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.

L'Homme qui marche I

Fantastical whims churned inside his head as he sat nervously at the table. Visions of the potential future flashed before his imagination and quickly faded from one scenario to another, each including him and her. It was his methodical way of sifting through his emotions to decide if he felt the two could be right for each other. Indeed, conversation and the humanistic practice of revealing little eccentricities about themselves to each other would unfold; the archaic-laden and based courtship of the 21st Century. He was no master of the dating scene, but humble enough to know his faults and where his past mistakes ailed his cause: true love.

Moments in their exchange hit varied crescendos and every once in awhile, they reached a lull. He then would quickly turn to humor to hide his inadequacies, working his charm delicately to expose his vulnerability just enough to move the momentum back into positive territory. He'd been in similar situations many times before, and all of them left him as misunderstood. And here she was, exuding an inner beauty with each smile, and revealing moralistic and emotional similarities he often would not find. He did not want this one to slip away.

His walk through life as a bachelor has never once been an enjoyable experience. Like a penumbra between love and fate, his pace has only ever once faltered in his pursuit to find a mate, and merging into and out of the former and latter has proven to be a difficult, frustrating hope. Occupation, financial well-being, health, even style have all evolved and improved so that each frivolous exterior quality can be--and appear to be--the best they can be. As such, what was left was his longing to find the source of true happiness in a partner that would compliment him, complete him, and give new purpose. Possible? At times he's felt disheartened but with each emotion-jarring rejection and eminent desire to give up, he continued on, stride before stride, streamlined and determined.

L'Homme qui marche I (The Walking Man I), by Alberto Giacometti (1901-1966), is a bronze-cast sculpture of a 6 foot tall man, mid-stride, and focused in his trajectory. From Wikipedia's entry:  The piece has been described as "both a humble image of an ordinary man, and a potent symbol of humanity". Giacometti is said to have viewed "the natural equilibrium of the stride" as a symbol of "man's own life force".

For me, it's largely and metaphorically representative of all emotional journeys we each take. The steely determination in the stride, the evidence of wear in the humbled positioning of the arms, the subtle fear of defeat in the withdrawn shoulders; this person embodies knowing and understanding, and ultimately does not want to fail again or quit. He is a potent symbol of a purposeful humanity.

When I see this figure, I see myself insignificantly traversing through crowds of other figures hoping to meet what destiny, hope, or my goals would have me meet. And in the case of our love-seeking friend, it is his plight to weed through souls in hopes of finding his match. Yet the uniqueness and seeming bland qualities of this piece make it oh so extraordinary and extremely easy to find varying comparisons of life. Weight loss, health, professional determination, financial stability, support for loved ones; all of it is embodied in this sculpture and for something that came out of the Postwar America era, I think it is beautiful and moving.

The date ended and there was success and utter failure. He was an amazing catch, fulfilling many of the desires she wished to find in a partner. He was handsome, wanted marriage, a family, cherished little things and found bliss in simplicity. For him, she was bright, intelligent, meaningful, genuine in her interest, sincere in her smile. And in the end, it boiled down to an inconceivable gender difference where she ultimately did not feel the spice in their "chemistry".

In his heart, he began the process of mending the pain while emotionally pushing his chair back, heading for the door, and wading into the crowds of other shadows seeking that one, special person. Complexly intertwined yet kept very separate, he had mastered the experience of rejection and could manipulate the aspects of his being without needing one to support the other. Thus, his stride quickened, his head held high, and through the drifting abyss of solitude and potential, he sought out what next fate may have in store.