February 15, 2016
Today my soul friend is having surgery at the University of Chicago Hospital. The outcome of that procedure will determine her destiny.
(Odd, it just occurred to me that every little thing we do and every person we encounter factors in determining our destiny. It is a large thought for the mind.)
When I was ages 4 and 8, I had surgeries at Children’s Memorial Hospital on Fullerton Avenue in Chicago – a lifetime ago.
When I was four, my surgeon was Doctor Gibson. When I was age eight, the surgeon was Doctor Potts. In that era, they were pioneers in the discipline/art of open heart surgery.
I am no more significant than any other soul on this earth, but this I know. If my little body had not been surrendered to those surgeons, I would have already been a name on a gravestone for decades. My older brother would perhaps have a vague memory of his tiny sister four years his junior. There is one uncle Art, my father’s youngest and only living brother now, who would perhaps have recalled the slight girl who had died so young.
Instead there are sons, step-children and grandchildren who may remember me for one or two generations more.
I cannot fathom how someone can do surgery on tiny children – or anybody. The ones who gave me my life are long gone now, but I am not. To remember them is to pay tribute to god beings. For me.
Within the last decade I have conversed with a cardiologist who knew of the “Potts Method” in heart surgery.
“How pleased Dr. Potts would have been to see you now,” he glowed as he said it to me.
Today my soul friend has surrender her destiny in the same city – blocks and years from where I did. It is the territory of the divine.
Today I stand on tiptoe gazing back and toward the future. We live in a miracle age, I have noticed in passing.