gotten stuck and he couldn’t escape. I walked over and tugged lightly on the door before it smoothly flew to the side.
As a child, I loved the book “Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day” and haven’t stopped thinking about it across the last few days. My symptoms have been worsening significantly and recent test results show abnormal cervical cells and signs of early-onset menopause, along with reactivation of disseminated valley fever in the skin and HSV-1 in the eyes. The steep peaks of optimism stand in contrast to the deep valleys of reality.
I feel as if I, too, am trapped behind a stubborn sheet of glass. And, yet, I don’t quite have the courage to ask, “Hey, can you save me?” I shut out nearly everyone along my quest to healing, intent to not make mountains out of molehills, but I’m beginning to realize I’ve been staring out at the daunting Rockies all along, refusing to actually acknowledge what was there. I don’t have the proper angle or strength to pry open my transparent cage, but maybe someone else does. Perhaps all I need to do is work up the courage to ask, “Hey, can you save me?”