Fighting battles with colored pencils and Purell
I have always hated to wait. It doesn’t matter what I’m waiting on, I’m just an impatient person by nature. Mother always stressed to me that patience is a virtue. I always agreed with her but, try as I might, I still hate to wait!
Another one of my flaws is that I’m a germaphobe. Lysol and hand sanitizer are two of my best friends. With their help, I feel I can conquer most things in life.
Recently, when Debra had knee surgery, I was forced to face both of these ailments at once.
The results can be very interesting when you take an impatient guy who is terribly scared of germs and put him within a hospital. Debra’s two knee surgeries within the last six months have forced me into the confines of a hospital much more than I prefer. But, when it comes to hospitals, do we ever really want to give them a visit?
Growing up, I spent a lot of time with various family members in hospital rooms. I felt it was my duty to stand guard over the infirm like a specially trained guard dog -- even if I was there just for support.
Debra’s recent surgery offered many opportunities to deal with my flaws. Our ailing dog, Georgie, also had to go with us because of his medicine regimen. We booked a hotel that was dog friendly near the hospital. Although only five minutes separated my two patients, it seemed like a hundred miles.
At the crack of dawn the morning of Debra’s surgery, I came armed with everything I needed to fight my battles. I know most hospitals have hand sanitizer every five steps, so I only brought a few personal bottles.
But, that still left the waiting part. What would I do with my time while I waited?
I carefully packed all my drawing supplies and several sheets of paper much the way someone would assemble an important backpack for a long mountain hike. With precision, I checked to make absolutely sure I had included everything I could possibly need for my adventure in waiting.
As they took Debra back, I stood there, fearful and alone, holding art supplies and Purell in my trembling hands.
They gave me Debra’s hospital room number and pointed me in the right direction. The room had no bed but everything else was in place. I immediately walked over to the movable food tray table to see if I could lower it enough to serve as a make-shift drafting table in my temporary studio. After multiple attempts, I gave up.
I walked up to the nurse’s station to ask for the possibility of another table, as if that was a question everyone asks when entering a hospital with drawing supplies. A puzzled look came over their faces while each one of them looked to the other to tell me no.
Turning away, I muttered a thank you while already searching for a Plan C. In my mind, I was determined to be drawing while I waited. Finally, I found a large flat piece of cardboard. I sat down in what I thought was the most comfortable of the chairs and balanced the board across my lap.
After wiping everything down with a paper towel drenched in hand sanitizer, I began to draw.
For five and a half hours I sat drawing in that chair trying to fill my mind with composition, color and design instead of what was happening to Debra in the operating room. After three hours, I began to feel a little apprehensive, but immediately immersed my thoughts deeper in the creative juices flowing in my mind. Waiting is much easier when your mind is occupied.
Just as I finished the drawing, Debra’s doctor came into the room to talk with me about the surgery. When he finished, he noticed the drawing of peaches I had completed. “Where did that come from?’ he asked while walking toward it.
“I drew them while you were operating,” I told him. He couldn’t believe it!
“Really,” he said in amazement. “How did you do that?”
“The same way you did that complicated surgery on Debra’s knee,” I replied. “We all have things at which we excel and that’s our contribution to society.”
He agreed.
Sitting in that chair beside Debra’s bed, I drew every second she was in the hospital. I got a lot accomplished. But the thing that made me the most proud was I had successfully conquered another long wait in the hospital while braving my fear of germs. Thank God for colored pencils, paper and Purell.
Mark Ballard’s column runs each week in The Telegraph. Send your questions or comments to P.O. Box 4232, Macon, GA 31208; call 478-757-6877; email markballard@cox.net; or become a subscriber to Mark’s Facebook page.
This story was originally published June 28, 2015 at 12:00 AM with the headline "Fighting battles with colored pencils and Purell."