Diane E. Robertson is the author of 2 books.
She is also a freelance writer,
speaker, editor & creative writing instructor.
Her work has been featured in 100+ publications since 1991.
JANUARY 21, 2012Visit the CONTACT & CLASSES page
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Click here to add text.GUIDEPOSTS MAGAZINE – Februa05
His Mysterious Ways - More Than Coincidence
Written by Diane E. Robertson
My lupus had flared up and I was in terrible pain. The doctor had put me on a powerful anti-inflammatory. Still, I could barely walk. My husband, Sal, was overseas on business and my parents lived a thousand miles away. “Come on home,” my dad said. “We’ll take care of you.” Mom’s chicken soup and a warm bed sounded like the perfect cure. Now I just had to get through the flight there.
A friend drove me to the airport and dropped me at the curb. I stepped out of the car. Pain shot through my lower back. I winced. “Are you okay?” my friend asked. “Fine,” I said, not wanting to worry her. The skycap offered me a wheelchair, but I wasn’t comfortable sitting. Maybe it would be easier to walk to the gate.
“Your flight’s been delayed for an hour,” the skycap said. An hour? Another hour of agony. I walked slowly through the terminal. God, I prayed, I need a place to lie down for an hour. Some place to rest.
That’s when I saw the ladies’ room. If I splash some water on my face, I’ll feel better, I thought. Imagine my surprise when I stepped inside and saw an old-fashioned lounge area with a long mirror, a dressing table and a couch. I sank down. The last thing I saw before I closed my eyes was a bit of graffiti on the opposite wall that read, “I love Jimmy.”
An hour’s rest on that couch, and I was able to make it to my parents’. Ten days of bed rest under their care helped immensely. I flew home in much better shape and Sal picked me up at the airport. Walking down the terminal, I was going to tell him about the couch when we came to that same ladies’ room. “Excuse me for a moment,” I said.
I darted in. There was the long mirror, the dressing table, even that familiar bit of graffiti: “I love Jimmy.” But no couch. An attendant was cleaning so I asked if she’d changed things around. “No, no,” she replied. The lounge had always been set up this way.
There had never been a couch in here. Except the one hour when I desperately needed it.
GUIDEPOSTS MAGAZINE – February 2005
His Mysterious Ways - More Than Coincidence
Written by Diane E. Robertson
The lupus had flared and I was in terrible pain.
The doctor had put me on a powerful anti-inflammatory.
Still, I could barely walk. My husband, Sal, was overseas on business
and my parents lived a thousand miles away.
“Come on home,” my dad said. “We’ll take care of you.”
Mom’s chicken soup and a warm bed sounded like the perfect cure.
Now I just had to get through the flight.
My friend, Mary, drove me to the airport and dropped me at the curb.
As I stepped out of the car, pain shot through my lower back. I winced.
“Are you all right?” Mary asked.
“I'm okay,” I said, not wanting to worry her.
The skycap offered me a wheelchair, but I wasn’t comfortable sitting.
"Maybe it would be easier to walk to the gate," I told him.
He shook his head. “Your flight’s been delayed an hour.”
Another hour of agony? I inched through the busy terminal,
leaning on the wall for support.
Lord, I prayed, I need a place to lie down for an hour. Some place to rest.
That’s when I saw the ladies’ room.
If I splash some water on my face, I’ll feel better.
Imagine my surprise when I stepped inside and saw an old-fashioned lounge area
with a long mirror, a dressing table and a couch.
I sank down.
The last thing I saw before I closed my eyes was some graffiti on the opposite wall.
It read, “I love Jimmy.”
An hour’s rest on that couch, and I was able to make it to my parents’ home.
Ten days of bed rest under their care helped immensely.
I flew home in much better shape and Sal picked me up at the airport.
Walking down the terminal, I was about to tell him about the couch
when we came to that same ladies’ room. “I'll be right back,” I said.
I darted in. There was the long mirror, the dressing table,
even that graffiti: “I love Jimmy.”
But no couch.
An attendant was cleaning so I asked if she’d changed things around.
“No, no,” she replied. The lounge had always been set up this way.
There had never been a couch in here.
Except the one hour when I desperately needed it.
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FEBRUARY 9-29, 2012
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