THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, February 18, 1996 TAG: 9602180022
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: NORTH CAROLINA
SOURCE: PAUL SOUTH
LENGTH: Medium: 67 lines
My doctors have had me under house arrest for the past couple of weeks as I recuperate from some surgery. I prefer ``house arrest'' to ``solitary confinement'' or ``grounded.'' House arrest reminds me of what the Nazis did to Humphrey Bogart in ``Casablanca.''
But even though I can't wear a white tuxedo (my fashion-conscious kid sister says I'd never find the right accessories to match the catheter bag) and even though I can't venture from my house, like Bogey I have learned something about the hearts of people.
You see, when you're getting over surgery, or even the slightest illness, folks inquire, ``How are you feeling?'' It's a common courtesy that rolls off the tongue with ease, like ``Take care'' and ``Have a good day.''
And usually, the recovering patient will say, just as casually, ``better'' or ``pretty good,'' followed by a discussion of the fun-filled procedure they've undergone.
If I had a nickel for every ``How ya feelin'?'' I've had in the last two weeks, I could buy Steve Forbes, not that I'd want to.
But my answer to the question ``How are you doing?'' requires a bit more of an answer than a simple ``OK.''
In the last three weeks, I've had one planned and one unscheduled stay in Hampton Roads hospitals. Frankly, it has not been an easy time. I've been probed and punctured, cut into and catheterized so much that I feel like a pinata at a medical school Christmas party.
And while the catheter is a marvelous tool for doctors, I hope its inventor is somewhere really warm, and I don't mean Jamaica.
But something else has happened during this winter of discontent. I've relearned something that circumstances made me forget.
Over the past three weeks I have been overwhelmed by the kindness of friends and complete strangers. Many of you have called my home and office to express best wishes. Others have toted in enough wonderful food to feed Shaquille O'Neal for a month. There have been flowers and plants.
And more than that, people have given their time - to prepare the food, do my laundry, bring a Sunday paper or give a listening ear.
Kindness, I've learned, tastes like hot cheese soup, chicken with wild rice and Breyer's Vienetta ice cream. It looks like a bouquet of daisies in a Coca-Cola fountain glass. It's neighbors going to get your mail each day, while others carry you up three flights of stairs on your arrival home. Call them ``Paul bearers.''
For some reason over the past days, I've thought a lot about Windy Bagwell. He and his daughters were my grandmother's favorite gospel group: Windy Bagwell and the Sunlighters.
Aside from a marvelous voice, Windy was famous for two things.
The first involved an appearance by the Sunlighters at one of those Holiness churches in the mountains of Appalachia. As he and the girls waited to perform, the pastor commenced to handle a rattlesnake as a test of faith.
``Daddy, what are we going to do?'' one of Windy's girls asked.
``Look for a back door,'' he responded.
She replied, ``There ain't one.''
``Well, where do you reckon they might want one?''
But Windy also had a great saying: ``May the Lord bless you real good.''
Well Windy, thanks to a lot of good friends, I know what it means to be blessed beyond measure.
How am I feeling?
Loved. Really loved. by CNB