“Geez, I’m having some bad luck lately,” I grumbled to my mate.
“Luck?!” he cried, “I’m starting to think you’re cursed! Now get away from me. A little more. Keep going!”
The long list of niggly things that have gone wrong in the past couple of months has made getting through each day like running a marathon through waist deep molasses, while spectators threw stuff at me.
Sadly, if ‘Moaning about Bad Luck’ was an Olympic sport, I’d be competing for Australia. Mind you, I’d also be a pretty good chance for Gold in the ‘Banging Your Head Against a Brick Wall’ event, because every morning I’d get up and brightly announce, “Today things WILL be better!”
In fact things took turn for the worst. Long story short, an anxious evening in our local Emergency Room was followed by a frantic drive to a Brisbane hospital, and by the time we entered the Intensive Care Unit it felt like we’d been repeatedly run over by a tractor.
But if I’d thought my daily existence had been a struggle, then I was about to get an education. We were literally surrounded by patients who weren’t so much at Deaths’ Door, but in Deaths’ Lounge Room admiring the black drapes and carpet.
Outside, the waiting room was full of extremely worried, and very tired, folk, plus some fairly unique smells.
But amid all the sadness and fear we experienced touching acts of kindness, courage, and love. Family, friends and complete strangers pitched in and eventually we did what quite a lot of people wouldn’t get to do; walked out of that hospital with smiles on our dials.
We’re back home again and my run of rotten luck continues, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt so fortunate.