The Grass is Always Greener
(This is a continuation of posts about my experience with Guillain Barre Syndrome that began with the post called Heartbeats.)
My question “Will I die?” was not answered, but once it was clear I could be in a bed for a long time, I was placed in one that rotated back and forth to avoid the breakdown of my skin. I needed to be packed in with pieces that were vinyl covered to keep me from sliding from side to side. At first this made for an interesting view, and fun for visitors to talk to me. Soon it didn't matter because my eyes stopped blinking. They needed to be covered with bandages.
It was decided that my mind should be stimulated with books on tape. (This was before the invention of the CD.) The first was a very dry mystery novel read by a very formal english man. I found it more frustrating than stimulating. Of course it was chosen by my older brother, and his intention may have been to frustrate. I don’t remember how, but I was able to communicate my disdain for this book.
The decision was made to try comedy. I was a fan of Erma Bombeck (I know I’m dating myself.), so they got a copy of her reading The Grass is Always Greener Over the Septic Tank. the first time through was very humorous. The next ten times had a strange effect. Unable to sense anything except hearing and a feeling of floating from the rotating bed. I began to incorporate what I heard on the tape into other things being said in my presence. In my mind I was in a whole new world. I was in Erma Bombeck’s crazy suburban world. One day we’re in a station wagon in front of our new Pee Wee house in Suburbian Gems. The next day I’m an insurance agent knocking on the door of the house I moved into the day before. Another day I’m roaming endlessly around Suburbian Gems as the Neighborhood Nomad; all the homes look alike in suburban developments. Then I’m one of the suburbanites circling our Winnebagos like a wagon train.
When not being treated to the wonders of suburban life I had the pleasure of certain visitors. One of the “special” visitors worked with my mother. Everyday she came to pray for my salvation, not my healing. I needed to be saved from the wickedness of most of Christendom. She was a Seventh Day Adventist. I needed to understand the truth about the rest of Christianity so I could be saved from their sinister plots which began when they began worshiping on a Sunday. Mix that with the devotional readings from the intern pastor from my church, and you can see the kind of mixed up experiences I had. Actually, you probably can’t. Maybe I’ll share some of them another day.
To me God created an amazing thing called the mind. Professionals said I became psychotic, out of touch with reality. I say I went into survival mode and dealt wth reality in a way that didn’t make me crazy. What do you think?
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