Powerful faith: faith the size of a mustard seed
is not only having faith in God
and living your life devoted to Him,
trusting Him for everything.
Powerful faith is having faith
that your will is aligned with God's,
that He has transformed your heart,
and that you love like God loves.
Powerful faith is the certainty
that you are so close to God,
whatever you ask will be given to you
and you ask carefully but generously,
according to the Holy Spirit's prompting.
Powerful faith moves mountains,
withers fig trees,
heals physical wounds and spiritual,
stops thunderstorms,
and inspires witnesses.
It is not for the weak of heart.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
On a lighter note...
I had intended to post stuff every other week this semester. You can see how well that's going. I just don't keep in touch with people enough. I don't make time to. I hardly get my homework done on time, and I don't spend much time on the internet at all. The only reason I even use my computer most days is for the routine: check e-mail, check weather, check e-suds, write papers, keep notes for ENGR 145 and Black Book, listen to music, and sometimes to read Erica's stories. Oh, right, and www.freerice.com , too: my homepage. I'm up to 42, but I only play when I open a new browser. My days of living on the internet came to a close a long time ago. There's too much to do here to not be here in mind and spirit as well as body. It's part of living in the moment.
I don't suppose I've mentioned Black Book much. It's my new project, though it will likely last a decade. The first draft lasted five years, and that was for only five books. This one should be eight or nine. Who recalls the Reeses series about which I've written so much? Now take all the copyrighted material out and replace it with more scientifically feasible yet still analogous counterparts. Welcome to the world of Project Black Book. How to explain better?
In 1969, the United States Air Force began phasing out Project Blue Book, an official investigation of unidentified flying objects that sought a scientific and fully comprehensible explanation for every sighting, including the famous weather balloon explanation for the Roswell, New Mexico, crash and no explanation for the low-profile Kecksberg, Pennsylvania, hubbub. These are the documents eventually released under the Freedom of Information Act and cited in various UFO documentaries. Some of the sightings never received suitable explanation, however, and the documentation of others, procured under that Freedom of Information Act, are heavily edited with thick, black marker, to prevent the release of information pertaining to current projects, namely, Project Black Book, which replaced Blue Book in 1972 with a new mission: to catch the actual flying saucers and gain scientific and strategic information from these sources. As years passed and the project had no opportunity to prove its worth, the United States Air Force shifted its attention from the excitement of yesteryear to Earth-bound politics. Its attention and funds diverted from Project Black Book, leaving the small shell of a mostly empty base in the tiny town of Cohagen, Montana, two and a half hours north of Miles City.
Over the years, the Air Force found it convenient to have such a dead-end project to relegate officers too insubordinate for active duty and too intelligent to let go. By 1995, Project Black Book consisted of four officers and a token number of MPs and Airmen. Brigadier General Donn Marshall, Major Joliene Patrick, Lieutenant Kyle Fairfeld, and Tech Sergeant John Bailey were perfectly capable of fulfilling Black Book's mission and spent many years of boredom not only searching the empty skies for the silver flying saucers but also elaborating on the base's unique aspects. It was during this time that they gave the Project the nickname of "the Bed and Breakfast" or "B&B," even going to the extent of hanging a welcoming sign in front of the office/warehouse in which they worked.
In that year, Project Black Book fulfilled its original mission, revitalizing the entire project. They succeeded in capturing an alien spacecraft, but one of the occupants, a rebel Gertewet symbiote named Kitchell, took the general as its next host and left. Over the next few years, Kitchell and the original Black Book staff, now led by Marshall's neice, built a friendship between the United States and the Gertewet. At Donn Marshall's request, the Gertewet provided enough information to Project Black Book that the project could grow in its research and development mission by procuring more technology from the Gertewet's enemy, the Kemtewet, a similar species who ruled many human-occupied worlds in the galaxy and who had previously visited Earth, looking for new hosts.
Officially, Project Black Book was to reverse engineer any captured alien technology in order to either advance current technology, for the Air Force or possibly for the general public, or provide a defense against possible alien incursion, which concerned the Air Force enough in the 1960's to fund Black Book in the first place. Despite the procurement team's distaste for Kemtewet rule, they were not to engage the aliens but in defense. After all, Congress hadn't declared war, and the Air Force didn't have the interstellar resources (from Black Book) to fight one. For the time being, Black Book could only procure new technology, reverse engineer it, study applications of it, and maintain a casual friendship with the one Gertewet they knew.
That all changed in 1998.
Book 1: To Be (featuring Sarah/Vinnet, Lauren Krege, and a number of curiously familiar characters)
Book 2: Heart of Gold (featuring Sarah/Vinnet, Lauren Krege, Matt and Sally King, Katorin, Jenn Cors, and Chryson, among many other familiar characters)
Book 3: TBA (featuring S/V, Vandrof, David Rice, and many other familiar characters)
Book 4: Under the Radar (featuring Sarah, David Rice, Chryson, and characters that will be familiar by then)
Book 5: Best Left Dead (yes, I'm keeping it. I love it too much to let it go. But it'll be better this time, trust me.)
Book 6: Out of Enemies (featuring Setira, Chryson, Teresh, and Tacita, among others)
Book 7: Rebellion Reborn (featuring Chryson, Setira, Kitchell, Katorin, Tacita, etc.)
Book 8: Chain of Command (featuring Setira, Chryson, the Marshalls, etc.)
That's right. I'm not just rewriting the S/V series. I'm adding. And, as you can see, about the only things I'm keeping from Stargate are the concept of the Goa'uld and Tok'ra (Kemtewet and Gertewet). Okay, and the NID, who are now NFI-Com (National Freedom of Information for the Preservation of Constitutional Rights and of Citizen and National Security Commission). Okay, and the Ha'taks (Muuldepet)... kinda. These are cooler and more pretentious. That's right. As if a gigantic, gold-plated pyramid wasn't pretentious enough. No more System Lords, though; that's too simple. The Kemtewet now have a much more interesting structure: one emperor (like Ra, only not) ruling over six kings (kinda like system lords, I guess), who rule over five lords, who actually rule over planets. But since that's not enough enemies, there are also Kemtewet servants for the kings and emperor, who would rather not have to deal with humans at all. And they have culture! Folk songs, architecture, designers, maybe writers, scientists/reverse engineers. And competition, though I won't get into it until we meet Chryson in Heart of Gold.
OMGoodness! I love Chryson! If you've read anything about him (yes, Chryson is supposed to be male), you can't tell me he isn't completely lovable! I can't wait to write the books with Setira and him. Then again, I guess very few of you are familiar with how Setira turns out. Think Alliah from Dune, only basically good and less self-centered.
What else has me so excited about this series?
The crew from the Scifi Fridays I host hath decreed that the Black Book series (dunno why it's called Black Book since it's mostly about the Gertewet and Black Book falls into the background) is "engineering fiction," not science fiction. People complain so much about science fiction not being scientifically feasible, I'm trying my hardest to keep within that realm. Okay, so I have a few typical scifi magic concepts that I don't want to bother explaining: FTL, short-range transporters, evolution of the galaxy, etc. Typical write offs, explained by the ever-powerful Plot. (Refer to discussions last night throughout SG-1 viewing.) I ask my readers to forgive me a few if I adequately explain evolution and physiology of the 'Tewet, along with how their modifications to humans work. (Might keep the healing and extra strength as magic, too, but I'll explain the glowing eyes and weird voice.) Perhaps if I adequately explain the dimensions and development of the Kemtewet space craft (which I adore--someone build me a Kaxan, please!)? Remember the fun Tollan symbiote-indicating device and the Tok'ra memory device? I'm planning something that's a hybrid of the two, and Case has the perfect material to make it work. Thank you Martin, Blankenship, and Xie for your research. I hope you don't mind me publicizing it in fiction. I already know the origin of Black Book, NFI-Com, and the Kemtewet, as well as their internal politics, for the most part, and the politics and workings of the Gertewet. I know how Black Book and Cohagen develop throughout the series, why, and even the distribution of personnel throughout the departments.
So excited! I wish I could include sketches in my stories. After I go through all the trouble of creating them to write it, and the details don't quite make it into the story. Anyone recall Vinnet's dress in Best Left Dead? I have a color picture of it, and I really wish I could make it and have somewhere to wear it.
Oh, yeah. Mike has been told he should major or minor in poli sci. (I wouldn't put it past him.) Anyway, he pointed out a bunch of things that weren't politically accurate in the Announcement. They're being fixed. The changes work out well in the beginning of "Under the Radar," when Chryson comes back to Earth.
New characters!!! YEEEEE!!! You know how the others who were kidnapped with Sarah disappeared in the original version of To Be? They stick around now. We'll see them in the second half of To Be (which needs a new title), possibly in Heart of Gold, definitely in the Announcement, definitely in Under the Radar, and who knows after that? They all have their own back stories and personalities, some of which conflict enough to generate spin-off short stories, methinks. (Kalli and Pastor Ariel. Sorry I can't spell Kalli's name right on here. There should be a heart over the i.) Oh, and one of the abductees turns out to be so important that she's a catalyst for major plot events throughout the series.
Yeee! I love this series! It's always so dismal when I go back through my fifty-four pages of notes and see how little I have when I think I have so much, but I trust from my readers' reactions that it's all going to turn out pretty well. I'm trusting Mom, Molly (who hit me when she read BLD), Emily (who nearly or actually cried when she read BLD), and Mike (who picks on me for BLD) when they say it's publishable plot and characters. After reading Tobias Buckell's Ragamuffin, I'm inclined to agree. (Sorry, Toby, the story's great and the characters interesting, but your writing style is hard to get through in novels. You're very used to short stories.) Someday, I tell you. Someday, this is going to be published. I don't know when or by whom. Maybe I'll look up the editor I meet at Alpha and give him the first shot at it. Maybe I'll go to conventions and network. Maybe I'll intrigue someone by my supposedly contradictory major. Or maybe it'll turn them away. I have no way of knowing. Either the logic goes "She's majoring in engineering; she can't possibly write." or "She's a writer majoring in aerospace engineering. Practical. Probably really loves space. She's devoted and probably really awesome." I can dream, anyway.
So. Feel free to ask questions. I might answer.
And when it's published, read it. 'Twill be a blast.
I had intended to post stuff every other week this semester. You can see how well that's going. I just don't keep in touch with people enough. I don't make time to. I hardly get my homework done on time, and I don't spend much time on the internet at all. The only reason I even use my computer most days is for the routine: check e-mail, check weather, check e-suds, write papers, keep notes for ENGR 145 and Black Book, listen to music, and sometimes to read Erica's stories. Oh, right, and www.freerice.com , too: my homepage. I'm up to 42, but I only play when I open a new browser. My days of living on the internet came to a close a long time ago. There's too much to do here to not be here in mind and spirit as well as body. It's part of living in the moment.
I don't suppose I've mentioned Black Book much. It's my new project, though it will likely last a decade. The first draft lasted five years, and that was for only five books. This one should be eight or nine. Who recalls the Reeses series about which I've written so much? Now take all the copyrighted material out and replace it with more scientifically feasible yet still analogous counterparts. Welcome to the world of Project Black Book. How to explain better?
In 1969, the United States Air Force began phasing out Project Blue Book, an official investigation of unidentified flying objects that sought a scientific and fully comprehensible explanation for every sighting, including the famous weather balloon explanation for the Roswell, New Mexico, crash and no explanation for the low-profile Kecksberg, Pennsylvania, hubbub. These are the documents eventually released under the Freedom of Information Act and cited in various UFO documentaries. Some of the sightings never received suitable explanation, however, and the documentation of others, procured under that Freedom of Information Act, are heavily edited with thick, black marker, to prevent the release of information pertaining to current projects, namely, Project Black Book, which replaced Blue Book in 1972 with a new mission: to catch the actual flying saucers and gain scientific and strategic information from these sources. As years passed and the project had no opportunity to prove its worth, the United States Air Force shifted its attention from the excitement of yesteryear to Earth-bound politics. Its attention and funds diverted from Project Black Book, leaving the small shell of a mostly empty base in the tiny town of Cohagen, Montana, two and a half hours north of Miles City.
Over the years, the Air Force found it convenient to have such a dead-end project to relegate officers too insubordinate for active duty and too intelligent to let go. By 1995, Project Black Book consisted of four officers and a token number of MPs and Airmen. Brigadier General Donn Marshall, Major Joliene Patrick, Lieutenant Kyle Fairfeld, and Tech Sergeant John Bailey were perfectly capable of fulfilling Black Book's mission and spent many years of boredom not only searching the empty skies for the silver flying saucers but also elaborating on the base's unique aspects. It was during this time that they gave the Project the nickname of "the Bed and Breakfast" or "B&B," even going to the extent of hanging a welcoming sign in front of the office/warehouse in which they worked.
In that year, Project Black Book fulfilled its original mission, revitalizing the entire project. They succeeded in capturing an alien spacecraft, but one of the occupants, a rebel Gertewet symbiote named Kitchell, took the general as its next host and left. Over the next few years, Kitchell and the original Black Book staff, now led by Marshall's neice, built a friendship between the United States and the Gertewet. At Donn Marshall's request, the Gertewet provided enough information to Project Black Book that the project could grow in its research and development mission by procuring more technology from the Gertewet's enemy, the Kemtewet, a similar species who ruled many human-occupied worlds in the galaxy and who had previously visited Earth, looking for new hosts.
Officially, Project Black Book was to reverse engineer any captured alien technology in order to either advance current technology, for the Air Force or possibly for the general public, or provide a defense against possible alien incursion, which concerned the Air Force enough in the 1960's to fund Black Book in the first place. Despite the procurement team's distaste for Kemtewet rule, they were not to engage the aliens but in defense. After all, Congress hadn't declared war, and the Air Force didn't have the interstellar resources (from Black Book) to fight one. For the time being, Black Book could only procure new technology, reverse engineer it, study applications of it, and maintain a casual friendship with the one Gertewet they knew.
That all changed in 1998.
Book 1: To Be (featuring Sarah/Vinnet, Lauren Krege, and a number of curiously familiar characters)
Book 2: Heart of Gold (featuring Sarah/Vinnet, Lauren Krege, Matt and Sally King, Katorin, Jenn Cors, and Chryson, among many other familiar characters)
Book 3: TBA (featuring S/V, Vandrof, David Rice, and many other familiar characters)
Book 4: Under the Radar (featuring Sarah, David Rice, Chryson, and characters that will be familiar by then)
Book 5: Best Left Dead (yes, I'm keeping it. I love it too much to let it go. But it'll be better this time, trust me.)
Book 6: Out of Enemies (featuring Setira, Chryson, Teresh, and Tacita, among others)
Book 7: Rebellion Reborn (featuring Chryson, Setira, Kitchell, Katorin, Tacita, etc.)
Book 8: Chain of Command (featuring Setira, Chryson, the Marshalls, etc.)
That's right. I'm not just rewriting the S/V series. I'm adding. And, as you can see, about the only things I'm keeping from Stargate are the concept of the Goa'uld and Tok'ra (Kemtewet and Gertewet). Okay, and the NID, who are now NFI-Com (National Freedom of Information for the Preservation of Constitutional Rights and of Citizen and National Security Commission). Okay, and the Ha'taks (Muuldepet)... kinda. These are cooler and more pretentious. That's right. As if a gigantic, gold-plated pyramid wasn't pretentious enough. No more System Lords, though; that's too simple. The Kemtewet now have a much more interesting structure: one emperor (like Ra, only not) ruling over six kings (kinda like system lords, I guess), who rule over five lords, who actually rule over planets. But since that's not enough enemies, there are also Kemtewet servants for the kings and emperor, who would rather not have to deal with humans at all. And they have culture! Folk songs, architecture, designers, maybe writers, scientists/reverse engineers. And competition, though I won't get into it until we meet Chryson in Heart of Gold.
OMGoodness! I love Chryson! If you've read anything about him (yes, Chryson is supposed to be male), you can't tell me he isn't completely lovable! I can't wait to write the books with Setira and him. Then again, I guess very few of you are familiar with how Setira turns out. Think Alliah from Dune, only basically good and less self-centered.
What else has me so excited about this series?
The crew from the Scifi Fridays I host hath decreed that the Black Book series (dunno why it's called Black Book since it's mostly about the Gertewet and Black Book falls into the background) is "engineering fiction," not science fiction. People complain so much about science fiction not being scientifically feasible, I'm trying my hardest to keep within that realm. Okay, so I have a few typical scifi magic concepts that I don't want to bother explaining: FTL, short-range transporters, evolution of the galaxy, etc. Typical write offs, explained by the ever-powerful Plot. (Refer to discussions last night throughout SG-1 viewing.) I ask my readers to forgive me a few if I adequately explain evolution and physiology of the 'Tewet, along with how their modifications to humans work. (Might keep the healing and extra strength as magic, too, but I'll explain the glowing eyes and weird voice.) Perhaps if I adequately explain the dimensions and development of the Kemtewet space craft (which I adore--someone build me a Kaxan, please!)? Remember the fun Tollan symbiote-indicating device and the Tok'ra memory device? I'm planning something that's a hybrid of the two, and Case has the perfect material to make it work. Thank you Martin, Blankenship, and Xie for your research. I hope you don't mind me publicizing it in fiction. I already know the origin of Black Book, NFI-Com, and the Kemtewet, as well as their internal politics, for the most part, and the politics and workings of the Gertewet. I know how Black Book and Cohagen develop throughout the series, why, and even the distribution of personnel throughout the departments.
So excited! I wish I could include sketches in my stories. After I go through all the trouble of creating them to write it, and the details don't quite make it into the story. Anyone recall Vinnet's dress in Best Left Dead? I have a color picture of it, and I really wish I could make it and have somewhere to wear it.
Oh, yeah. Mike has been told he should major or minor in poli sci. (I wouldn't put it past him.) Anyway, he pointed out a bunch of things that weren't politically accurate in the Announcement. They're being fixed. The changes work out well in the beginning of "Under the Radar," when Chryson comes back to Earth.
New characters!!! YEEEEE!!! You know how the others who were kidnapped with Sarah disappeared in the original version of To Be? They stick around now. We'll see them in the second half of To Be (which needs a new title), possibly in Heart of Gold, definitely in the Announcement, definitely in Under the Radar, and who knows after that? They all have their own back stories and personalities, some of which conflict enough to generate spin-off short stories, methinks. (Kalli and Pastor Ariel. Sorry I can't spell Kalli's name right on here. There should be a heart over the i.) Oh, and one of the abductees turns out to be so important that she's a catalyst for major plot events throughout the series.
Yeee! I love this series! It's always so dismal when I go back through my fifty-four pages of notes and see how little I have when I think I have so much, but I trust from my readers' reactions that it's all going to turn out pretty well. I'm trusting Mom, Molly (who hit me when she read BLD), Emily (who nearly or actually cried when she read BLD), and Mike (who picks on me for BLD) when they say it's publishable plot and characters. After reading Tobias Buckell's Ragamuffin, I'm inclined to agree. (Sorry, Toby, the story's great and the characters interesting, but your writing style is hard to get through in novels. You're very used to short stories.) Someday, I tell you. Someday, this is going to be published. I don't know when or by whom. Maybe I'll look up the editor I meet at Alpha and give him the first shot at it. Maybe I'll go to conventions and network. Maybe I'll intrigue someone by my supposedly contradictory major. Or maybe it'll turn them away. I have no way of knowing. Either the logic goes "She's majoring in engineering; she can't possibly write." or "She's a writer majoring in aerospace engineering. Practical. Probably really loves space. She's devoted and probably really awesome." I can dream, anyway.
So. Feel free to ask questions. I might answer.
And when it's published, read it. 'Twill be a blast.
Follow-up to the crash since I never posted any:
While we were sitting in the health center, Mike pointed out that there was a piece of my glasses missing: the hinge. We figured it was still sitting in front of the parking garage, where I crashed. Well, a doctor took me back and did what she could to clean it up, but she couldn't tell if I needed stitches. I don't know if I told her that a part of my vision on the left side was faded. I don't know if either of us noticed how dazed I was. Shock, I guess. Lucky for me, it didn't hurt that much. I guess I had a headache from the impact, but the actual torn flesh got smacked or scraped or squished so much, it was numb.
But I had an appointment to go to, and I was going to do anything I needed to to get there. Right. I missed it. And the two classes after it. When I resigned to not making the appointment with my professor, I asked Mike to go tell her. (Turns out, I was heading to visit the wrong professor, but in the end, it didn't matter.) I also asked him to take the paper that was due that day, but he didn't. Looking back, now that I've heard his assessment of that day, I must conclude that he was more worried than I was and his information overload didn't allow for my research paper to take priority like it did in my brain. All well. My professors understood it as an emergency and let me off the hook. (I still wanted to turn it in. I'm probably the kind of person you want on a mission to save the world. I'll be bleeding and beaten half out of my mind and still try to get everything right.)
Everyone left for a while for some reason or another, and they wouldn't let me leave. The health professional had me all bandaged up, but she was waiting for the real doctor to get back from lunch. So I lay there, trying not to stress. I knew it was all my fault. I remembered thinking that the bike might not go over the curb. I remembered that I should have worn a helmet after the first crash of the year. (But by golly, I wanted to see my alarm clock from my bed, and I had no other way to keep it up that high!) I knew my parents were going to freak. I knew it never had to happen. My stupidity had given me a big bloody gash, broken glasses (how was I going to tell Mom?), a very important missed appointment, and two skipped classes--my most important ones of the day. Or maybe I didn't have to miss them. How long did I have to finish there? Maybe I'd miss the mandatory humanities class, but I still had time to make my 3:00 fiction writing class. If only I didn't need stitches. I didn't think I could do stitches. The thought of a needle going in an out of my skin, sewing it together like the holes in my camo skirt, terrified me. The pain that had to cause! I couldn't take pain. I couldn't deal with it. Please, God, I thought over and over, anything but stitches. Anything but stitches! Finally, to at least try to hold myself together, to push away the regret for later, to push away the worries until I could do something, I sat up, waited for the room to stabilize, tottered to my feet, and got my Bean (media device) from wherever I kept it then. I played the uplifting Christian music I rely on so heavily and lay back on the bed, only this time, the music emphasized everything that had gone wrong. I cried. Eventually, I tried to stop. Just listen. Wait and listen.
The doctor came in after a while, and I resumed my brave face. Jokes to break the tension. Act pleasant above all else. I don't think she fell for it, but she at least pretended to. My shaking voice and hands might have given me away. She told me I needed stitches and that she was going to call Campus Security to take me to the emergency room, which I was thankful for, since I hadn't a clue where it was, though it couldn't have been more than two blocks away. I might could have walked... Anyway, she suggested I have a friend meet me, and I called Mike to ask if he would go with me, if he minded the chance of missing his afternoon class. He said he didn't. I still didn't like asking him to.
The doctor was kind. She gave me a bag of something, I think. Maybe she put my bloodied gym shirt in a paper bag. I don't remember. She gave me ice, though it melted long before I saw another doctor. I don't remember when Mike got there. It had to have been at least five minutes from when I called; I know he was on Northside, but he biked back as fast as he could. Whenever he got there, neither the doctor nor he would let me carry my own backpack, though I would have if they'd let me. It couldn't have been that heavy.
The doctor sent me down in the elevator, and Mike and I waited at the bottom for campus security. (Come to think of it, I don't know why we had to wait. Their office is one floor below where we were waiting, as I found out when Idaho made me lose my phone later on.) Mike didn't say much, so I tried to keep talking. Anything to keep my mind off my parents and my stupidity. I had to have a decent story to tell people. How could I deal with admitting that I'd crashed my bike while not wearing a helmet? "Klingons," I told Mike. "I got attacked by Klingons, and I won." We bantered like that for a while... kinda. He was distracted or something. I wonder why. We laughed at my coat, which had about a dollar coin-sized hole in the shoulder, spewing little puffs of white feathers into the air.
Eventually, the campus security SUV arrived, and we climbed into the back. The officer was really nice, too, and he and Mike talked the whole way. We took a spiraling path from there to the emergency room. I don't think it was much farther than two hundred meters in displacement, but we had to go around the edges of the block to get there. The weird hospital has the emergency room embedded in the very center of the entire complex. The officer snarled something sarcastic about a car blocking the drop-off zone and Ohio drivers' ineptitude. We got in all right in the end, glad for having met him.
I don't really remember much about waiting. I filled out some forms, described my pain as about a four. Mike admonished me for that. He said I would have gotten attention faster with more pain, but I answered that I was stable for now and had no reason not to wait when others might need the attention before I did. The hospital couldn't have been that stupid. Surely, they took into account both that I had a bleeding head wound and that someone had already tended it for the moment. I was pretty calm by then, starting to regain my senses, and we talked pretty much the whole time, the only people laughing in the emergency room waiting area. I'd have been sick with anxiety if he hadn't been there, and I knew it. He might have been instead of me, though. I never knew.
About 5:30, they called me back to see a doctor. After some preliminary cleaning, she looked at it and said, "You have a piece of metal in there."
"Really?" Mike and I looked at each other, information clicking into place. "So that's what happened to the hinge."
Sure enough, she pulled the hinge of my glasses out from my eyebrow. Now, remember: the first health professional, the health center doctor, and I had all looked at it, trying to determine how deep it was. I don't think any of us suspected it could hide an entire hinge. Well, we mused over it, and then she threw it out! I moaned about it, sure we could have fixed my glasses with that one part.
Six stitches in the end. They weren't as bad as I expected, though they might have been if things hadn't played out as they had. Mike held my hand. The doctor talked to one of us, probably Mike. I don't remember. They talked about skiing, about school, our majors, how we met. She commented on how nice he was to come with me. I agreed.
He walked me back to Leutner for dinner. I wasn't as dizzy as I had been, but it was still a long walk. The cold wind felt especially sharp against the new wound, even if it was covered with a band-aid.
Somewhere in the middle of it all or shortly after. Maybe that night. I don't know. At some point, it struck me that God had been with me through it all. I don't know why it happened, but I do know that it could have been hundreds of times worse. If Mike hadn't been there, I would not have staunched the bleeding. If I hadn't had racquetball that morning, I wouldn't have had expendable clothes with which to staunch, contaminated by the locker room floor, though they were. If it hadn't been cold that morning, I wouldn't have worn my big, puffy winter coat, and the hole in the coat would have been in my better clothes or in my shoulder. Had I not gotten stitches, no one would have found the hinge in my face. Had Mike not accompanied me, I would have freaked out in the emergency room worse than I did in the health center. And missing class turned out to be okay... just this once.
While we were sitting in the health center, Mike pointed out that there was a piece of my glasses missing: the hinge. We figured it was still sitting in front of the parking garage, where I crashed. Well, a doctor took me back and did what she could to clean it up, but she couldn't tell if I needed stitches. I don't know if I told her that a part of my vision on the left side was faded. I don't know if either of us noticed how dazed I was. Shock, I guess. Lucky for me, it didn't hurt that much. I guess I had a headache from the impact, but the actual torn flesh got smacked or scraped or squished so much, it was numb.
But I had an appointment to go to, and I was going to do anything I needed to to get there. Right. I missed it. And the two classes after it. When I resigned to not making the appointment with my professor, I asked Mike to go tell her. (Turns out, I was heading to visit the wrong professor, but in the end, it didn't matter.) I also asked him to take the paper that was due that day, but he didn't. Looking back, now that I've heard his assessment of that day, I must conclude that he was more worried than I was and his information overload didn't allow for my research paper to take priority like it did in my brain. All well. My professors understood it as an emergency and let me off the hook. (I still wanted to turn it in. I'm probably the kind of person you want on a mission to save the world. I'll be bleeding and beaten half out of my mind and still try to get everything right.)
Everyone left for a while for some reason or another, and they wouldn't let me leave. The health professional had me all bandaged up, but she was waiting for the real doctor to get back from lunch. So I lay there, trying not to stress. I knew it was all my fault. I remembered thinking that the bike might not go over the curb. I remembered that I should have worn a helmet after the first crash of the year. (But by golly, I wanted to see my alarm clock from my bed, and I had no other way to keep it up that high!) I knew my parents were going to freak. I knew it never had to happen. My stupidity had given me a big bloody gash, broken glasses (how was I going to tell Mom?), a very important missed appointment, and two skipped classes--my most important ones of the day. Or maybe I didn't have to miss them. How long did I have to finish there? Maybe I'd miss the mandatory humanities class, but I still had time to make my 3:00 fiction writing class. If only I didn't need stitches. I didn't think I could do stitches. The thought of a needle going in an out of my skin, sewing it together like the holes in my camo skirt, terrified me. The pain that had to cause! I couldn't take pain. I couldn't deal with it. Please, God, I thought over and over, anything but stitches. Anything but stitches! Finally, to at least try to hold myself together, to push away the regret for later, to push away the worries until I could do something, I sat up, waited for the room to stabilize, tottered to my feet, and got my Bean (media device) from wherever I kept it then. I played the uplifting Christian music I rely on so heavily and lay back on the bed, only this time, the music emphasized everything that had gone wrong. I cried. Eventually, I tried to stop. Just listen. Wait and listen.
The doctor came in after a while, and I resumed my brave face. Jokes to break the tension. Act pleasant above all else. I don't think she fell for it, but she at least pretended to. My shaking voice and hands might have given me away. She told me I needed stitches and that she was going to call Campus Security to take me to the emergency room, which I was thankful for, since I hadn't a clue where it was, though it couldn't have been more than two blocks away. I might could have walked... Anyway, she suggested I have a friend meet me, and I called Mike to ask if he would go with me, if he minded the chance of missing his afternoon class. He said he didn't. I still didn't like asking him to.
The doctor was kind. She gave me a bag of something, I think. Maybe she put my bloodied gym shirt in a paper bag. I don't remember. She gave me ice, though it melted long before I saw another doctor. I don't remember when Mike got there. It had to have been at least five minutes from when I called; I know he was on Northside, but he biked back as fast as he could. Whenever he got there, neither the doctor nor he would let me carry my own backpack, though I would have if they'd let me. It couldn't have been that heavy.
The doctor sent me down in the elevator, and Mike and I waited at the bottom for campus security. (Come to think of it, I don't know why we had to wait. Their office is one floor below where we were waiting, as I found out when Idaho made me lose my phone later on.) Mike didn't say much, so I tried to keep talking. Anything to keep my mind off my parents and my stupidity. I had to have a decent story to tell people. How could I deal with admitting that I'd crashed my bike while not wearing a helmet? "Klingons," I told Mike. "I got attacked by Klingons, and I won." We bantered like that for a while... kinda. He was distracted or something. I wonder why. We laughed at my coat, which had about a dollar coin-sized hole in the shoulder, spewing little puffs of white feathers into the air.
Eventually, the campus security SUV arrived, and we climbed into the back. The officer was really nice, too, and he and Mike talked the whole way. We took a spiraling path from there to the emergency room. I don't think it was much farther than two hundred meters in displacement, but we had to go around the edges of the block to get there. The weird hospital has the emergency room embedded in the very center of the entire complex. The officer snarled something sarcastic about a car blocking the drop-off zone and Ohio drivers' ineptitude. We got in all right in the end, glad for having met him.
I don't really remember much about waiting. I filled out some forms, described my pain as about a four. Mike admonished me for that. He said I would have gotten attention faster with more pain, but I answered that I was stable for now and had no reason not to wait when others might need the attention before I did. The hospital couldn't have been that stupid. Surely, they took into account both that I had a bleeding head wound and that someone had already tended it for the moment. I was pretty calm by then, starting to regain my senses, and we talked pretty much the whole time, the only people laughing in the emergency room waiting area. I'd have been sick with anxiety if he hadn't been there, and I knew it. He might have been instead of me, though. I never knew.
About 5:30, they called me back to see a doctor. After some preliminary cleaning, she looked at it and said, "You have a piece of metal in there."
"Really?" Mike and I looked at each other, information clicking into place. "So that's what happened to the hinge."
Sure enough, she pulled the hinge of my glasses out from my eyebrow. Now, remember: the first health professional, the health center doctor, and I had all looked at it, trying to determine how deep it was. I don't think any of us suspected it could hide an entire hinge. Well, we mused over it, and then she threw it out! I moaned about it, sure we could have fixed my glasses with that one part.
Six stitches in the end. They weren't as bad as I expected, though they might have been if things hadn't played out as they had. Mike held my hand. The doctor talked to one of us, probably Mike. I don't remember. They talked about skiing, about school, our majors, how we met. She commented on how nice he was to come with me. I agreed.
He walked me back to Leutner for dinner. I wasn't as dizzy as I had been, but it was still a long walk. The cold wind felt especially sharp against the new wound, even if it was covered with a band-aid.
Somewhere in the middle of it all or shortly after. Maybe that night. I don't know. At some point, it struck me that God had been with me through it all. I don't know why it happened, but I do know that it could have been hundreds of times worse. If Mike hadn't been there, I would not have staunched the bleeding. If I hadn't had racquetball that morning, I wouldn't have had expendable clothes with which to staunch, contaminated by the locker room floor, though they were. If it hadn't been cold that morning, I wouldn't have worn my big, puffy winter coat, and the hole in the coat would have been in my better clothes or in my shoulder. Had I not gotten stitches, no one would have found the hinge in my face. Had Mike not accompanied me, I would have freaked out in the emergency room worse than I did in the health center. And missing class turned out to be okay... just this once.
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