A few years ago, on Thanksgiving Day, I awoke to find myself dealing with a nagging, lower back pain that would not go away. Our Thanksgiving feast was nearly ready and our guests would be arriving soon. My husband Dale is a Thanksgiving-dream-come-true. His turkey is succulent. The dressing he prepares is family-famous and his pumpkin pie should be a staple in every cooking magazine, recipe website, and newspaper insert in this country! He is meticulous, with a dash of daring and a hearty helping of imagination and courage. In summary, Mr. O., in my humble opinion, is a culinary genius.
I was failing miserably as the sous chef and with great reluctance, I turned to Dale and made my confession. “Dale, I think I need to go to the hospital.” He swung quickly toward me, a tong in each hand. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”
“I think so. I have a sort of ‘crick’ in my lower back. It is a deep, agonizing pain and I think it may be serious.” I pulled my Mickey Mouse apron off, sank down on the kitchen island stool, and started to cry. I had acquired a kidney stone and I spent the majority of that Thanksgiving Day in the Emergency Room at Cary Medical Center. Approximately two months later, the sinister kidney stone truly passed; becoming a reality both physically and visibly. The delectable Thanksgiving feast was never placed on the table for my loved ones to eat but was instead distributed in plastic containers; resurrected later in the confines of a glaring microwave oven.
I was feeling rather sorry for myself and my family on that Thanksgiving Day I spent in the Emergency Room. I could not understand why on this day, of all days, I was ill. My sister shared with me later that she went to a local convenience store and bought chicken tenders, potato wedges, and macaroni salad. She told me she absolutely loved her makeshift Holiday meal and advised me not to worry about anything but ridding myself of the kidney stone. She also watched our favorite movie, “To Kill A Mockingbird” on DVD, enjoyed a nap, and caught up on some reading.
I have learned a lot over the past two years. There are precious souls who, on Thanksgiving Day, will not participate in the glorious feast. There may be inadequate funds or illness or even an unsettled argument with a loved one. Some of our neighbors may not launch off the holiday season with a grand meal or the thrill of Black Friday shopping at Walmart. There are those who will not be able to rise from their beds, let alone prepare a meal or hug one of their beloved. They will not be dancing around the kitchen in a Mickey Mouse apron or trying to decide whether or not to serve the pumpkin pie with authentic whipped cream or French vanilla ice cream. I will remember them when I offer my prayer of gratitude, for every day should be a celebration and a day of thanks.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!
Editor’s Note: Belinda Wilcox Ouellette lives Connor TWP with her husband Dale and their Goldendoodle Barney. They are currently working on building a home in Caribou. You may contact Belinda online at: dbwouellette@maine.rr.com.
