Photo Courtesy of Tess Anderson Photography
Welcome to another edition of Open Book Blog Hop. This week’s question is: “Do you think the child you were would be impressed by the person you’ve become?
My child self wanted to be, among other things, a paramedic, after watching Emergency on television. She also considered being a nurse. So, she’s probably asking me, “What are you doing sitting in front of a computer when you could be speeding off in a fire engine to help a little girl whose hand is caught in a swimming pool drain? I must admit I steered clear of swimming pool drains after seeing that episode, but I digress.
Having limited vision would make rescuing people and providing medical attention tricky, to say the least. Now, of course, there are blood pressure monitors and other devices that talk. But there’s no technology that can tell you where a person is bleeding or what sort of injury a person has.
That was one thing I disliked about being my late husband’s caregiver. The typical man, he didn’t tell me if anything hurt or if he had a skin lesion. When aides from the local home care service who helped him take showers pointed anything out to us, he just brushed it off. You can read more about that in My Ideal Partner. But I’m digressing again.
In eighth grade, when I threw up after dissecting dead frogs in science class, I realized a medical career wasn’t for me. In college, while majoring in music therapy, I was required to take a physiological psychology class where we cut up dead sheep brains. Why would a music therapist need to know the parts of a sheep’s brain? Did I really want to be a music therapist? I should have been affronted when the instructor waived my lab requirement because of my visual impairment, but I was relieved.
My younger self should be proud of me for the fifteen years I worked as a music therapist with nursing home residents. Okay, so I wasn’t using a chain saw to remove a little girl’s hand from a swimming pool drain, but sing-alongs, name that tune, and musical memories brought smiles to many faces, and I’m pretty sure that little girl in the swimming pool wasn’t happy. Now, I entertain and inspire others by putting words on paper, and frankly, I don’t care what my child self thinks.
How about you? Would your child self approve of what you’re doing with your life now? You can click here to participate in this week’s hop and read what others have to say.
If you haven’t already done so, please subscribe to my email list to receive my twice-yearly newsletter and other announcements. This is a one-way announcements list, meaning the only messages you’ll receive will come from me. So, you can rest assured that this list is low-traffic. Send a blank email to: email@example.com You’ll receive a confirmation email. Reply to that with another blank message, and you should be good to go.
Copyright 2021 by Abbie Johnson Taylor.
Independently published with the help of DLD Books.
Sixteen-year-old Natalie’s grandmother, suffering from dementia and confined to a wheelchair, lives in a nursing home and rarely recognizes Natalie. But one Halloween night, she tells her a shocking secret that only she and Natalie’s mother know. Natalie is the product of a one-night stand between her mother, who is a college English teacher, and another professor.
After some research, Natalie learns that people with dementia often have vivid memories of past events. Still not wanting to believe what her grandmother has told her, she finds her biological father online. The resemblance between them is undeniable. Not knowing what else to do, she shows his photo and website to her parents.
Natalie realizes she has some growing up to do. Scared and confused, she reaches out to her biological father, and they start corresponding.
Her younger sister, Sarah, senses their parents’ marital difficulties. At Thanksgiving, when she has an opportunity to see Santa Claus, she asks him to bring them together again. Can the jolly old elf grant her request?