When you’re told you’re going to die, the air is sucked out of the room and everything stops.
When the doctors say your goal is to survive until the day they can wheel you into the OR – which you may not do, so put your affairs in order now – clarity descends.
All your old ideas, fixations, worries, complaints are revealed as ridiculously stupid.
I’m now on the other side of this experience. I have a second chance at life; not metaphorically, not figuratively, but very literally a second chance at life. Best of all, the ridiculously stupid has not returned. I do not miss it.
Here’s what’s great today:
Letting the dog out.
Going to the grocery store.
Having an argument with teenagers before morning coffee.
Calling my mom every day.
Washing my own hair.
Here’s what bothers me today:
I don’t care.
“I don’t care” probably belongs on the “what’s great” list above.
I’m a better person than I used to be. The crushing weight of the bags I carried made me stronger. I don’t sweat the small stuff, or even the medium-size stuff. Some people may find this infuriating. (Have I mentioned I don’t care?)
One sister saved my life and the other one would have. My mother sat by my bedside for days on end and held my limp hand. There may be some “better place” that we all go to when it’s over, who knows, but you can’t really tell me there’s a better place than this.