What the Beatles knew, a fight foiled, a charged underwater encounter, and the virtues of a wide angle. Plus we announce the winner of last week's Birds-of-a-Type poll.
"A long minute later, she held the phone to Barbara’s ear. I barely recognized her voice, a weak and broken whisper, but I understood her. “I need you to come hold my hand,” she said."
This made me tremble with tears. Thank you for so generously sharing this intimate moment.
Waking up from surgery years ago, a surgery that had the potential to leave one side of my face paralyzed, I became aware of someone working around me, changing my sweat-soaked hospital gown, rearranging the sheets on my bed in the PACU. I moved the muscles of my face and found that everything was in working order. Unable to open my eyes more than a crack, as the nurse's hands worked near my own hands, I reached for her hand. She stopped, her hand in mine, for the briefest but most reassuring of moments. I was back. I had made it. And I was in good hands until I was fully awake.
Although I did not know her name, I wrote her a thank you note and took it to the PACU along with a small gift. PACU staff found her by the date and time of my surgery. In my note, I thanked her for holding my hand, even for just a second, and explained how deeply comforted I was in that moment.
She came to my office (I, too, worked in the hospital) not long after with a card and a gift for me! She told me that she had never, in her entire career, received a thank you note because most patients are not aware enough to register what is happening so soon after surgery.
Thanks for this post which brought me back to that moment - that sweet connection that holding hands offers us.
Thank you for sharing this story, Irene. Barbara made a distinction between those on the hospital staff addressing her pain and those addressing her suffering. The latter ones were mainly three nurses aides from Ethiopia to whom she is eternally grateful.
A tearful moment this morning understanding how your dear Barbara's life has been healed by modern medicine and patient ways for recovery. Holding your hand is surviving and not being alone in this confusing chaotic world.
Bar, I remember your telling me that story when it happened. I was agog at your presence of mind, then as now and always . I put that wise tactic to immediate use at the methadone clinic. and have thought of it so many times over the years. Bringing out the best in folks despite their best efforts!
Thank you both for your entries! I learned a lot, as usual! 1) Good for you, Barbara, for offering a solution that didn't blame or take charge. You showed them the high ground and left the solution to them. Nice! 2) I like photographers who help me understand what I'm looking at, or why I feel engaged. And I didn't know that about wide angle lenses -- that they can trick my eyes! Thanks, Kerry! I'll think of this when I'm looking at the shadows and light on the Portraits of the Chemakum hanging in the Fort Worden Commons. 3) I travelled in Mexico after high school and was shocked to learn that 300 children had recently died of the measles in an area we were traveling through. Maybe this was 1970? or 1971? I couldn't believe that a free vaccine was available only a short bus ride north where no one I knew died of the measles. 4) Your poignant story about the power of holding hands brought up Irene's wonderful memory and many small memories of my own when my mother and I held hands and one of us would squeeze a certain number of times and the other would answer with the same number of squeezes. Even though we'd be on a crowded street, we were secretly communicating in a language all our own that I only remember with joy.
Love your insights about wide angle images and how sometimes they include too much info. Your single image does have too much info, however I see it as a diptych. The left half with the girl in her pink Sunday best is very interesting and a winner, while the right half is no less a winner but is fun and because of the boy's focus on the letters. And both images have a sense of motion and benefit from, depending how you crop the images, the beautiful background colors, shapes, and textures of the Museum of Pop Culture. I know this is your image, however I see it as two images.
Thanks for your insight and perspective, Rick. The idea that they "include too much information" is not what I said, however, or at least not what I meant.
I read your piece about your wife and her surgery and your reminiscence about the Beatles "I want to Hold Your Hand."
It was poignant.
For me and back then for the nation, the song helped to raise the spirits of the country after the assassination of JFK. It was credited as having done this in a documentary about the band I watched last year.
I had forgotten, until I read your piece, when during a day long dental procedure how comforted I was by the assistant reaching out and holding my hand for a few minutes. Thank you for bringing that precious moment back into my conscious memory
"A long minute later, she held the phone to Barbara’s ear. I barely recognized her voice, a weak and broken whisper, but I understood her. “I need you to come hold my hand,” she said."
This made me tremble with tears. Thank you for so generously sharing this intimate moment.
Waking up from surgery years ago, a surgery that had the potential to leave one side of my face paralyzed, I became aware of someone working around me, changing my sweat-soaked hospital gown, rearranging the sheets on my bed in the PACU. I moved the muscles of my face and found that everything was in working order. Unable to open my eyes more than a crack, as the nurse's hands worked near my own hands, I reached for her hand. She stopped, her hand in mine, for the briefest but most reassuring of moments. I was back. I had made it. And I was in good hands until I was fully awake.
Although I did not know her name, I wrote her a thank you note and took it to the PACU along with a small gift. PACU staff found her by the date and time of my surgery. In my note, I thanked her for holding my hand, even for just a second, and explained how deeply comforted I was in that moment.
She came to my office (I, too, worked in the hospital) not long after with a card and a gift for me! She told me that she had never, in her entire career, received a thank you note because most patients are not aware enough to register what is happening so soon after surgery.
Thanks for this post which brought me back to that moment - that sweet connection that holding hands offers us.
Thank you for sharing this story, Irene. Barbara made a distinction between those on the hospital staff addressing her pain and those addressing her suffering. The latter ones were mainly three nurses aides from Ethiopia to whom she is eternally grateful.
A tearful moment this morning understanding how your dear Barbara's life has been healed by modern medicine and patient ways for recovery. Holding your hand is surviving and not being alone in this confusing chaotic world.
Thank you, Linda.
Bar, I remember your telling me that story when it happened. I was agog at your presence of mind, then as now and always . I put that wise tactic to immediate use at the methadone clinic. and have thought of it so many times over the years. Bringing out the best in folks despite their best efforts!
Thank you both for your entries! I learned a lot, as usual! 1) Good for you, Barbara, for offering a solution that didn't blame or take charge. You showed them the high ground and left the solution to them. Nice! 2) I like photographers who help me understand what I'm looking at, or why I feel engaged. And I didn't know that about wide angle lenses -- that they can trick my eyes! Thanks, Kerry! I'll think of this when I'm looking at the shadows and light on the Portraits of the Chemakum hanging in the Fort Worden Commons. 3) I travelled in Mexico after high school and was shocked to learn that 300 children had recently died of the measles in an area we were traveling through. Maybe this was 1970? or 1971? I couldn't believe that a free vaccine was available only a short bus ride north where no one I knew died of the measles. 4) Your poignant story about the power of holding hands brought up Irene's wonderful memory and many small memories of my own when my mother and I held hands and one of us would squeeze a certain number of times and the other would answer with the same number of squeezes. Even though we'd be on a crowded street, we were secretly communicating in a language all our own that I only remember with joy.
Thanks, Diane!
Love your insights about wide angle images and how sometimes they include too much info. Your single image does have too much info, however I see it as a diptych. The left half with the girl in her pink Sunday best is very interesting and a winner, while the right half is no less a winner but is fun and because of the boy's focus on the letters. And both images have a sense of motion and benefit from, depending how you crop the images, the beautiful background colors, shapes, and textures of the Museum of Pop Culture. I know this is your image, however I see it as two images.
Thanks for your insight and perspective, Rick. The idea that they "include too much information" is not what I said, however, or at least not what I meant.
Barbara, Your handling of the fighting women puts me in mind of King Solomon. Well done
Hi Kerry.
I read your piece about your wife and her surgery and your reminiscence about the Beatles "I want to Hold Your Hand."
It was poignant.
For me and back then for the nation, the song helped to raise the spirits of the country after the assassination of JFK. It was credited as having done this in a documentary about the band I watched last year.
Power in song and memory.
Best,
Herman
Gulp. Yes, holding hands. You and Barbara are both remarkable writers. Thank you.
❤️❤️❤️
Thank you again for mentioning Bill Curtsinger's amazing work. We loved that show the two of you put on at Northwind. Amazing stories, amazing photos!
[And I am giddy over the Goudy ampersand!]
I had forgotten, until I read your piece, when during a day long dental procedure how comforted I was by the assistant reaching out and holding my hand for a few minutes. Thank you for bringing that precious moment back into my conscious memory