Don’t walk behind me; I may not lead.
Don’t walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend.
Albert Camus, 1913 – 1960
French author, journalist and philosopher
Since I started blogging in March I have come across many people whom I like to call friends. We may never meet in real life, but through our blogs we are sharing our lives, thoughts and feelings with each other. It’s great to see how many people have different takes and attitudes on a variety of things. And it is also great when you come across someone who could be living your life.
Several of these come to mind Susan at Coming East, Dor at Technicolor Day Dreams, Val at Absurd Old Bird, Chris at Bridges Burning, Debbie at My Quest and Nancy at Spirit Lights the Way. Maybe because we are of a similar age, although I am of course, the oldest. And of course the many younger ones Sharon, Patti, Patricia, Elizabeth, Suzi Cate, Jacquelin and many more. All of these have many years to live before they reach my ripe age. And I apologise if you are left off this list. There are just too many of you to mention. Thanks for being my friends anyway.
In one particular post entitled The Waiting Game Debbie told of a visit to the hospital. It could have been written by me. So similar were our experiences. Around the same time and on opposite sides of the world. Read Debbie’s version and then compare it to mine. This is my comment to Debbie on the post:
“A few weeks ago I had a similar experience. I fell up the step between living room and kitchen with a fine china bowl in my hand. The bowl shattered and sliced into my thumb.
Blood literally pumping up so a call to my daughter who fortunately lives very close, and we were off to the after hours emergency clinic. They were very accommodating and said I would be attended to shortly. Yes, you guessed it. I waited for a short time in the waiting room – that’s why it’s called that of course – then saw a nurse who said ‘Mm a think you need stitches’ and ‘come through here’. Through here was a brightly lit cubicle and there I waited.
Another nurse appeared who said she would have to get the doctor – I waited and the doctor eventually appeared. She then told the nurse to give me a tetanus shot and a shot so they could administer the stitches. More waiting, the doctor appeared again looked at the hand, asked the nurse to stitch it and you guessed it, more waiting.
A different nurse appeared and started sticking needles into my very sore thumb. I waited and then she returned to say she would do the stitching as the doctor was attending to another patient. More injections to dull the pain, stitches eventually in and given instructions to go to GP in 10 days to have the stitches removed.”
The two incidents are so similar that it is hard to imagine them not being stage-managed.
And sorry guys. This post was about the women who have become my friends through blogging. More about you in another post.
When you’re down and troubled
And you need a helping hand
And nothing, whoa nothing is going right.
Close your eyes and think of me
And soon I will be there
To brighten up even your darkest nights.
So sang James Taylor