SILENCE TURNED TO SONG

Posted on April 12, 2011 by Judy

“A soothing voice was all that was required”

I love the words “silence turned to song” from my most recent song, “The Music From Her Heart.” I hear music in my mind when I fall asleep and when I awaken. Not audible music I am listening to, but I am singing in my mind.

I realize I am not contemporary with my music at all. I stopped listening to music a long time ago. Certainly, there was nothing on the radio that inspired me much. I was busy surviving and did not have any desire to revisit my musical past.

That time in my life I consider “the silence.” At this time, hearing melodies in my mind represents joy and wonderment with life.

I am eager to finish my book so I will have something to market and share. Once I am satisfied with my “draft,” I have no idea how long it will take to publish my book. I do know that on my end, I want it to be my best effort but not to the point of having perfectionism prevent me from finishing it.

Just the other day, George (my arranger), asked me, “Hey Jude, are you ever going to sell a CD?”

I told him how I felt. I am not a professional singer and the beauty of my music is in having my audience understand the honesty behind my songs. I first want to sell my book with my music to create something unique. Later on, I could sell my music alone, hopefully.

As I wrote the above sentence, the realization for me was that I was selling myself!

On Sunday night, I enjoyed playing so much at Border’s. It had been two weeks since my last performance.

The burn on my right arm ached as it rubbed against my guitar. However, my singing soothed and enveloped me in comfort. I felt like the microphone was my friend. I understood how to use it to help my voice sound better.

The audience was completely unfamiliar. I wasn’t sure if they liked my music, but after a few of my songs I started to receive applause. My heart sang! I had no expectations of anything more as I sang and tried to do my best. I could feel that my singing had really improved and it felt great.

The next morning, my arm wasn’t bending too well. I had tried sleeping without the bandages on it; there was so much freedom without the slimy covering. But having it so exposed was exquisitely painful, especially when I rested it upon my pillow. Each movement hurt, so I tried to stay as still as possible.

It had been a week since I burned my arm when I spilled a mug of hot tea. The impact of what happened to my “important” arm had now sunk in.

No more blisters – it is healing!

Yesterday morning, I spoke with my father who was in the hospital. He was going to have a procedure that would try to “zap” and eliminate his kidney stones. That attempt was not successful and another try would be attempted later on this week.

It was interesting that my father needed little time from me compared to my mother. He was very appreciative that he had a nurse who was giving him a lot of attention. I was pleased to hear he was a good patient and I especially appreciated that he was aware of everything.

He said to me, “I know your life! Please! Please, do not waste time to visit and just talk to me on the phone instead! Hearing your voice is all I need.”

This week, I missed the sympathy I knew I would have gotten from my mother. Instead, I was very careful to hide my wound from her. With dementia, there was no reason to add anything else to her imagined fears.

No sooner had I gotten off the phone with my father, I received a call from my mother’s nursing facility notifying me that she had “unexplained” bruises on her legs. After I hung up, there was another stressful call. My mother’s wonderful caregiver, Miriam, was on the phone. I didn’t want Miriam to know that I planned to visit later on to surprise her on her birthday.

She desperately needed my help to calm my mother. She told me that my mother was certain my husband and father had died the night before in a car accident. My mother was sobbing hysterically because it was very real for her.

Miriam couldn’t convince her otherwise and was actually worried that something might have happened to my father, because he happened to be in the hospital.

It took me about ten minutes to gently persuade my mother that everyone was fine. My mother could not find the words, but I knew what she meant when she said to me shakily, “Your voice is all I need.”

Thankfully, my voice calmed her. She believed me when I told her that it was all a bad dream. I realized that my poor mother’s life was now a nightmare for her and the day would come when my voice would not be enough.

All the voice lessons in the world to improve my singing was not as important for me as knowing my voice could make such a huge difference for my parents!

“Showing appreciation

It was Miriam’s birthday; I had wrapped up an iPod Nano and purchased a cake. I was looking forward to surprising her. There simply was no way for me to ever truly express my appreciation, but I was excited to have an opportunity to do something special for her.

I had found an excellent card. Although I often share a lot, I’m not sharing my personal message. I wanted it to be special, unique and only for her. I am sharing the card I purchased, which set the stage for my own words.My mother enjoyed watching Miriam blow out her candles. I found out Miriam was thirty-three years old; there was so much I didn’t know about her. Together, all three of us had some cake and Miriam looked delighted with her gift.

I brought my mom a bag of peanuts – she always loves feeding the squirrels. She and Miriam were headed outside to enjoy the beautiful weather.

She read my card and tears trickled down her cheeks. We hugged each other tightly.

Yesterday was a challenging day. Although having my burn made things a little more painful, I managed with it.

A year ago, I had named one of my more stressful days, “Just Another Manic Monday.” I thought about that title, yesterday. But I realized that with my transformation, it might have been challenging like many days I’ve experienced but it was not manic.

Manic implies a sense of “being out of control.” I realize that I don’t have control over many things. The one thing I do try to control is my own attitude.

Rather than being “tossed around by life,” I decided to keep smiling and humming my songs. Last night, I decided I could perform my new song at the open mic in the evening and looked forward to it.

My performance wasn’t the way I would have liked for my new song. I rushed through it because I was pumped full of adrenaline. I’m not even going to share it.

But I could still hear the echo in my head of the announcer’s voice when I was finished.

He said, “That’s going to heal up soon, I hope – Hopefully, it looks worse than it is. How about a trooper here? She’s got an injury and she’s still gonna come out and play! Ain’t nothing gonna stop her!

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2011. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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SHE SANG AND HER TEARS DRIED

Posted on April 7, 2011 by Judy

A picture of my parents that was taken before the ravages of old age took over.

I was definitely moving slower and I couldn’t bend my arm much. I wished I wasn’t so irritable and had more patience with my youngest son this morning. It was especially painful knowing that I yelled at him before he left for school.

I put on my iPod as I left my house. My music played and was soothing for me. My first stop was to see my father. I had learned this morning that he would be having some procedures done in the afternoon. He had some blood clots in his lungs and a “filter” would be permanently placed in a leg artery to prevent any more clots from traveling upward. A stent needed to be placed into his kidney to drain fluid before he could have surgery to remove two, large kidney stones. That surgery would happen in a few weeks, I was told.

Those details are important information I must share to update my family members, but certainly not what I wanted to write about.

When I walked into the room where I was told my father would be, I was startled to see he wasn’t there. I walked out because there was someone else in the room. I went outside again and looked at the number on the door as I shook my head. Where else could he be?

I went back into the room and felt shock wash over me. The old man in the bed with his mouth open and eyes closed was my father. I hadn’t recognized him!

Without waking him, I sat in a chair next to his bed listening to music and just thinking. I took a picture of him, but wasn’t sure whether I would share it.

A nurse came in and put on the light. My father opened his eyes. He looked glad to see me. He asked me if I had brought him the Chapstick he wanted for his parched lips. I had only remembered when I parked, and bought some at the hospital pharmacy before coming to his room.

I gently applied it, painfully aware of how weak he was, because he was not able to do it by himself.

In a gravelly voice my father lectured me. He repeated the same instructions to me about my children and their “responsibilities.” I was patient, because normally I would have gotten angry and told him to reduce my stress and not add to it!

I wondered if he was nervous about his surgery and his “mortality.” He said, “When I’m better I am going to start throwing things away where I live!” It left me imagining that his current room was probably uninhabitable.

When I was growing up, he and my mother would fight over his hoarding problem quite often. My mother would cry and beg him to “clean up” an area of the house that he had “taken over.” He would always promise he would but he was such a serious hoarder that he could never part with anything.

He started to tell me where to find things that might be valuable. I got upset when he told me about some savings bonds that were in my brothers’ names. His instructions were complicated and I needed to gather them from different locations. I felt my voice tighten as I said, “Why haven’t you just told them? You could give me one less job!”

My father’s eyes flashed at that. He said, “Don’t start in with that! I’m telling you because I know you’re the one who will follow through with these things.”

I felt angry but held it in. I had to leave. It was time for me to go see my mother.

Receiving cards like this one from my friend, Marge, was definitely uplifting!

The burn was tightening and aching. I had several, big bags to carry. I had bought a deli lunch, and had some other bags with new blouses and makeup for my mom. There was no question I was her hero again today.

Her caregiver, Miriam had set up an area for us to eat lunch in a separate room at her facility. As the three of us ate, I could see my mother was confused about many things, but she was happy. That made her confusion bearable for me. I didn’t taste the food I had brought, and ate way too much. It was understandable because I could feel that I had stuffed too many feelings.

It was Miriam that gave me comfort. She was so helpful, kind, and loving. I felt like I had another, new friend in my life.

I had an appointment to check my burn after lunch. I was very tired, but glad that I would find out how it was healing. I spent over half and hour with a male nurse. He took pictures of my arm from many directions, and told me, “Oh, I’ve seen much worse burns than yours. Sometimes the blisters are bouncing like jellyfish!”

I told him that my arm was that way only two days ago. However, now it really was hurting me – I even had trouble playing my guitar. I was told to come back in a week and given the same steps of instructions to care for my burn. He said that I had done a good job; there was no sign of infection. It was a relief.

I came home and called the hospital to see how my father’s procedure had gone. I was told that I needed to call again later, because he was in recovery and his nurse was not available to speak with me.

I opened my mail. There was a letter from a song contest I had entered. It had cost me $30 per song, and I had entered four of my songs.

 

Clicking on this makes it larger.

As I read the letter, I knew right away I hadn’t won. I admonished myself for allowing my “dream” to give me false hope. Each of my four songs was critiqued, and I read carefully what was written. I could feel the disappointment inside of me.

I decided to rest for a bit. In my darkened bedroom I was sad. I needed to digest all the things that had happened to me over the past week.

I called the hospital again and was told my father’s procedure went fine. I thought I’d try his cell phone and was surprised when he answered it.

As we spoke, I realized how grateful I was that he was coherent and aware of everything – unlike my mother. He was truly a brilliant man. I asked him how he was feeling, if he had any pain.

He surprised me when he said with his voice full of emotion, “I am still here. I survived!”

I got off the phone and went to play my guitar. I could not sing anything. I played the chords and tears streamed down my cheeks.

I could taste their saltiness. I began to softly sing a few of my songs.

It was then that I decided I had indulged my “self-pity” enough. I knew I would write and tried to find clarity about everything I was feeling.

It was easy.

I was successful in my first career as an illustrator, though I was not wealthy. I have touched many people with my writing and songs, and certainly I have not made any money.

I didn’t need a song contest to prove the worthiness of my musical compositions.

There was only one thing in my life that truly counted. And there was no rating that I needed from anyone else for that.

That would be “performing as a good person,” as a human who had made a difference on this earth.

I decided to give myself a ten.

I don’t think the judge realized this was for my dead child, though I wrote it was in his memory on my entry form.

The judge thought my song was to a lover. I wrote it to be relatable and didn’t put that it was truly about losing my mother to dementia. 

I’m glad the judge liked the fact that the lyrics and music went well together! 

This is funny – my song is FAREWELL, not FARWELL! How could they give the title such a good rating with it misspelled?

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2011. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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TRAUMA FROM HER PAST

Posted on April 5, 2011 by Judy

While waiting for my father in my car, I snapped a picture of one of the many blisters on my arm. It didn’t hurt – really!

PEACHES LESSON – MUSIC FROM HER HEART 4/1/11

A line of lyric just crossed my mind. It was: “There were so many things that I wanted to tell you . . .”

That line from my song “So Real” referred to the fact that when I was awakening and still half asleep, I had blissfully forgotten about my loss. Of course, with the realization of grief, came the pain of knowing it was too late to share anything.

I remembered that line because I wish I could speak with my mom about everything going on in my life. I cannot tell her so many things because it would only cause her anxiety and pain. My mother is still alive, but with her rapidly advancing dementia I feel the loss of her presence in my life. It is real and very tangible for me.

This was taken on my fiftieth birthday, before my “transformation.”

I didn’t tell her that I was burned on Sunday. And taking my father to the hospital last night, well that’s another story.

I wonder if more challenges are facing me to test my resolve to stay positive.

I wrote these recent lyric lines, “She thought she’d always mourn, trauma from her past. But when she was reborn, healing came at last.” I’m no longer mourning, I’ve healed, and I definitely feel like I’ve been “reborn.”

However, I had hoped with healing, there would not be trauma from the past resurfacing anymore. I am only beginning to realize how deep the subconscious is because yesterday, I was overcome by a traumatic memory.

I visualize a traumatic memory as “dry tinder,” waiting for a certain spark that reignites it into scorching flames.

The “wave of trauma” that engulfed me was so vivid and heartbreaking; it left me in tears. I allowed it to come “up and out” and decided I could write about it.

Certainly, I was aware that my physical pain weakened my ability to control my emotions; I had edginess. I have been amazed at how well I’ve managed with the awful burn I suffered on Sunday.

I will share my “trauma memory” and story further along in this post. What I found so interesting was that I could easily have titled my story, “Trauma From her Present!”

“Trauma From her Present”

I wrote about my painful memory. The release of trauma left me emotionally spent, but I was still so appreciative of my life and where it was heading.

The phone rang as I was wiping away the tears. It was Miriam. She said my mother had refused physical therapy this morning.

My mother came on the phone and babbled incoherently as I gently explained to her how she loved exercising and it was important for her to do the therapy. Miriam said the therapist told her my mother could go back later on and try again.

My mom promised she would go back, after I convinced her. Despite her paranoia, she asked me how I was. I hesitated and then told her I was fine, but I wondered how I’d hide the bandages without being overly bundled the next time I saw her.

I spoke again to Miriam and told her that my mother said she would be compliant; to call me if any further problems arose. I also told her my father was sick and seeing a doctor today. He was in a lot of pain and wondered if it was his prostate that was bothering him.

The challenges were still coming for me!

I listened to the dual, guitar tracks I had created the night before and looked forward to singing a vocal with them. I was peaceful inside.

I spoke with the man at the computer “recovery service.” He told me he had many files of images I could look at; then I could decide if they were usable and he’d tell me the cost. I was surprised that I decided not to hurry over there and planned to go the next day.

I had thought of performing with my guitar at Kulak’s open mic, but my arm was covered with large, bubbling blisters. Though they didn’t hurt, I decided it would be better for me to take it easy.

However, instead of lifting my guitar, I was lifting my father’s walker into my car, and holding him to prevent him from falling.

This picture is of the “new me.” I am completely different from who I was in the picture with my mother taken a year earlier.

6:00 p.m.

I received a call from a nurse practitioner; my father was very ill with a severe, urinary tract infection. She was extremely concerned about his heart rate and blood pressure. My father refused to allow her to call an ambulance and she asked me to speak with him.

He did not want to go to the hospital. I was firm and he said he’d go if I would take him. I quickly got into my car and went first to pick up his medication at a nearby pharmacy.

Trauma began for me when I lost my patience waiting for my father while he shuffled through papers at his house. I had tired after half an hour sitting in my car – even my music didn’t help me. I raised my voice to him. I told him I was angry that he hadn’t allowed an ambulance to take him; the papers he needed weren’t necessary. I peeled back my bandage to show him my blisters, and quickly regretted it that instant!

My father became tearful and promised he could now leave. However, he could barely walk. I propped him up on his walker and then he stopped at my car door. He was moaning loudly in terrible pain. I began to cry also. “Dad, what should I do?”

He said, “Nothing! I’m urinating right now and it hurts! I can’t help it!”

The ordeal continued. One of my blisters popped and seeped through the bandage onto my leg. Having that “problem” was like feeling the effects of kryptonite. I could not be so powerful with my arm bandaged. I was weakened.

I undressed my father down to his shoes and socks. I was very pained and tried to overlook that his socks and shoes had holes. I also noticed his shirt and pants were dirty and frayed.

I knew he had lost a lot of weight, but he was truly skeletal as I pulled off his shirt. He needed to give a urine sample. He shuffled to the nearby emergency room bathroom and held onto me. Someone was inside and she was washing her hands.

My father began to moan again and said he couldn’t wait. I knocked on the door and said to the woman in a frantic voice, “Can I please come in?”

She said, “You can – but he can’t!”

My eyes were a dead giveaway. My father had already dropped his pants. She quickly went out.

I said to my dad, “I’ll wait outside for you!”

He said, “I need you! Wait here and hold the cup!”

I closed my eyes.

10:00 p.m.

My father was admitted to the hospital and he was having a lot of tests done. The young doctor was friendly and very funny. He made everything “light” and thought my dad was very healthy without any serious, preexisting conditions.

I decided I could leave – he kept telling me to go hours earlier. As I lifted my purse, it felt very light. My wallet was missing. I felt a panic run through me. I mentioned to my dad that it wasn’t there.

He admonished me for not zipping my purse tighter. I walked to my car wondering if this was just another challenge to add to my list. Could I continue to feel happy? I pledged that if I found my wallet I could stay positive.

I looked in my car and my wallet was on the floor. Relief flooded me. I knew I needed to go back to let my father know and it would be good exercise for me. As I walked back into the hospital, I listened to my music and danced.

I was happy.

A long ago beach day with Jason.

“A burn memory reignited”

It all started with the white, Silvadene cream that I was given to apply to my burn.

I remembered that cream well. But it wasn’t because I had personally experienced a burn before.

It was a long time ago. On that long ago morning, I was in the kitchen of our former house. That kitchen had a blue theme – I remember everything about it, even down to the tile I had picked out when we remodeled it.

My little boy, Jason, was keeping me company as I made our breakfast. He was so small and light – I carried him around with me since he was always so tired. I gently rested him on the counter top where I was making breakfast. He chattered away in his breathy, singsong voice.

I poured some hot water into a mug for coffee; I was about four feet away from him. Suddenly, the teakettle began sputtering as I was pouring it. There was burst of noise, and a violent stream of boiling water shot across the counter. It hit Jason on his tiny thigh. He began screaming loudly – just as I did, yesterday.

I quickly put his leg under cold water and watched the skin start to peel away. Just as mine did, yesterday. The area was about five inches in diameter.

My poor child, who had enough doctor visits in his lifetime, would have additional ones due to my negligence.

Because Jason usually went to his cardiologist due to his heart defect, I wasn’t that involved with his regular pediatrician. He was always busy, but I was fortunate I was able to get an immediate appointment that morning. There was a sweet nurse who seemed to remember me and she told me she could fit Jason in so I wouldn’t have to wait at urgent care.

Jason’s pediatrician was an older man who perhaps was ready to retire. He was certainly quite experienced and had many patients. The doctor’s name was Dr. Doi; he was Hawaiian and had very kind eyes. He patiently explained to me how to apply the white, Silvdene cream.

I felt so terrible, but was proud of how well Jason seemed to manage with the pain – just as I did, yesterday. I vowed never to make that mistake again when pouring hot water.

Last night, I carefully applied the same white cream to my arm. I could hear Jason’s voice from the past sweetly telling me how his burn felt so much better as I applied the cream. Then I remembered more.

It was when I was collapsed in a terrible state of grief. There were no words to describe the desolation and endless, aching pain. I was in a darkened bedroom and the phone was brought to me. I didn’t really want to speak to anyone.

It was a nurse who was on the phone. It was the same nurse from Dr. Doi’s office. She said, “I wanted to find out how Jason’s burn was doing – you didn’t come to your last appointment.”

My voice was monotone as I calmly said to her, “I’m so sorry to tell you – but Jason won’t be coming to any more appointments. He’s dead.”

Then, I explained to her about his recent, heart surgery and how he didn’t make it through.

I hung up the phone. I fell back into my “pit of despair.” But then there was another phone call. I didn’t want to take that call either. It was Dr. Doi on the phone.

This older man’s voice sounded like it was cracking.

I admired this doctor so much at that moment. I didn’t even think he remembered me, with all the patients that he had!

He said, “Mrs. Unger, I am so very sorry to hear about Jason. So, so very sorry. Please accept my condolences!”

I remember his voice and that moment so clearly that tears are coursing down my cheeks as I type this.

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2011. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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HEALING CAME AT LAST

Posted on April 3, 2011 by Judy

I celebrated that my mom had a good day, yesterday.

I love to write. I never have a shortage of things to write about – only time.

I’m aware that I have a complicated life. However, because I’ve given myself permission to indulge my passions – well, I feel like I’m the luckiest person on earth. It’s not that I don’t have financial worries, responsibilities, or pressure. It’s just that I am so happy.

The pain of grief is indescribable. It is suffocating, torturous, and excruciating. Even those words do not truly capture the feeling of wanting to escape from the world of the living. I have lived with that level of pain.

This morning, I encountered intense, physical pain when I had an accident and suffered a second-degree burn. I decided to accept the challenge and decided that pain was far easier to deal with than some of the emotional pain I have suffered with in my life.

I sent out a few emails to my friends, and especially to my friend, Sam, who is a doctor. However, the pain was causing me difficulty to think rationally and I decided to go to urgent care. I’ll share my emails at the end of this post.

Coping with so many annoyances and accidents this past week was definitely challenging. However, I decided to continue celebrating my newfound happiness and not allow anything to derail my enthusiasm and joy.

This evening, I told my family I would not be doing anything in the kitchen. We would go out for dinner because I wanted to make my life easier.

At dinner with my family, we were all laughing. I told my children that I was thinking of song titles I could have sung tonight: Burnin’ Love, Wildfire, and Heatwave, were a few. It was all very funny. My kids said to me, “Mom, you’re not sharing that gross picture of your burn on your blog! If you do that, you will turn off a lot of readers.” When I didn’t answer, my husband guffawed with laughter, because he knew me so well!

I had put a lot of energy into planning how I would perform at my first, paid gig this afternoon, which I had to cancel. I was amazed that I wasn’t upset about my situation at all.

Instead, I tried to rest, listened to music, and attempted playing my guitar. I tried very hard to get a good recording of my newest song. My bandaged arm was stinging and sweat was pouring down my face as I tried over and over to sing and play my guitar without any mistakes. I finally had to stop and accept that I couldn’t do my best. I am sharing a “freestyle” recording here, and it might be interesting to imagine I am singing this with my bandaged, burnt arm!

My latest song is called “Music From Her Heart.” I had planned to name this post with a line of lyrics from that song. Originally, it was going to be “Silence Turned to Song,” but I decided upon “Healing Came At Last,” due to my burn!

The lyric line, “silence turned to song,” refers to that fact that for three decades I truly did not hear any inspiring music in my heart or mind. I was a completely, different person. There is no silence for me anymore, because I hear music and melodies in my mind every moment of my life now – even when I’m sleeping.

PEACHES LESSON “Silence Turned to Song” – 3/25/11

PEACHES LESSON EXCERPT – 4/1/11

It isn’t hard to find joy in my life if I look for it. When I stopped by to see my mother, yesterday, I wasn’t expecting her to look so alert and happy. Her caregiver, Miriam, was going to take her out of the facility to religious services that were held at a different location.

I watched in awe as my mother stood and stepped from her large wheelchair over to a smaller one that would be easier for Miriam to transport her with. It was completely a result of her physical therapy that my mom was able to do this!

Obtaining physical therapy for my mother after her hip was fractured and not surgically repaired was not easy.

I allowed myself the pleasure of knowing that I made a difference in my mother’s life!

In these pictures my mom is getting up to move to the wheelchair across from her. Her broken hip is healing!

On Apr 3, 2011, at 8:15 AM, Judy Unger wrote:

Hi Sam,

I can barely type this now. I’m in a state of shock. I don’t feel blessed right now.

I’m so stupid! I was carrying a tray of breakfast upstairs. I spilled the hot tea and didn’t drop the tray (a mess, I thought.) I screamed, and put it down.

The agony – I can barely type. I think it’s either a first or second-degree burn. It’s about 8-12 inches long on my forearm, elbow and upper right arm.

I wonder if I’ll be able to perform – I’m feeling the pain. I have a cold towel on. Skin can be pulled off, but it looks like only the first layer. What do you recommend?

Judy

I followed up half an hour later with this message:

Dear Friends,

I am going to the ER. The pain is becoming unbearable. Mike was going to drive me, but I don’t want to tie up his day. I can do it. I’ll keep in touch. I don’t know what I’ll do about performing. I may not be able to play my guitar. If I can – I’ll show up and just speak.

Love, Jude

I had a message from Sam when I got home, and all of his advice was exactly on target with the treatment I was given.

Dear Sam,

I just got home from Urgent Care. The pain made it hard for me to concentrate, but right now I feel a lot better. It’s all wrapped up.

It was a good idea to cancel my performance today. I was FINE with that – thank god, I need to recover. I’m so grateful that it wasn’t worse. And that I can still type!

Thanks for your message and caring.

Judy

Ps. Here’s a gross look at it!

I took this picture while waiting in the exam room at urgent care, about an hour and a half after it happened.

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2011. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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