Today is my Mom's birthday. If she hadn't gotten lung cancer, she'd be 83, and so far into her dementia that she'd likely not know us. But she'd still like lasagna for dinner, and cake.
Ten years ago today I was in the hospital. Somewhere in the middle of the headache hell that started out of nowhere, halfway into a month or more of high-dose steroids, I had an episode of severe chest pain, cold sweats and dizziness. The fact that this all happened WHILE I was in the shower made it more epic. Hubby drove me to the hospital, soaking wet, dripping conditioner all over the place, and ready to vomit. I was admitted for a couple of days' observation, and had a stress test on the morning of Mom's birthday. I thought I'd done pretty well, honestly: I finished the entire thing, no problem. But when you've finished running, they inject you with this radioactive stuff and scan your heart.
A couple of hours later, a cardiac nurse who could not have been more than 22 came in to give me the news: You failed the test. You need cardiac catheterization. You get to go home, but they want you back the day after Christmas for that test.
(I don't know if you've ever been on steroids. As near as I can tell, they are something like bipolar disorder mixed with menopause in a bottle. You can't sleep at night because you are too warm and too busy cleaning corners and wrapping individual sticks of gum for Christmas stockings. And you REALLY want to call random people at 3 AM. And then you crash unexpectedly for death-and-resurrection naps, which, if you don't get them, you cry for no reason. Or you cry anyway. Or shout at someone. )
So I started to cry. Not the pretty kind - the blubbery, snot-producing kind. "It's my Mom's birthday. There are going to be 20 people at my house for dinner. And tomorrow is Christmas Eve and they are coming back for that and I direct the choir fot THREE church services AND THEN CHRISTMAS!!!!"
God bless that nurse. She pulled her shoulders back, pointed her finger into my face, and VERY sternly said, "Do you know what you need to DO??"
'Wh-wh-whaat?" I blubbered.
"You need to go home, and act like a man with a COLD!" she scolded.
Oh my freaking goodness.
I never turned crying to laughing so fast in my life. It remains the single best piece of medical advice I have EVER been given. And I followed it.
But I remember thinking, at the end of 2010, how horrible the last few months had been. How grateful I was that the year was behind me, and how hopeful I was that the next would be better. I had no idea on earth that 2011 would be an endless horror, and 2012 almost moreso.
The struggles we have had. The blessings. How do you untangle it all? Babygirl's struggles with dialysis were going on as we welcomed our precious little Boo. Babygirl's transplant came right before Squeaker did. She needed antirejection treament when a little Rose came our way, and little man came into the world the same week my mom left it.
2020 was hard for a LOT of people. Job loss and insecurity, sickness, loss of family members and friends. The general political shitshow, the unkindness, social isolation, the endless home learning. People are REALLY wanting this year to be DONE, and here we are cleaning up the biggest snowfall on record while anticipating an epic flood.
(Personally, my bad. I didn't plan on making lasagna this year. So Mom arranged it so I HAVE to make it.)
I've reached a point, however, where I'm just riding the ride. If I've learned anything at all from the past 10 years, it's that I have precisely zero control over what's around the next bend.
DeeDee
