Zebras Don't Plan

Yesterday, I had one of those chaotic days that humans still find surprising. I rushed back from an out-of-town meeting, stopped at home to dump my luggage and don some jeans, and intended to drop off the agency vehicle, check email at the office, then bum a ride home. Instead, I got a call en route before turning in the vehicle. I needed to attend to a dispute at an adult education classroom where our students seem to have forgotten--or have yet to learn-- that they are adults. Instead of making my teachers the "heavies," I agreed to sweep in as the hard-hearted administrator who would lay down the law-- in jeans, of all things. Geez, how I wished I were still wearing the dress clothes and pumps from my earlier meeting. The afternoon progressed and as I finally made my way back to return the agency vehicle, I said aloud to myself, "This is not the afternoon I planned."

This morning, I fixed my cup of tea and tried to wake up my brain for the Saturday duties of housework and homework (online graduate class). I glanced out the window in time to see that our dog had not simply gone out to do his duty and return, but had decided to trot down the gravel road to make sure the neighbor dog (his best buddy) knew that a new day had dawned and frolicking was in order. I put down my unsipped tea, threw on yesterday's clothes, grabbed the leash, and stuffed dog yummies in my pockets. I walked down the lane, allowed the neighbor buddies to play a bit, then walked back with my worn-out pooch. As we walked, I thought to myself, "This is not the morning I planned."

This afternoon, I was reading some paperwork from my gynecologist's office. I had forms to complete in anticipation of surgery two months from now. It will be a hysterectomy, which I have actually expected for twenty-four years, since my first surgery for endometriosis. This ultimate surgery shall be a physical relief, yet an emotional challenge. Suddenly, the realization of my age is upon me. We never had children because we concluded that my warped parts would not welcome that attempt. I always held a prayer that if God envisioned us as parents, He would circumvent my treatment methods (birth control pills) and make it happen. So, at 44 years of age, I know that I'm too tired anyway for that Mom role, but I still think about what will never be. As if the anticipation of a hysterectomy were not challenging enough, my doctor is sending me for a CA-125 blood screening to make sure that the cysts showing and growing rapidly on my ovaries are only endometriosis rather than ovarian cancer. I looked at myself in the mirror this afternoon and saw the same girl I see every day-- the one who can't believe she's whatever age she is that day-- and I said aloud, "This isn't the death I planned." Then, I smiled.

Zebras don't plan. They don't make a "to do" list for the day. They don't wonder what will bring them down tomorrow. Most zebras don't die of old age. I think it is very easy for humans to become frustrated by the littlest thing that sends us off our agenda. It's a control thing. Making lists is how we take control of the things we want or need to do. Of course, most of us don't include time for distractions or challenges on our schedules. I made myself laugh when I thought of my own mortality today because I realized that I haven't really thought about it and really have not been bothered by the ever-present reality that we will all die someday. I realize that many people are mortified by this reality. They seek lotions, potions, surgeries, and myths to somehow appear young or healthy or invincible. I just haven't been bothered by my own mortality-- because I know it will happen. It is a certainty. I can have faith in it. Instead of fearing or vainly trying to avoid death, I prefer to embrace its dependability. Grandfather Great Spirit knows when and how, so I may proceed with my life unafraid, knowing that he is in control. When I said that ovarian cancer was not the death I planned, I was teasing myself. I probably don't have that particular disease, but I will not waste time worrying with dis-ease. My inner zebra is telling me that my own mortality is not a thing with which to concern myself. Death is all under control.