Barb’s Dabble with Delusion
The Hidden Hope for Healing
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70-year-old Barb knows how it must feel to be healed -- almost.
Barb was going down the Walnut Street sidewalk in her Amigo mobility scooter when a tall man in a long, tan overcoat came stumbling out of the Square Tavern. He moved so fast. He caught Barb right at the disability parking curb cut before she could reach the back door of her Buick SUV.
"Could I touch you?" he asked in a slur that was more of a command than a request.
Before Barb could reply, he placed his right forefinger firmly on her forehead. Barb then had a chance to see his face. His eyes, set deep, raced from side to side. His mouth skewed to the right.
With her forehead tipped at a 45-degree angle, Barb still managed to glance down the street to see if anyone was watching. It was empty. She was more embarrassed than frightened and scenes of evangelist Oral Roberts healing entranced people on TV in the 1980s flashed before her eyes. Was this another put-on?
Barb chuckled to herself, expecting him to release the pressure on her forehead and be on his way.
But, the man didn't. He pressed his finger even more firmly on her brow to the point where she had to readjust her grip on her scooter handle bars to keep from falling off the scooter's seat.
Barb always had the delusion of scooting away on her Amigo, faster than a person could walk or run, when anyone would attempt to accost her.
Instead, she just sat there in this unnatural configuration with a stranger forcing his finger into what she was sure had become a scowl. Yet, she didn't feel she was in any danger. At the same time, she reminded herself this was 2024 – not relatively safe 1975).
Suddenly, the man's finger left Barb's forehead.
"I hope it helps you," he said with a confidence that surprised her just as much as the forcefulness of his finger.
"Thank you," Barb mumbled, still struck by his conviction. She was grateful to be free, careful not to disturb, respectful of his delusion.
He left, sweeping down the street. Carrying out a frequent routine, Barb scooted down the curb cut and punched her key fob to open the back end of her SUV. She then drove her Amigo onto the lowered lift, stood up, balanced herself against the side of the van and then used her fob to guide her scooter into the back of the SUV.
Grabbing the side of her SUV for balance, she stepped sideways to the driver door and slid under the steering wheel in the front seat.
She chastised herself for being such an easy touch, realizing the "healing" incident could have been a truly dangerous situation.
And the guy's delusion bothered her, too. Yes, she had multiple sclerosis (MS) and had successfully managed it for 15 years. Why do people, even drunks from the local bar, think she's always looking for a cure – a way to relieve the pain, weakness, and inconvenience of MS?
"This is who I am," she muttered to herself, remembering the transformation she had experienced years before – a new way of thinking about her personal identity. Yes, she had acquired new attributes (the physical and emotional aspects of MS). Her years as a young, vibrant social worker with no visible vulnerabilities were long gone. Her grandkids, after all, have always known her as the "grandma with the Amigo" and the cool SUV.
But Barb also felt relieved, amused, and energized by the guy coming out of Square Tavern. It was like going through a physical and the anticipation of disappointment beforehand and then realizing it was over and everything had checked out OK.
“Choosing to be curious is choosing to be vulnerable because it requires us to surrender to uncertainty.” - Brené Brown
In her SUV, Barb found herself flexing her limbs. Were they different? Were they just a little bit more nimble, more manageable? Would the dream of healing come true in just this one case?
No – not a chance.
But, as she drove down the street, she decided to quietly give the guy a few more days to work his wonders.
Barb's takeaway tip from her story: Break through easy delusion.
Here’s to mature-adult living!
Jim Hasse, ABC, GCDF retired, author of “52 Shades of Graying”
Weekly Stories About Aging Well
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Contrary to what we usually see on TV, bigger (stacked high) hamburger sandwiches are not better. That’s especially true for mature adults with not-so-handy hands and choppers that can no longer casually chomp into three layers of meat, relish, tomato, pickle and greens.
Talk to any non-USAer, and I’ll bet you’ll get a grin of disbelief about our obsession with piled-high burgers. It’s unexplainable and unacceptable especially when, at the same time, we accept the fact that the gooey mess will be plopped between two insufficient, thin and flimsy buns.
I don’t remember anything more than a single hamburger during the 1960s. Since then, I’ve mangled quite a few double and triple deckers.
* What common-place delusion in our society currently brings an unbelieving smile to your face?