Post Title: Finding God in the Easy Places, Part 3

If you missed the beginning of my narrative about my collision, click here.

At the Emergency Room

Everyone seemed friendly enough at the ER. My wait was relatively short and then I was taken to a room.

I began the familiar ritual of notifying my friends as I did whenever anything out of the ordinary happened. I punched in my friend Sue’s number.

“You’ll never guess where I am—”

“Amy, I know. Don’t you remember talking to me in the store? I volunteered to drive you back from the ER. Do you have a concussion or something?”

Confusion filled me. I remembered talking to Sue. But I thought it was the coordinator.

That was my friend, Sue? The one I see and talk to nearly every day of my life? I shook my head as if to clear my memory. “Oh, I didn’t know that was you. I thought—”

My friend Sue and the Coordinator Sue didn’t look anything alike.

We both laughed as we always did about my foibles.

The Doctor Comes

When the doctor came in, he seemed cheerful. He tilted my head to examine it. “Yeah, you will need stitches. But don’t worry. I have nine years of experience and take great pride in my work.”

“Sorry, I only let people with ten or more years of experience sew me up.” I jumped off the examining table.

He paused, hand in mid-motion, until he saw my dimple and upturned expression. I sat back down.

“Got me there.” He shook an amused finger at me. “Now once I get this numbed up, you won’t feel anything.”

A couple of minutes later, I yelped. “What happened to I won’t feel anything?”

“Well, I’m still numbing it.”

“Oh.” How long will this numbing process take? “I’m trying to be brave.”

In no time at all, the good-natured doc had sutured my wound, covered it with a gauze bandage.

When the doctor asked me if I lost consciousness at the time of the accident, I told him one of my colleagues said I did for forty-five seconds. But I assured him she was mistaken.

As a precaution, he advised I have a CAT scan.  Great.

He left and I grew restless. A quick call to my neighbor left me even more discouraged.

He said it could take hours to get the CAT scan done. I was to call him when they finished, and he would pick me up.

A short while later I found a technician and asked her how long it would be before I could get the test done.

She shrugged, stating they had many other patients that night.

I explained that my neighbor, at eighty-one, had gone to the eye doctor that day. He learned he should not drive at night until he got glasses. “I just don’t know how safe…”

The CAT Scan

Five minutes later, another technician entered my examining room.

“Amy? Let’s go get your CAT scan.”

Oh, yes!”  I grabbed my white cane and followed her to a small room.

Definitely witnessing God’s favor here.

Three minutes later, she turned the machine off and we returned to my room. She promised to have the results within the hour. I called my neighbor to report my progress to me within the hour.

I called Bill. “Guess what? I’m done.” I nearly sang the words. “You can leave in half an hour. The timing should be perfect.”

The results returned in short order. “It’s clear.”  No brain bleeds. No concussion.

My Ride Shows Up

A nurse appeared, gave me my discharge papers and wheeled me to the ER entrance.

“It’s a nice warm evening,” she noted.

I agreed—happy for the summer evening—and waited for my neighbor.

When he arrived at around ten-thirty, he handed me a ‘deli turkey sandwich with mustard,’ as promised earlier.

I asked him which deli he had picked up the sandwich from.

“Deli-Susan.” His wife. “She made it. She also put together a bag of chips and another with strawberries. She thought you might be hungry.”

More like starving. That was so like Susan, assuming correctly I had not eaten since morning.

I bit into the sandwich and took a big drink of the can of cola he handed me.

“Ya’ done yourself up good,” Bill observed glancing at my gauze bandage above my right eye.

I giggled. “I feel like a pirate. Rrrrr. Where’s my sword?”  I didn’t know exactly how pirates sounded, having missed Pirates of the Caribbean but I hoped my growl passed muster. In a regular voice, I continued, “Such drama. Blood and guts everywhere,” I exaggerated. “Cashiers always have to sign off on these circulars that list proper procedures in cases of accidents, especially when bleeding occurs. Designated personnel have to attend to the victim and he or she must utilize appropriate PPE—personal protection equipment—but I’m pretty sure my poor co-workers didn’t follow protocol.” I shuddered. “I’ll probably be in one of those circulars.  As the bad example.” I pretended to sob.

Bill looked over at me. “Were you using your white cane?”

“No,” I said in a small voice. “If I had, I would have slowed down. I didn’t think I would need it for a short trip to the break room.”

I thought of it folded and trussed up with its elastic band under my register.

“Sometimes I kinda forget I’m vision impaired.”

“How does one ‘forget’ something like that?”

“I dunno. I get super focused on what I’m doing.”

Bill stopped in my front driveway but instead of dropping me off as usual, he insisted on walking me to the door. He didn’t let me go me until I entered my living room.  “If you need anything, just call.”

“I think you’ve had your fill of phone calls tonight.” I laughed. “I’ll be fine.”

Tails swished and paws pounced as three unhappy cats complained loudly at having missed both their lunch and dinner. “Rrrrr,” I exclaimed in my new pirate voice. “Settle down, you guys. Don’t you even care I’m wounded?”

Apparently not as they continued pestering me until food filled their bowls –and their tummies.




My head throbbed. I gingerly touched the gauze. Just my luck. It’s like Mt. Fuji on my forehead. Time for some pain relief. I reached into my medicine cabinet and searched through the contents. Here it is. Over the counter. Generic. It’ll do. I popped two in my mouth with a gulp of water. Go to bed. It’s after midnight.

Though exhausted by my ordeal, I could not turn my brain off.

Why did these things keep happening? God, how could you have let me go through this?

At the grocery store, they’ll say, ‘Don’t ask Amy to work overtime. Sher’ll feel too happy and run into something.’

I relived each painful and embarrassing moment. It’s so public—and unfair! Isn’t it enough I can’t see or hear. No, you have to put these roadblocks in my way too. You’re supposed to protect me, not let mountains form on my forehead!

To emphasize my anger, I lowered my eyes from the ceiling where I had addressed God, and lay on my side facing the wall.

Walls defined my life.

I must have finally fell asleep but woke up some time later, a little groggy.

Familiar words drifted to mind “…I know the plans I have for you … not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Uh-oh. It’s your turn to talk now. Okay, I’ll listen.

The Holy Spirit spoke to my heart. It was as if God gently turned me away from the wall and reminded me of his promise in Jeremiah 29:11. Not to harm me. Hope. Future.

Did I really believe that? Yes. But sometimes it’s hard to see through the circumstances.

I knew I had to keep my eyes on God and not my situations. How I responded mattered.

I caused that problem to myself by not using my white cane. But God would turn it to my good. Somehow. Someway.  What did God want to teach me?

First off, God seemed to say, I’m on your side. Didn’t I promise to meet all your needs? Look how many people I placed in your path.

That was easy enough to see. Many helped me cope physically Others jumped in to improve my morale. The ambulance personnel treated me kindly. The doctor skillfully sutured me up. The technician gave me the CAT scan in record time. Even the nurse who wheeled me into the balmy evening air made sure I needed nothing before she left. Then Bill provided a ride home and his wife, food.

God, I know I am to blame for this accident. I should always use my white cane even in familiar places or short distances. I was full of myself earlier. I’m so sorry.

Where anxiety reigned before, peace now seeped through me. Relaxed, I fell asleep once again.


In the ER, they told me to have my stiches removed between five to seven days so I made an appointment with my regular doctor right away. They could fit me in on Day six.

Run of the mill stuff, they said. Getting stiches out didn’t hurt at all, my cousin’s wife—a nurse—assured me. But nothing ever follows the regular course of events for me.

The physician’s assistant seemed surprised the ER gave me this early timeline.

“It’s usually seven to ten days, but we shall see,” he muttered. “if it bleeds, we’ll stop.”

I gulped.

He turned a bright light on my stitches, examined them and got to work.


He placed a warm paper towel on them “to loosen their stiffness.”

As he worked, I tried to be brave.

“One down, three to go!”

All that time and just one done? “Is it bleeding? “

“No, it’s properly healed.

“Are you sure?” It feels like it is. It hurts.

The physician’s assistant didn’t bother to answer. Instead, he left the room and came back with a visiting doctor. “Another set of eyes is always helpful,” he explained to both the doctor and to me.


Have you ever gotten mad at God and blamed Him for an unpleasant situation? Share in the comments below.


You have just read “Reaching for God in the Easy Places, Part 3” by Amy L. Bovaird. © September 5, 2023. All rights reserved.