Mantra

This post is dedicated to John Yager. New Trier Class of 1966.  Fearless Leader (along with Terry Winkless) of my favorite FB Group “You lived on Chicago’s North Shore…”, BBQ maven and all around great guy.  Thanks, Hopsy.

A few years ago, I was going through some tough emotional stuff.  I shared a bit with you, Dear Readers.

John responded right away.

“You’ve got this, E.”

He was just so sure, so positive, had so much faith in me that his instantaneous belief in me made me believe in myself.

And it became my new mantra.

I always knew that I usually could rise to the occasion when Life handed me a whopper of a moral, ethical or just way too hard problem.

My childhood- and Colorado- had taught me how to figure stuff out on my own.

Like the time, our husky Killarney broke free of her rope.

Now here’s the back story.  We lived on thousands of acres of Colorado wilderness.  Killarney was Mike- my ski instructor husband’s- dog.  She was my step dog.  He never tied her up.  Ever.

But for some reason I don’t recall, she was staked out for an hour in our yard while he went off on an errand.

I checked on her through the kitchen window.  One minute she was there.  Next minute- gone.

With the rope attached.

I ran out of the house with my hair on fire.  It wasn’t that she was gone- she always knew how to get home.  It was that damn thick rope she had on her.

I called her and called her.  Nada.

I looked high- and then I got lucky.  I looked low.

And there at the bottom of a gully was Killarney, smiling up at me, wagging her tail, and entirely tangled up with that rope lethally entwined around a log.

I was so happy to find her – a Siberian in a haystack- that without thinking, I slid down that gully and untied her.  In a flash, she scrambled up and out.

She was free.

But I was trapped.  The rock face of that gully was too steep for me to get any real footing.

Hmmm.

There was no point in yelling.

And there was no such thing as a cell phone back then.

Hmmm.

And then I had a brain wave.  I didn’t have a steam shovel and a crew of rescuers.  I had a HUSKY.  And she was born to pull.

I called her and she came immediately- with the rope dangling over the hole and juuuust long enough for me to grab it and tie it around my waist.

And then all I had to say was, “Killarney, go home.”

And she pulled me straight up that rock wall and I was safe and dry in about thirty seconds.

A couple of weeks ago, I found myself in another “Do or Die” predicament.

TH was in Northwestern Hospital in Chicago.  He had just undergone a rather nasty tune up and they were keeping him there for five days.

Rather than train in every day, I opted for a nearby hotel room.  At the end of every visiting session, me, myself and my bottle of Diet Coke and bag of Gardetto’s Snack Mix (Original Flavor) would head back to my temporary digs.

By then, it always would be dark and cold and I would be beat from watching him not feel so hot all day.

He did make good progress and he was right on the money recovery-wise.  And every day,  I’d sit on a bench in his room- along with nurses, doctors, orderlies, student trainees.

There were always more people in his room in Feinberg Pavilion than this.

(One of the ALL TIME GREAT SCENES in moviedom.  Even if you don’t read the post, watch this.)

As I was gazing out of his window at the Walgreen’s in the Galter Pavilion across the street, Walgreen’s actually texted me.

My Prolia shot was ready to be picked up.

Long story very short: I am thin and small-boned.  A prime candidate for osteoporosis.

I was put on Fosomax tablets a long time ago and then had to go off.  They did not agree with me.

I have flunked the bone scan test so many times, I think I set the bar.  Like he did.

But at long last, I got the official okay from Medicare and my $1700 twice a year shot went down to $17.

I could handle that.

I get my shots every June and December.  If you EVER stop taking them you lose any bone mass that the shots have built up.  All previous efforts go down the drain.

So when Walgreen’s called me, I jumped to attention.

There was just one small glitch.

Nobody could give me the injection.

Let me make this perfectly clear.

I was at Northwestern Hospital in a room filled with Northwestern doctors and nurses.

I had a prescription ordered by a Northwestern doctor who has just semi-retired and is now only practicing tele-health.

I have an appointment with a brand new Northwestern internist in January.

I get shots at Walgreen’s all the time.

NOBODY would give me the shot.

My new internist’s office called Northwestern’s Urgent Care Clinic and spoke with them personally.

Nope.  No dice.

I called Walgreen’s back and pleaded with them to give me the shot.

No.

NOBODY WOULD GIVE ME THE SHOT.

I felt just like this.

With visions of my spine crumbling, I ran over to Walgreen’s.  With my heart POUNDING, I asked to speak to the head pharmacist.

She was a she- and lovely.

And kind, understanding and very patient with this soon-to-be hysterical patient.

She understood my dilemma. She was extremely concerned about my fall-between-the cracks bureaucratic liability problem.  She truly cared.  I could tell.

“Mrs. Ross, if I gave you that shot I would lose my job.  I would be fired.  I can not risk that.  I am so very sorry.”

I couldn’t argue with that one.

“Can you at least show me how to give it to myself then?  I am too worn out to watch instructions on Youtube.”

“Yes, that I can do.  Cleanse the area with alcohol.  Then put the syringe two fingers from your belly button right here.  She was touching me at the point where X would puncture the spot.

By now, ALL of Walgreen’s was entranced.

“Then you inject into the fatty tissue. Wait five seconds and pull out the needle.”

“Good luck, Mrs. Ross.”

She handed me this.

I bought a bottle of my go-to energy drink- Diet Coke- and bemused, bedraggled and beaten, plodded slowly to my hotel room-

And my date with Destiny.

Oh, did I happen to mention, Dear Readers, that I had never done this before? I had injected my diabetic Husky twice a day but that was different.  I would do anything for a DOG.  But for myself ?  Um, I wasn’t so sure.

I was tired, cold and shaking by the time I got that G.D. key card to work on the elevator and my door.  The door was so heavy that I could barely shove it open with my shoulder.

I had to lie down.

I took a beat. Or two.  And then I forced myself to remember what the nice lady had shown and told.

Okay.  First thing, get all the works out of my purse.

Okay.  Now go wash my hands like I’m Dr. Michael DeBakey getting prepped for transplant surgery.

Now clean off the area with alcohol.

Hmm. Alcohol. Alcohol.  In a hotel room?  No mini bar, just a fridge…

I become this:

And so I search through my purse and pull out this.

And now all I have to do is lie on the bed, unzip my jeans, wipe the area with my glasses cleaner and…

Wait a minute. I can’t open the box.  It’s sealed tight and I have no scissors or letter opener…

It was impossible to open the package and then it was even harder to get the syringe out of the blister pack.  Ten minutes of struggling and wrestling and trying not to break finger nails finally led to this.

It had been mano à mano but I won.

And I yanked the cap off that mother, wiped away and then….

In golf, you’re always supposed to have a “Swing Thought.”  It’s a little chant you say to make you relax and let the swing come naturally.

My “Swing Thought” here was:

You’ve got this.

I jabbed, plunged the needle in, left it there for five seconds and pulled it out.

I looked around.

I wasn’t dead or in a coma or anything.

A good sign.

And I owe it all to John Yager and his mantra.

You’ve got this.

And Dear Readers, As 2024 begins, I wish you all the happiest and healthiest of New Years.

But just in case some sadness, hardship or strife should unexpectedly and undeservedly strike, just know:

You’ve got this.