I planned to not pay homage to New Year’s this year. I made much out of last year with a list of resolutions, about half of which I brought to fruition and made steps forward with all of them, some small. Not a sweep. I’m still on it.
It’s not really my time to measure with.
I’ll leave that sentence vague, with all its meanings.
Yet, here I am.
This post is also a little weird because I usually save personal vignettes, particularly emotional ones, to fuel creative writing. I tend to talk more about art, ideas, and opinions in these posts. Part of the reason for that is that I find that once I say something, give away the spark of an idea, I no longer feel the urgency to write about it. I need to be well-along in a poem or story, enough that it’s already its own entity, before I can talk about it without the likelihood that I’ll sabotage my inspiration. I think today is an exception. Some themes I explore in prose and poetry — dread of hospitals, gratitude for my kids, beauty in the unexpected and even in what I actively don’t want — converged today and I can’t imagine my fascination with these themes ever being spent.
I’ve been up for twenty-two hours and I could sleep now, but have a gorgeous view of the city from wall-to-wall windows on the 5th floor of the hospital, and I’m beside my kid who’s reading or scrolling and breathing, and I take none of that for granted. Last night, my kid got sick, 9 out of 10 pain. I took them to Urgent Care where they were given fast relief through an IV. I loved that medical team and all of science that brought that pain from a 9 to a 2 within an hour. Between tests and waiting, they rested. They’d been so miserable and undoubtedly exhausted. Watching them doze brought back that sweet-happy of watching baby-them sleep — the relief in seeing their chest rise and fall, the too-much-cuteness to not cause a little ache.
Without much notice my kid was transported from Urgent Care by ambulance to the hospital, and it looked as though they might need emergency surgery. I’ve never had surgery (knock on wood). They’ve never had surgery. I’m borderline phobic of hospitals. So, although I was grateful that they were getting attention, that the hospital found them a bed, and that they were out of pain, I was scared as hell. But, I didn’t let on. I didn’t even do that thing I do, like when the car’s about to break down on the interstate and I don’t want the kids to worry, so I say, “Everything’s fine,” in a calm, but octave higher-than-normal voice. I kept my voice even and comforting.
The punchline is that we may be able to go home tomorrow and the surgery can probably wait a few weeks. Had today been more difficult, I would’ve rolled with it. I do crisis well. But I find it stunning that, although I would’ve shaped the whole day differently, had I the power, I still found so many tender mercies, kind people, and little reliefs that built up to wonderful gratitude that has me knowing that I could be happy with much less. I’m spending a gorgeous New Year’s Eve with one of my all-time favorite humans toasting with spriters of Shasta ginger ale and apple juice.
Wishing you good health, inspiration, and much love. Cheers!
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