Signs of Life

When Lois threw feet out this week for a topic, I cringed a little... I love my feet... but the past couple of months have been hellish, having a wound that would not heal from a run in with the reef, and a few other things... not only did it look bad it was painful.  Required time, care, dressings... etc... shoe choices limited blah blah...  I was starting to get a little obsessed with my feet.  Yeah, weird I know.

This week was a week the likes of which I wish I would never see or experience again, although there were many good things, I went through a couple of traumatic and emotional days.  Actually started the end of last week... but yet... the ocean is my refuge, I shall not want.

Monday, heading into my huge nose dive on Tuesday, came from Dr. and really didn't want to go to the beach... I knew the wind was up, meant surf up, which for me means no swimming, which is what I both need and want.  And would have been great, but then I thought, I just go take a walk...  ocean air blows the cobwebs and crap from my brain... I always come home clear headed and attitude adjusted.... it's my alone time with Papa.  So the erosion is bad so my walk is limited, which was okay, I hunting treaures... looking... turned around and headed back and there in the seaweed, tangled in a mess was the tiniest baby sea turtle I had ever seen, so newly born he still had part of his umbilicus attached.  He was lifeless and on his back.  I believe in giving a proper burial at the least.  I picked him up and placed him gently in my palm... I thought I saw him move... but you know how that goes... I spoke softly to him, whisper.  I touch his tiny front flipper and swore it moved.  I turn him over and can see him pulse.  He is alive.  Still holding and talking telling him I was going to bring him home, so fearful of cutting him loose in that surf.... 6-8 feet at least.... with wicked rip... but I am in one of my favorite spots, which is another reef area where the surf breaks out further and the waves are less severe.  I am still staring, talking, touching, crooning sweet words to him, and then, he lifts up his head and looks from side to side.    I walk slowly down to the water with him... mumbling all the while to Papa about letting him go... blah blah... I bend down and place him gently there.. the waves calm for a moment and off he goes... those tiny little flippers... such a wee baby.
I have a flashback to my early nursing career, I worked Pediatrics.   We didn't have neo-natal care like today,  anyone who was anything other than a normal birth was flown out to the Univ. hospitals... I flew with them quite often.  We used to stimulate newborns with low apgar's  by flicking the bottoms of their feet...  a way to illicit a response.  I have flicked many a newborn foot.... quite often the infant would respond... some didn't.  What it did was give us a quick snapshot of where this newborn was,  it was a way to check, to look for signs of life and response.  Touching that flipper, and flicking the foot of a newborn... life.... signs of life.  Reminders.  Funny thing was too, I had my toes done on thursday and my feet look better to me...
Feet to me hold much symbolism, for many reasons..  "shake the dust off your feet and move on"  touching someone's feet.  A sign of humility, to kneel and care for someone feet.  Are they connected to our souls, our own and everyone elses.... flippers included.  Reminders.