Theresa Lewis

Umbrellas…I absolutely hate the things. I see no purpose in life to own one; let alone to use one. I feel like a real dork carrying an umbrella over my head in the rain for many reasons. I used to carry an umbrella many years ago, so I do know what I’m talking about.

You’re walking down the street and its teeming rain. You open your trusty half bubble and hold it over your head. If it’s the mildly curved canopy type, you run the risk of poking someone’s eyes out, or getting your own eyes poked out as you pass each other. If the rain is heavy enough to warrant protection of your head and shoulders, you inevitably meet someone taller that you, who wants to join you under that contraption.

Now, not only has a total stranger invaded your personal comfort zone, he is taller, so his head is well protected while you are getting soaked. The dripping rain from the umbrella spokes ends up going down your neck.

I have had that scenario happen to me many times. If any wind is involved in the downpour, you have to point the top of the umbrella into the wind. If the umbrella is opaque, you can’t see where you are going so you end up poking someone in the eye, or in the chest, depending on the height difference between the two of you.

If the wind is strong enough and you have to tilt your umbrella up a little just to see where you’re going, the sucker turns inside out and all the spokes break and leave you defenceless against the wind and driving rain. It happens. I have seen many a mangled umbrella in street garbage cans.

If you are lucky enough to own a real transparent bubble type, you are not worry free either. Oh, you can see through them alright, but there are still people out there who want to crawl under with you anyway. At least you can see them coming and possibly you can avoid them, if you are fast enough. True, bubble umbrellas are probably more dangerous to the carrier than the mildly curved canopy type. I good gust of wind can lift you straight up in the air like Mary Poppins, if you are holding on tight to your prized possession. If you aren’t holding it tight enough, it gets ripped out of your hands and breaks all your fingernails in the process then takes flight on its own. You never know where, or when it will make landfall again, or if some unsuspecting person will be maimed.

Umbrellas are especially dangerous for women to carry. Yeah, sure when folded up and wrapped tight they can be used as a weapon for self protection, but then they would be a danger to the attacker. If the umbrella is open. One hand is automatically tied up. Only one hand is free to carry a purse, or packages, or for self-defence. It is difficult at best, when trying to defend yourself against an attacker. You want both hands free to take care of business.

Umbrellas are devices that mankind has been tricked, by clever marketers, into believing they must own. I, personally, no longer own one of those unpredictable devices. In my case, I prefer the old lady plastic rain hat that ties under the chin. I guarantee you that no one has ever asked to get under it with me. I have had to endure a lot of ridicule because I wear one in the rain, but at least I am safe from the perils of umbrellas. They may not be the height of fashion, but they do protect my hairdo.

Plastic rain hats have nothing to do with the following story, but they have everything to do with self esteem.

Several years ago, I was having pretty serious back problems. My doctor suggested that I have a CAT scan done. The scan revealed something they were not looking for. My doctor said that they had discovered a small tumor on my adrenal gland. I have to say, I was more than a bit alarmed. He told me that this was very common and that about seventy-five percent of people have them. He said it was nothing to worry about, but he said they would be keeping an eye on it from then on, to look for any changes.

In the meantime, my doctor referred me to a urology specialist to have a test done. In the vicinity where I lived there were only two specialists who were very knowledgeable in adrenal gland tumors. My doctor preferred one over the other. I told him to go ahead and make the appointment for me. The test, called a cystoscopy, was to be done in the hospital. My physician told me they would inject something into me, but it wouldn’t hurt. Unfortunately, that did nothing to calm my anxiety. I had to wait a week for the test to be done and each day of waiting felt more like months. When the day finally arrived, I was a basket case.

I had hardly slept for days, so that morning, I had a hard time getting up and I was a bit late getting ready. I did my hair and when my husband told me it was starting to rain, I ran back into the bathroom and sprayed my hair with hard holding hair spray. I grabbed my trusty plastic old lady rain hat and tied it under my chin and walked to the car.

It was a cold and rainy November day. My husband drove me to the hospital, but I told him not to drive into the parking lot because he would have to pay to get back out. Since I had no idea how long the procedure would take, I told my husband to go home and I would call him when I was finished. I walked in the rain up the path to the huge hospital doors. As soon as I got inside, I whipped off the rain hat and stuffed it in the pocket of my jacket.

I hurried into the hospital because I had to go through admitting before the treatment and I was unfamiliar with the layout of the hospital. As I charged through one corridor after the other, I had to keep asking for directions. I was totally buzzed out from lack of sleep and because I hadn’t eaten anything that day. It felt like I was running through a thin grey mist. I could almost see clearly, but not quite.

It was bewildering and for some reason it all seemed surreal to me. Maybe I was dreaming and would wake up and laugh about it later. I hoped it was a dream. After feeling like I had been lost in a maze of corridors for weeks, I finally reached my destination. I presented myself to a nurse who showed me into an enormous room. The dimensions were close to forty feet square. It was the size of a lecture hall from which the bleachers had been removed. Dead center in the room was a treatment table with an apparatus that held two enormous lights. There was a tray of instruments on a table beside the treatment table. In one corner, there was one lone chair. There was a small cabinet against one wall. That was all that was in the huge room. There were so many doors off that room that I had to wonder if at some point the doors would open and the audience would suddenly appear. Wondering that, I was glad that I had done my hair nicely that day and had protected my delicate curls with the plastic old lady rain hat.

The sound of one of the doors opening brought me back to reality. A nurse came in and handed me a hospital nightgown and told me to change into it and to leave my clothes on the chair. She said I should lie on my back on the treatment table and the doctor would be in to see me in a moment. I did as I was told all the while still feeling that I was in a dream-like grey fog.

About two minutes later, the nurse came back into the room followed by the doctor. He stood beside me and put his hand on my shoulder and assured me that it wouldn’t hurt. I turned to face him. Oh, my God! David! It can’t be! I knew him when he was a ten year old boy. Now, I was positive it was a dream.

I asked him in which arm he was going to inject the stuff. He calmly explained that he wasn’t going to inject it in either arm then he explained the whole procedure and in which part of my anatomy he was going to inject.

My mind was screaming you are going to do what to me… where? No voice came from my mouth. The grey fog got denser. It’s okay, I told myself. This isn’t real. It’s a dream. I looked at the nurse and found my voice. I asked her for a sheet. She brought me one and I put it over my head to hide myself.

As I lay incognito under the four foot by four foot sheet, I thought about all the doors in that room. I asked if there was going to be an audience while this procedure was being done. The doctor answered, not unless I wanted one. I told him I’d rather not.

He was most professional and very kind and he was right; it didn’t hurt a bit. When it was over, I waited until I heard both the nurse and the doctor leave before I removed the sheet from my head.

The dream-like feeling prevailed for a few more moments. I was sure that when I flung the sheet back, I would find myself lying on my own bed, just having awakened from a dream. It wasn’t so. I was indeed in the hospital and I had just exposed myself to some little boy I used to know. I was hoping that I hadn’t scarred him for life. I know that I was definitely scarred for life from that experience. I tried to console myself by saying at least my hair was nicely done.

I got dressed and worked my way back through the maze of corridors that seemed endless. Everyone seemed to know where they were going, but me. After stopping several people to give me directions back to the front door so I could escape, I finally arrived. I nearly forgot to call my husband to come and get me.

I then had to find a pay phone. I peered through the gift shop window to see if they had a phone I could use. I suddenly became aware of my reflection in the glass and I nearly fainted. I hadn’t allowed my hair spray to dry before I put my plastic old lady rain hat on and tied it under my chin. My hair had dried to the shape of the rain hat. It was super flat on the sides and the top came up to a point like Woody Woodpecker. I tried to fluff it up on the sides and push it down on the top, but it was cemented to the shape of rain hat. It even had the corrugated ridges on the top and sides from the fold marks of the rain hat. My dignity was so totally shot. The whole experience of that day was traumatic. Even my hair had let me down.

I was mortified and horrified. Here I had felt confident with my fancy hairdo only to find out that I looked like a freak. I put the rain bonnet back on and tied it under my chin. I finally got hold of a phone and called my husband. I waited for him outside in the rain and bone chilling cold. At least there, I looked normal.

The End