The Sacrifice

A few years ago, I went down with the flu which eventually turned into pneumonia. I had a 103 degree fever, and for a couple of days, I barely ate, drank, or slept. It was bad. In fact, the body aches were so severe, I couldn't sleep laying down and had to sleep in an upright fetal-position on my couch. That, of course, didn't bode well with me being at that angle and in so much pain so I don't remember getting much rest during that time. By the third day, I knew I was in pretty bad shape and needed to get medical help. In my delirious state, though, I couldn't think of anyone to contact who wasn't either too far away, or would be burdened by my request for help. I know, I know, in a situation like that, it shouldn't matter, but that's just how my brain works.

So, mentally fried by the lack of water, food, and sleep, my only thought was to ask nicely on Facebook. Why not? Lots of people were using it then, and I figured someone who might see my post and volunteer to come get me would, therefore, be doing so willingly. I posted, and within minutes, a co-worker of mine said he was on his way and to text him my address. 20 minutes later, he arrived, picked me up, and drove me to urgent care. Since he needed to get back to work, he said to text him when I was done there, and he'd come get me and take me home. I checked in and sat down in the waiting room area across from the pharmacy. And then I passed out.

Hearing my name being called woke me up, and with some help, they laid me on a table inside. I passed out again. The next thing I remember was a doctor waking me up. He calmly looked me in the eye and told me that I was not doing well, and that since they were unsure of what was going on, I needed to go to the ER where they'd be able to run more tests. He then told me an ambulance was already on the way. I can remember looking out the back window seeing bridges go by and thinking, oh, I know that street. During the trip, I even managed to somehow contact my family to let them know I where I was headed. Later that evening, I was still in the ER with my brother by my side. From what I can remember, I had around 8 bags of saline solution pumped into me as well as 4 different liquid antibiotics. The doctors were still unsure of what was going on, and from what I could tell, they were extremely worried. Sometime in the middle of the night, they placed me in ICU under quarantine. There I stayed for three days and anyone who came to visit had to gear up head-to-toe in full protective wear.

When it was all said and done, and as I was preparing to go home, a specialist came in and sat down with me. He had a sizable stack of paper with him, and told me what all my tests and treatment had discovered: I had sepsis, and had I not gone to urgent care when I did, I might have had 2 or 3 hours left before I would have died. What he didn't tell me was how severe sepsis can be. After arriving back home, I looked it up and was shocked to find out that I had stage-3 sepsis which has a 50% mortality rate. The urgent care staff, the nurses, the many doctors, and especially my co-worker, Chadd, had all saved my life.

The Sacrifice, by Linda Saskia Menczel (1972-), is a contemporary bronze-on-bronze sculpture of Jesus depicting Him holding two walls apart while His body slowly melts into liquid. Strikingly, the look on Jesus' face is that of fatigue yet determination and purpose. Setting aside Menczel's intent, however, the symbolism is remarkable and beautiful. Here we see a man holding the world at bay creating a safe area while having his very essence drip away. It's okay, though, because his face says this is by choice, this is needed, and this is what must be done. It's called The Sacrifice for a reason, and while Menczel was likely referring to Christ's death on the cross and the religious ramifications of it, the work still exudes a vivid image of what sacrificing for others can mean for the person noble enough to do something.

There are risks in everything. Chadd risked being reprimanded, or worse, fired for leaving his desk to come pick me up. The urgent care and hospital staffs risked getting infected themselves by physically interacting with me while trying to keep me alive. Everyone's essence, in some fashion, dripped away but they all stepped up to help me willingly. Not one of them asked for recognition. They just did what they did and moved on. Actions that defined the very meaning of sacrifice; attitude and purpose that defined the very meaning of nobility. Did any of them receive a great reward? Doubtful, but each one of them now has a memory of doing something life-giving for someone else that will last them a lifetime. And each one has my eternal gratitude.

The Starry Night

"These last three months do seem so strange to me. Sometimes moods of indescribable mental anguish, sometimes moments when the veil of time and the fatality of circumstances seemed to be torn apart for an instant." —Vincent van Gogh - an excerpt from a letter he penned to his brother, Theo, on March 29, 1889.

In late 1888, Vincent van Gogh began to experience moments of mania and violent aggression. His friend, Paul Gauguin--another brilliant artist--was staying with Van Gogh and said that even he noticed his strange and scary behavior. The exact details of what really happened aren't known for sure, but what is clear is Van Gogh was struggling with some inner-demons that manifested themselves in gruesome fashion. Yes, I'm referring to when he cut his ear off with a razor and had it delivered to a woman at a brothel he and Gauguin liked to frequent.

After being found unconscious by police the next morning, he was taken to a local hospital in Arles where he was treated. It was then that Van Gogh was diagnosed as experiencing "acute mania with generalised delirium". From there, the downward spiral began and eventually, Van Gogh checked himself into an asylum in Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, the birthplace of Nostradamus. His room faced the east and it is said that he was so inspired by the view, he churned out numerous paintings and drawings of it. This is one of those paintings.

The Starry Night, by Vincent Willem van Gogh (1853-1890), is an oil on canvas, post-impressionist painting which was completed in 1889. It depicts the French town of Saint-Rémy-de-Provence where he resided as a patient at a local asylum. There he had a studio on the ground floor, and a bedroom on the second floor. Of the more than twenty-one paintings Van Gogh did from the asylum, this is one of the most famous and obviously one of the most well-known pieces in history. Since the scene with the cypress tree in the foreground and hill-line in the background has been verified to be of the view from his bedroom window, and he was not allowed to use paint in his bedroom, it is believed that he first sketched this piece using charcoal or ink on paper, and then later painted it in his studio. The brightest star just to the right of the tree is actually Venus which astronomers have verified was visible at that time in that region. What's not completely accurate, however, is view of the town (which was not visible from the asylum), and the waning crescent moon which was actually waning gibbous at that time. Experts feel he used previous drawings or paintings to add in the town, and gave an artistic interpretation of the moon.

Imperfections and speculation aside, what is powerful about this piece is the dancing, swirling colors and seeming serenity the painting gives off. There's a certain tranquility about it, and at first glance, one feels at peace and in awe of this giant universe. Looking deeper at the details, though, I get a clear sense of his madness. When I inspected an extremely high-resolution version of this piece, there was something about the dark lines and angles of the buildings that spoke to me. They seemed to portray Van Gogh's mania in the way he appears to have obsessed over the detail. What's even more frightening are two of the lit windows just below and to the right of the church. Though there are a handful of windows glowing from candlelight, those two in particular appear to have ghostly figures in them looking his direction - figures similar to Skrik. I don't take them to be a fluke, either, because in great detail, you can see how much he labored to get the brush strokes and coloring just right. I also contrast this detail with the fact that the window to the church is stark black indicating that no one is there.

Any form of mental disorder is no joke so I don't share these impressions lightly. Van Gogh is easily one of my most favorite artists of all time, and though I am not a fan of all of his pieces, this particular one was one of the first I learned about when I was a kid and my passion for art began to grow. To me, it's awe-inspiring, and it's also a metaphor for human life. On the surface and at quick glance, many seem okay and to be moving along in life in rhythmic harmony. Like the waves of color swirling in the night sky, we dance and sway through each day never letting on about what's really going on in the dark recesses of our minds. But when you examine things more closely, you begin to see the brokenness and fear. In a way, I think this is what makes this painting all the more beautiful because it isn't just about oil paints on a canvas, but an example of how all of us can be at one time or another. Am I stretching a bit here? Sure, you can say that. Am I accurate in my interpretation? Who knows? But that's how The Starry Night speaks to me and that's why art exists. It stirs our minds and imaginations. It speaks to us . . . and when it speaks to me, I really want to listen.