Jumping The Fence

It would be an understatement to say that things have been a little topsy-turvy.

I tossed and turned last night as the thunder cracked and sheets of rain slapped against the windowsill.  My body rose out of bed by habit, minutes before the alarm released it's throaty bellow.  I hunkered into my spring jacket and ducked out the door, through the backyard, and into the garage.  The drips of water fell off my brow as I climbed into the car.

Visibility was poor.  The entrance ramp was under a few inches of water, and my car lurched forward slowly.  Thankfully, the highway was clear.  Miles down the road and picking up speed, I saw the familiar line of break lights in the distance.  I slowed down cautiously before coming to a complete stop.  I was stuck.

At the end of a long line of cars with an impenetrable swamp obstructing my passage to the hospital, my options were sparse. I felt a sinking sense of doom.  Like a caged bull, I could butt my head against the bumper in front of me, but it would be an act of self flagellation.  There were patients waiting, but I couldn't get to them.

I craned my head in desperation, complete darkness.  Not a single vehicle on the road barreling toward me.  So I whipped into reverse, clicked on the blinkers, and drove the wrong way down the shoulder till I could exit off an entrance ramp.

Driving the wrong direction on the expressway is an odd feeling.  It's like being given special glasses to look directly at the sun.  Your mind can rationalize the action your body is initiating even as the muscles fight to maintain the status quo.

But at some point, you take the path that is given to you.

Many of us bulls are waiting till the door of the pen is flung open, and will run as directed into the arms of healthcare reform. 

I, for one, have chosen to jump the fence. 

And gallop the other way.