rodeokitchen

Thank you for your service. Thank you for your grace, late Tuesday night, in the aftermath of Spring Break. The guest standing in front of you is visibly irritated. Her tone, not kind. For a third time, you explain the extra resort charges. Her face still contorting into an exasperated grin, as if it actually hurt to think. The grumpy woman couldn’t quite decide how to pay or understand where to sign. She took a long, labored breath, looked up at your perfect emerald eyes and whispered “I’m sorry, Please forgive me. This has been the most terrible of days”.

Exhausted and disgruntled, that woman was me. Despite my cranky disposition, you went above and beyond your job description. Your compassion saved my life. Thank You Susan, and thank you to all the “Susans” that do the right thing and do it all the time. Even when no one is looking, even when humanity is messy at the end of the line.

This is how it went down: I asked for a wake up call “If I don’t answer, could you please open the door? I’ll leave it unlocked and I’ll sleep in my clothes…… I just can’t sleep for long. I know it’s not your job, but If there’s any way, It’s important.” Who even makes that kind of odd request? Spoiler alert, it’s Barry. (Barry is the pet name I gave my TBI). Barry knows exactly what Amalia needs and he’s not shy to ask.

Something told Susan it was indeed her job to look after this wayward traveler. At 2am, on her way to dinner, she would come to knock on my hotel room door. Did she know I was just released from the hospital? She certainly didn’t know the doctor misappropriated my medicine and the dosages were for a 300lb man. I should never have been driving, alone, cross country. I wrecked one rental car immediately and was on my 2nd in 24 hours. I could only see out of one eye. I had two concussions, and very little feeling in the left side of my body.

Something told me not to take the painkillers. The opiate cocktail prescribed did not appeal to my sensibilities, even in my altered state. Knowing I should not sleep for more than 4 hours, I also realized I had not slept since Sunday when my car was tossed into the air and spun like a top. I took a quarter of the medication dosage I was prescribed. I ordered room service and apparently called my mother. The mashed potatoes tasted like heaven. I left a 4 star review.

I awoke to the hotel phone ringing, my mom, also a Susan. Her voice tearful and frightened “Baby, Thank God! I’ve been calling for an hour.” As I come to my senses, I realize there is yelling and banging on the hotel door, also. The phone is up side down, the cord is EVERYWHERE. A mans voice from the hall “Ok we’ve got it! we’re coming in Ms. Royals”. The entourage. It’s 3:30am. Casino Security, actual Police, and Ms. Susan from the front desk. I’m still not necessarily responding to anyone. I’m having trouble making words. I can’t figure out how to properly hold the phone or move from my perch.

Susan sits on the bed with me and talks to my mother while the officer checks my vitals. Blood pressure and heart rate are low. Fire Department is now on scene “Do you want to go to the hospital?” No, I don’t. I convince the all of them I am just groggy from the Xanax “I have to get to my Iris, she’s preparing for surgery, for the cancer. I have to go. I just need to get to Florida faster. I’m fine.” I, in fact, was not fine. It would be later noted I didn’t remember how old I was, what zippers were, or how to tie my shoes. Incredibly, I did know how to drive and what strangers would help me along the way. Inherently, I knew how to find the people I loved the most.

A reservationist, Susan, at the Beau Rivage spent her break banging on my hotel room door. Why did she care? Devine intervention when I didn’t answer, she called the police. Who knows how important it was for me to wake up within those 4 hours? How was my mother (with whom I have barely spoken to in the last 15 years) on the phone? Why do I feel so safe and at home in the chaos of a casino? Why am I still here? Why does anyone even care? So many questions. Blessed by the hearts that do not need an answer. For those hearts aligned and saved my life.

Said Blaise Pascal circa 1640: “The heart has its reasons, which reason does not know. We feel it in a thousand things. It is the heart which experiences God, and not the reason. This, then, is faith: God felt by the heart, not by the reason”.

Learn more about Blaise from someone else’s blog here -https://www.wordonfire.org/resources/blog/books-that-rocked-my-world-blaise-pascals-pensees/18316/

Journal Entry: Nevada City, Calif. 12.11.2019