Onions in Unlikely Place

ONIONS

Sad, sick, solo. These are three negative S words. I was in a hospital bed after kidney stone surgery. The doctor who removed the 6 millimeter kidney stone from my kidney tube was kind enough to inform me that he was the best urologist in all of Portland, Oregon.

I had told the surgeon that I have an extensive allergy list to medicines. I suggested two medicine that work marvelously well for me after surgery. Unfortunately, I knew this information by a quantity of negative medical experience. The good doctor (did I mention that he knew that he was the best urologist in all of Portland, Oregon)? Refused to give me those two medicines. He gave me two others. They didn't work for me, and my body went into shock from the severe pain.

One of our two daughters was several states away at college. The other daughter was unreachable at a church activity. My husband was too ill to come. My beloved Papa had been dead for years. My sweet Mama was in her 80's and she was also several states away. I had never felt so lonely in all of my improbable life.

One of the nurses asked me if I could call a friend. They could the reach the “Best Urologist in all of Portland, Oregon.” It might be easier to refer to him by his acronym, buiaopo. (Stop and say it out loud. It also sounds good if you adapt the letters just a little bit into bwahpo or bwahpoo). Apparently since buiaopo never makes mistakes he is precluded from needing to answer either his landline or cell phone. (I don't sound bitter do I)?

After several hours of suffering, I called a dear friend. I had already thought of calling her but because of physical disability she struggles constantly with mobility and money. I knew that it would be very difficult for her to get to the hospital where I was. When I called her I apologized but she didn't even hesitate. She said that she would be there as quickly as possible.

While I waited for her I distracted myself by thinking about my childhood. I was born with severe allergy asthma. I also had very little immune system. My allergies would trigger infections, and infections would trigger my allergies. I was in and out of the hospital constantly. The only treatment for asthma at that point in time was to give oxygen. My parents struggled constantly with the negative financial realities of having a severely ill child.

I continued to be medically fragile as I grew older. Somehow through all of this I never felt as though I were a burden. Both of my parents told me over and over that I was a miracle. They made my difficult childhood a blessing for them and for me. In this hour of pain and illness, counting my blessings such as, my remarkable husband, children, parents, and siblings made this difficult time pass faster.

When my friend Joni arrived she walked in the door with both of her hands behind her back. Joni usually walks in with her hands behind her back. She will open those hands and in them will be nestled some homemade treasure. Sometimes it's a fridge magnet with a glorious panoramic picture, or a delicious cookie, but Joni's loving hands are never empty. This time when she pulled her hands out she held a large, yellow, onion.

She was concerned when I began to laugh and cry simultaneously. When I could speak again I asked Joni why on earth she had brought an onion. She told me, “Three times I felt impressed to pick up the onion and bring it. Two times I put it down. I was certain that it was a crazy thing to bring to someone sick in the hospital. The third time the impression was too strong to deny and so I brought the onion.”

Joni had never known my Father. He died many years before Joni and I became friends. My Father LOVED onions. He grew them in our enormous garden. He ate them on bread, sometimes with cheese, or sometimes he ate them fresh out of the garden, like most people would eat an apple. He put onions in our Christmas stockings. He also put fruit and candy, but I believe that in his mind the onion was the best thing in the stocking.

When my brother married Louise, my beloved sister-in-law, she HATED onions. Soon it became a joke back and forth from my Dad to Louise, and from Louise to my Dad. When Louise had surgery and was in the hospital Dad had a florist make her a beautiful floral bouquet. Alas it was made entirely out of flowering onions. It was gorgeous, but didn't smell very aromatic.

The next Christmas Louise made Papa some homemade chocolate covered onions. One year for Christmas Papa gave Louise 50 pounds of onions. Louise was perplexed. She said, “I rarely even use one onion in an entire year! What was I going to do with one hundred pounds of them?”

When my Papa died Louise said that she was certain he would find a way to make onions grow in her lawn.

When I saw that onion in Joni's hand I knew what it meant. It meant that even death couldn't stop my Papa. It also meant that I had an amazing friend who is deeply spiritual.

Two days later when I spoke to my Mama I told her about the experience. She started to cry. Through her tears she told me that the night when I was so sick she had felt that something was wrong with me. At eighty-five and two states away she couldn't be there in person to help. She prayed and asked God to let my Papa find some way to help. Has God ever answered your prayers with an onion?

The story doesn't end there. My husband and I moved when our daughters were both grown up and gone to college. We were very excited to buy a new bed. We wanted a four-poster bed. We looked everywhere. We used the classifieds, the online computer advertisements, and word of mouth from friends. We looked for months. Either the bed was too expensive, or it wasn't what we wanted, etc. etc.

My husband found a one-day sale of solid wood furniture in the newspaper. We went to the sale and found a lovely four poster bed. It was perfect, just what we were looking for. The posts were about eight feet high. I didn't notice what was on the top of each poster. Imagine my surprise when we put the bed together at home and discovered that on top of each of the posts was a hand carved onion. I've looked ever since and have never seen another four poster bed with onions on the posters. The bed was made in India. Any statisticians out there who would like to tell me the odds that we would happen to find a four-poster bed with onions on the posts?

I'm not finished yet. Nyle and I loved thrift shopping. We once spent four hours in a shop. Nyle would troll up and down the aisles sifting through the trash to find treasures. I finally was weary. I sat down in an old chair with a book that I was going to buy. Nyle continued his quest.

After reading a chapter of the book, Nyle suddenly appeared by my side. He seemed excited as he held a wooden decorative plaque towards me. I looked at the plaque. It was attractive but it didn't inspire excitement for me.

Nyle said, “Look closer.”

I looked closer, and then I WAS EXCITED! The plaque was the same wood finish as our onion posted bed, and there in the middle of the wooden plaque was a hand carved, bas-relief onion in all its wooden glory!

Nyle and I talked again about the odds of finding this onion-laden piece of furniture to go with our onion laden bed. It did feel suspiciously as though Papa was still letting us know that he was close.

Every night that I climb into my onion bed I grin. I think of my beloved Papa and the joyous time when I will hug him again. I remember him tucking me into bed as a child. I feel the same sense of safety and protection now that I did then. Before I go to sleep, I thank God for a deeply spiritual friend named Joni, my Mother's faith, my Papa who loves me beyond death, my husband's patient quest for treasures, and my gratitude for onions.