I had just finished typing a post about feeling isolated when I heard rapping on my door. I grabbed my cane and walked at 45 degree angle over to the door. I was slow because I was clutching an ice pack with one hand. It was firmly against the left side of my one-piece moose pajamas.
I flung the door open and shouted at the man standing next to the security van, “Did you knock?”
As my question hung in the air, I glanced over and saw a piece of paper taped to the door. It instructed me to call security to get my ups package.
“Is this a new thing?” I asked. “We have to walk blocks to the clubhouse for packages?”
“You can drive over there if you have a car,” he responded.
“I can’t walk or drive,” I snapped. “I can’t go over there because I had a spinal procedure and am on medication that means I should limit my contact with other people. It’s also painful to move due to nerve root damage/inflammation.”
“I’m so sorry ma’am. If I’d known I’d have brought you the package. I’m going to send someone to get it now.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
I sat on the stairs in my foyer waiting for the security officer to return.
“I’m sorry you’re in pain. May I try something that might help?”
“Point to where it hurts.”
The security officer placed his hand gently on my back and recited a Puerto Rican Prayer for healing that he said his grandmother would say it to him when he was child.
“Thank you for sharing that,” I said with a smile on my face.
“Your smile is thanks enough,” he replied.
“Can I ask your name?”
“Angel. My name is Angel ma’am. If you need anything you can reach me at the security number.”
(P.S. someone said my company must be patient. For the record, I give back sick/vacation time before taking medical leave so the “company” often suffers least with me than “healthy” workers.)
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