Friday, June 12, 2009

Rainbows and Butterflies

June 12, 2009


Here's the story of how I met Megan.

On March 26, 2008, Spouse had dropped several feet skiing. Gravity and ice handed him a pair of crushed calcaneuses. He was sent to the hospital to figure out what to do next.

Neither Spouse nor I dared ask the question, “Will I/he walk again?”

After six long hours of evading the above mentioned question, the othopedic surgeon on call paid a visit. I don't remember what was said exactly. I only remember a few key phrases. They were, “always results in permanent disability” and “Why did you do that?” then “permanent disability” again followed by “the calcaneus can rarely be put back together” and another “permanent disability.”

This doc became known as Doctor Permanent Disability. We'll call him Dr. Disability for short.

Dr. Disability began to exit the room while Spouse and I stared at each other. He didn't offer anything. No hope, no help, no nothin'. I've seen a few docs in my small little life who lack the personality necessary for a decent bed side manner. But this guy? Could have told Spouse he was a race horse with broken legs and it was time to, you know... do the Barbaro. Wouldn't be much different. (Well, okay. You got me - that was overly dramatic.)

Just as Dr. Disability was leaving, he threw in a “I'll have a specialist come by.”

So there we sat, looking, waiting and hoping. Looking at the door, waiting for the specialist, hoping for a miracle. It was 24 very long hours before that specialist opened that door.

By now, you're prolly saying, “Rabid, darling. (Love it when you call me 'darling'). This is a story about Spouse. Not a story about Megan. Would you get to the point already? I have important matters of business to attend too.” Hold onto your horses (and don't let the doc put 'em down) 'cause this is where Megan comes in.

What, exactly, did I do during that long-and-dreary 24 hours? Anxiety lodged in my throat and a brain dammed with tears? I went a-blog-hopping.

Is blog hopping a new term for you? (Is for me. At the time I didn't know that's what I was doing.) Blog hopping is where you visit a blog, then visit blogs linked on that blog. It can be a giant web of junk. That's why they call the internet The Web, you know. Something about everything being connected, I think.

Anyway, while hopping like a toad from blog to blog, I found this post at Megan's blog. A girl with a love affair for punctuation? Oh me, or my! A girl who writes each post as if it's a finely polished chapter in a novel? Oh me, oh my! A girl as cynical as I? Oh me, oh my, indeed.

And so it was, that for a few hours, I lost myself in Megan's Remarks From Sparks. I laughed. I learned the value of italicizing quotations, the oomph of a bold sentence in a paragraph, to appreciate the fine design of headers and logos. I learned about Yoga, the terms, the styles and that maybe I should look into it. It was a good escape. In that few hours before the real doctor showed up, you can say that Megan saved me from unmentionable despair.

As we all know by now, Doctor Van Boerum - Dr. Ability for short - flew in with a scalpel and screwdriver. Dr. Ability saved Spouse.

Over the last year, I've continued to sponge up Megan's insight and knowledge. I agree with her most of the time and disagree others. I have contracted her services to design a logo and header for Emoticon. We have become cyber-friends and pen-pals through this new-fangled electronic mail system. I even received a lovely scripted thank you note sent via US Post!

In most of Megan's correspondence, she signs off with “Rainbows and Butterflies.” Which is so perfect – because that's what she means to me. A ray of color and light after a thunderstorm or the beauty of a butterfly after the struggle of metamorphosis.

Why am I filling you all full of this sap? Is it because I want to share a heart-warming, humanity-saving tale? Is it because I want to prove that I can make friends?

Nope. It's because Megan and I will meet in person today.

If I don't make it back, if I'm abducted, if I'm forced to join a literary training camp, if I run off to find rainbows, if I'm manipulated into a downward-dog that I can't get out of, if I cocoon myself into a butterfly, you can all be a witness for whodunnit.

3 comments:

meg said...

I am so red. Feeling bashful. In the salon, in Cat's chair, after our lunch meeting, and I'm experiencing Talker's Remorse. You just said some pretty nice things. And I didn't read them until after our meeting. I regret 50% (at least) of my contributions to our maiden in-person conversation. I should have (could I have?) talked less and listened more, told you that I wish I had your eyes, apologized for the damaged state of my hair, worn a shirt that didn't threaten to fall off my shoulders, said that you really do have gorgeous brown eyes, kept my ego in better check, better covered my innate bitchinesd (too late for that though, eh?) and talked less about my prolific progeny fears.

Oh well. I am not the nicest of people, but I do feel like I want to meet expectations. If only I had known before our meeting; I could have executed a better audition.

Of course, on this--as with all things--I have more to say and gave plans for how I want to do it, but I thought, after my third read-through of this post that it merited a comment immediately.

Rainbows and butterflies,

Meg (for you have my permission to call me that)

rabidrunner said...

You should know I have talker's remorse too. I left feeling like I talked only of me... so we're even!

And for the record, I think you are among the nicest of people - definitely one who needs no audition.

Thanks again for lunch!

rookie cookie said...

Megan doesn't mind if you only talk about yourself. She is a good listener. And if you really want to get personal, call her Megan Magilicutty. That is what our dad called her when she was little.