Yup, I came THIS close...

Friday came, and at mid-morning Dr. Bruce gave us the release we'd been waiting for.

Before leaving, I had orderly Patrick Walker take me for one last agony/ecstasy session with Mrs. Bennett.

Afterwards, he waxed philosophical on some point that I don't recall now (he waxed often).

We rolled away from the physiotherapy department, which was housed in a curving wing of the hospital, with mountains in the distance.

Of course, it seemed that mountains were in the distance in almost every direction you looked.

But I realized, as Patrick guided me back towards my room, that I was going to miss this hospital, the care from the medical team, the good food, the courteous and attentive people, all of it. I never thought I'd ever pine for a hospital, but I started missing this one before I had even said goodbye.

We packed and got into the car, which Pastor K.C. Henry had very kindly driven down from Mandeville just for us.

I was feeling too weak for a formal farewell shot (keep in mind I'd just left Mrs. Bennett, whew!), so I just grabbed this quickie of Erlinda in the back.

But if you look carefully, you can just barely see my camera hand in the lower left, reflected in the glass, and Pastor Henry on the right. So I guess we did have all three.

We headed out past the squat white buildings that housed so many medical professionals, and so many patients in need of their services.

As I reflected on my stay, there was something about the University Hospital of the West Indies was uplifting to me.I felt that the doctors and nurses there cared more about each of their patients' well-being than they did about punching the time clock. In plain English, they exemplified the Hippocratic oath. They were there to serve, not just to earn a dollar.

Finally, there it was, the hospital's front gate, and bittersweet freedom.

We rolled out of the gate at around 2:30 p.m. and rolled right into thick Friday traffic.

I was too weak to sit up for long, and so I reclined the left front seat in Pastor Henry's Peugeot.

I let my mind wander, as he skillfully navigated the multicurved highways to Mandeville, a trip he no doubt has taken at least umpteen times.

Before Ii knew it, we were home, at Mom's house, in Mandeville. Hallelujah!

I hadn't seen the great old house or the gardens or the Mandeville sunrise for 14 whole days!

It was great to be back.

I managed to make it up the stairs with only a trace of the knee wobbles, and Pastor Henry dutifully followed, probably as a backstop, just in case.

I won't share with you all the greetings we exchanged between us (Erlinda, me, Mom, Aunt Lydia), but take it from me, we were glad to see each other.

That Friday night, May 28, I slept like a log. I spent most of the next day, Sabbath, in a horizontal position, attending church services on 3ABN. But I was enjoying coconut water, mangoes, juices, and all kinds of other fresh good stuff out of the ground. Mm-m-m-mm!

On Sunday the 30th, my first visitors paid their respects. Orville Clayton and his mother Dulcie, both of whom live in Florida, had business in Jamaica, and they made the time to visit us.

We had a great visit, reminiscing about old College times. I think I made them both uncomfortable as I described the details of my surgery.

Monday the 31st was the first day I ventured out of doors, and I got a chance to do something I'd visualized doing while I lay in the hospital bed.

I took pictures.

Not just any photos, but pictures of Mom's garden and the beauty that surrounds her property.

I took this one from the front steps at around 7:00 a.m., when the sun had come up and was bathing the lawns and gardens with a golden light. I hadn't seen that light for two whole weeks, and there was a point when I thought I'd never see it again. But I took the picture so I'd never have to imagine it when I wasn't here.

I took this self-portrait against the backdrop of Mom's gardens, still in my jammies.

I wore the cap because I felt the incision was a little less than beautiful, and you might not want to view it.

I still don't know whose cap it was originally, but Erlinda located it for me and it did the job.

I couldn't see very well (my left eye was still closed and my right wasn't perfect either), and so looking through the viewfinder to frame a photo was next to impossible. So I just held the camera in the general direction of the object I wanted to shoot, and squeezed the shutter.

And the Lord gave me this shot. Gorgeous.

I got Erlinda to take a shot of me capless.

Look carefully and you'll see Mom in the background, oblivious to the photography, caring for her flowers as she does every day but Sabbath.

The beauty of the yellow flowers (what's the name of this variety anyway?) is just haunting.

I think I hear Erlinda's voice speaking up from the background, saying they're known as Cosmos.

Whatever.

Another self-portrait, on the other side of the lawn.

Being able to see Mandeville sunshine, even with a single eye, was exhilarating.

And this shot into the pasture across the road was so peaceful I had to take it.

Quite often, there are cows billeted in this pasture, sometimes for days at a time.

Even though they weren't here this morning, it was so serene and grand, I had to shoot it.

Around noon, we made our way to Dr. Gilbert Allen's office, where I was to have a blood sample taken, to determine whether my white blood count was elevated, as it had been in the hospital.

You can probably see that I'm not driving, because with one eye, that would have been a little daunting.

My trusty partner, Erlinda, was in charge of locomotion, so I could do self-portraits till I was blue in the face. I did try to take a shot of her, but it came out kinda weird, so I'll not share it with you.,

This was the blood test in progress. Actually, it was just a fake put on by the lab specialist.

Why? Because Erlinda wanted no part of seeing a blood test performed on ME (she's just fine with it being done on other people), and insisted on evacuating the room before the actual test began.

That evening, we were astonished to get a surprise basket--of fruit, cookies, and juice--from Dr. and Mrs Gilbert Allen. These guys are too nice.

So I did a Carmen Miranda imitation and made sure Erlinda shot it. After all, when would I get such a beautiful gift again?

We wasted no time in opening it up and sampling just about every part of it (actually, we took a bunch more pictures first).

The fruits were first class and the cookies were delicious, In short, it was all go-o-o-ood.

At this writing, we're still holding the juice for a special occasion.

And this last shot is so special to me that I want to close with it.

It's sun-bright and flower-colorful, yet peaceful and serene, and it typifies our feelings about this visit to Jamaica.

What? You mean after all the trauma of the hemorrhage that's how we feel about the trip? Yup.

God never gives us more than we can handle, as long as we're handling it with and through Him. His plans are always right, as is His timing.

We came to Jamaica for a funeral, and almost had the chance to participate in a second one. Thank God we didn't. But it did cause us to ponder our priorities and how we're spending our lives.