I consider myself a selfish person. Although my college-aged daughter says that I am a “giving” person, I know my heart; I know my motives. I’m all for serving others as long as it is something I enjoy doing and it is something that serves my own purposes.
Take zucchini, for example. I would be glad to bake and give away loaves of zucchini bread—if I had a lot of zucchini I needed to get rid of. But I don’t bake the bread, because I don’t have the extra zucchini, because I wouldn’t have grown a garden in the first place, because, even if I had the desire and the ambition (which I don’t), I have excruciating lower back pain when I bend over for more than three minutes—which is why I can no longer pull weeds or plant zucchini.
Which is why I immediately became interested when I recently learned from the television about a clinical research study for chronic lower back pain. I called the number on the screen and was told that if I qualified, I would be one of 15 subjects in the study
and would be required to stay at the clinic for 43 days, as everything must be strictly monitored. Visitors would be allowed in the lounge, where optional activities would also be provided. I would have a private room with catered meals, and all my needs would be met. And I would be paid handsomely.
I envisioned a warm, cozy room in a place where I would have no responsibilities and be able to enjoy the solitude that I cherish. I imagined having six weeks secluded from the outside world with time to listen to books and talks on tape or watching interesting television programs (using my headphones), at the same time crocheting to my heart’s content. It would be like going to heaven and being paid for it.
Do you think I thought of doing it as a service to mankind to alleviate the suffering of others, this offering my body to learn of the benefits and side effects of a drug to see if it could become FDA approved? Of course not! It was the promise of a vacation—and did I mention the monetary compensation?
At my initial intake visit I saw that things were not exactly as I had imagined. The private room was cold and clinical (this was, after all, a clinic) without windows and with an accordion door for one of the four walls. Negative thoughts filled my mind. I began to wonder if it would be a good experience after all.
Then I made a decision. Instead of focusing on myself, I would think of others. Perhaps I could let my light shine in some way. Besides, my husband cheerfully suggested that we could make the room cozy. From home we took a lamp, a rug, and my favorite fuzzy blankets, and the clinic offered me a comfortable recliner chair, as I told them I planned to spend most of my time in my room, rather than the lounge. I also took several large bags of yarn for crocheting, and each time my husband traveled the distance to visit me, I requested that he bring more yarn.
When a staff member or a fellow study participant observed me working on my crocheting project and questioned me about it, I explained simply that these were doll dresses to be donated to the LDS Humanitarian Center to be put on the dolls that are sent to poor little girls all over world. On occasion, I also added that I obtained the yarn at the Humanitarian Center—yarn that other people had donated to them, and it didn’t cost me anything except my time to make the dresses. I rarely mentioned, however, that in the past three or four years, I have crocheted literally thousands of these little dresses.
But I am the one who benefits. In the clinic I loved spending my time listening to tapes while crocheting. And generally I gain other things from this selfish service. First, I avoid feelings of guilt for wasting time with my self-imposed rule that I only crochet while doing something else, such as riding in the car, listening to a basketball game on the radio, watching television or sitting in lectures or seminars (crocheting helps me to stay alert).
Second, because of my frugal nature, I love using up small balls of yarn or putting to good use yarn that might otherwise not fill the measure of its creation.
Third, I can use my creativity as I choose color schemes for the skirts, bodices, and bows, rather than using only one color. Also, it fulfills my love for menial, repetitive tasks. I like to mass produce the dresses, making a big stack of skirts, adding all the borders, then the bodices before finally adding the ties to all of them.
Sometimes it is fun to see how fast I can crochet. When I first began making doll dresses, it took some time to create my own pattern through trial and error. Now it takes less than 25 minutes to make one dress from start to finish. I wish I had a nickel for every time I’ve been told that I crochet faster than anyone that person has ever seen. Or that they wonder why the yarn doesn’t get singed.
But some days, while at the research study, I struggled. One of the side effects of the drug we were testing was drowsiness—extreme in my case; I simply couldn’t stay awake. Some days I would be sitting in my chair crocheting, waking up over and over and over again, and having to count stitches to correct a mistake I might have made. Once, a nurse entered the room and woke me up saying that I had been crocheting in my sleep. It happens.
I had not set a goal for the number of dresses I would make during the six weeks of the study. But when I reached 400 and realized that there were several days left before I would leave to return home, I thought that if I tried very hard, I might be able to reach a goal of 500 dresses. Amazingly, I completed the 500th dress at exactly midnight the night before I left. Then on the day after arriving home from the medical study, I made 17 more dresses from start to finish—a new, one-day record for me.
Some have questioned why I have never gotten carpal tunnel syndrome or arthritis in my hands after the millions of stitches taken in all the years since learning to crochet as a young girl. I can only believe that avoiding such maladies is simply a blessing for my service.
The other research participants and I had become friends during our required, twice-daily, supervised walks outdoors. At 60, I was the oldest of the group. A couple of days before the study ended, my husband called to suggest that I invite the people with whom I had been sequestered, as well as the kind medical personnel who had taken care of us, to write in my journal so I wouldn’t forget them—sort of like in a yearbook.
I collected 26 notes. I was surprised when many of them referred to the crocheting, like the man who wrote, “The handcrafted dresses you’re making for less fortunate children are simply amazing.” Or the nurse who wrote, “500 little girls will enjoy those beautiful dresses.” The woman who headed the entire clinical study wrote, “You were the model patient, and I’m so impressed with all your handwork. Think of all those happy children!”
I was even more surprised to read some things written about me personally, and my long-held perception of my being an introverted, self-centered person was shaken. Lori wrote: “You are the cheeriest, brightest, and sweetest person I have ever met.” And Jeff wrote, “You have been such an example of love and charity in this extremely difficult situation.” Or the college student, Chase: “You always brought joy to the group whenever you were among us, and it brought a spirit that was just joyful, plain and simple.”
The heartfelt message of Brookelle, a darling 17-year-old employee, made me cry. “Thank you for your kindness. There was never a time when I felt that you were rude or disrespectful to me, and I appreciate that. You have been such an example of service by giving all your doll dresses to the Humanitarian Center. It is such an inspiration to watch you. You are such a giving person and I can see it in your personality. I love the light that you have put in my life!...”
As I wept, my tears washed away the feelings of negative self-judgment that I had long held in my heart. Brookelle had written that I was a giving person, just as my own daughter had said. Brookelle thanked me for adding to the light in her life, and I remembered that that had been my expressed hope from the beginning. Maybe I had served for all the right reasons after all.
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