BUILDING FAITH: A Journey from Death to Life (third excerpt)

Almost a month later, I checked into the small hospital in D.C. where my operation would be performed. So many last minute glitches had occurred. An aide taking my blood for use in case I hemorrhaged had left my arm badly bruised for about six inches above and below the elbow. I didn’t understand how she could hold her job and be as hostile as she was. I said nothing to the surgeon about it. Two days before the operation, someone called and said my operation had been reschedule from l0:40 to nine a.m. I hit the ceiling, pointing out that since they want patients to be there two hours early, this would not afford me nearly the sleep I needed. I was furious and I showed it, quite unlike the fact that I usually argued with no one. I have a sharp temper and it hurts me when I lose it. The snide woman talking with me became more conciliatory, checked around and again rescheduled for just one-half hour earlier. I accepted.

Glitches notwithdtanding, friends were unfailingly kind. By this time I was on a walk-aid and could barely make it to the friend’s apartment where I would spend the night before the operation. We got lost on the way going in. D.C. streets can be incredibly difficult to navigate, but we got there on time. I had been promised a few minutes with the surgeon before the operation. This didn’t happen. Fortunately I had told him what I felt he needed to know. First, that I had a small degree of personality changes. Under severe stress, I could regress to a much earlier age or progress to a much later one. I also had hemorrhaged badly years before in another hostpital from a psychiatric abortion. I said I would probably storm and curse under sedation. I might hate them for “taking my baby,” or reliving that abortion and blaming them. I might even rouse and try to attack them. Read the rest of this entry »

Another Winner Lost to Us, E. Lynn Harris

E. Lynn Harris

I felt terribly sad when I heard about E. Lynn Harris’ death. I enjoyed his books so much and in the beginning started not to buy them because I didn’t think I’d be interested in the subject matter. He was truly a writer for all seasons. He gave us some of the most realistic portrayals of some African-American life and especially African-American women I’ve ever read. And his deep compassion was something I always marveled at.

I just wish we’d been told more about his last years, not just months, because everything seemed to be coming up roses, then he’s dead. Why? How? I’d like to know much more. He shared his life so freely with us and helped us live ours.

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