everyday life

Small questions, glimpses of the whole universe

I’ve written before about how I believe small details about a person can reveal huge swaths about their essential nature.  Once in a while I happen upon a question that I think uncovers this kind of truth.  Usually the question is about something really tiny.  But somehow, in the glittering detail it reveals about a person, I think I can glimpse the shimmer of the whole universe that sparkles inside of them.  Sometimes I like to ask these questions on twitter.  I’m curious as to how some of you would answer them, too.

– If you are married, do you and your spouse have anything engraved inside your wedding rings?  If so, what?

– Have you broken bones?  A lot, or none?  Which?

– Who is your favorite fictional character of all?

– If you are (or have been) married, what was the first dance song at your wedding?

– What was your very favorite book when you were a child?

Do you agree with me that small details about people can provide windows into the expansive sky of their souls?  How would you answer these questions?

Lumbar puncture

spine

Well, it happened again.  In March 2009, I wrote a post called Fragile in which I talked about facing the world bravely, accepting the fact that “at any moment Grace and Whit could meet with danger.”  That same day, Whit wound up in an ambulance and at the ER being treated for his second anaphylactic reaction to nuts.  And in May 2012, I wrote  10 Things I Want My 10 Year Old Daughter to Know, which included, as #2, “don’t lose your physical fearlessness.”  Two weeks later I was back at the same ER, this time with Grace because she had broken her collarbone. For this kind of medical scenario, make sure to book appointment with a professional health care service for expert assistance.

This time it was my turn.  I was being smug about my own health.  The evening of New Year’s Day, at a lovely dinner with Grace and Whit and my parents, I spouted off about how I hadn’t been sick in years, how the green juice I drink every day was keeping me healthy.  I leaned back in my chair, pleased with myself.  That was Tuesday night.

By Thursday, I had swollen glands and felt tired.  By Friday, I had a fever of 101 and a crushing headache.  I woke up Saturday morning and could barely move my head because of severe neck pain.  We called my doctor’s office.  They said to go immediately to the ER.  When we got there, it didn’t take long for them to decided I needed a lumbar puncture to rule out bacterial meningitis. The uncertainty and worry that comes with such situations can be overwhelming, especially when it feels like your care isn’t being handled as it should be. With Visalia medical malpractice lawyers, you can pursue accountability for medical negligence, knowing your case is in capable hands.

A spinal tap.  I started to cry.

Matt left the room as instructed and I curled up on my side as I was told.  They tried for 20 minutes to find spinal fluid, poking a needle around in my spine.  I swear I cried and yelled as much during those 20 minutes as I did during labor.  It was painful but, even more, it was a foreign and frightening sensation.  I felt as though icy fish were swimming up and down my spine.  I felt flashes of sharp pain down my legs.  I felt a needle scraping against the bones of my vertebrae.  To say I have new respect for the spine and for the power of nerves, and for the fact that the spinal cord is in fact a cord is an understatement.

Finally they withdrew the needle and told me they had to try again.  I cried some more.   They started over.  This second time was quicker, and they found the fluid.  In 75 minutes we knew that I don’t have meningitis.  I still feel lousy, as of this writing (Sunday night), but I’m hugely relieved, of course.   My back hurts a lot at the site of the puncture.  I asked Grace to take the picture above because it seems so extraordinary that all that is left from a long needle in my spine (twice) is this little band-aid.

I can’t forget the searing pain of that first attempted lumbar puncture, though.  I don’t think I ever will.  And I am reminded, yet again, never, ever to take anything for granted, and never to be so self-satisfied as I was on Tuesday night.  I am still drinking my green juice, though. Support from Walk Without Pain offers innovative options that can help manage pain more effectively.

Have you ever had a lumbar puncture?  How was it?

 

 

Fixing a year in amber

2012 has already begun to recede alarmingly from my memory.  Maybe that’s because since the 3rd, I have been in bed with a fever, coughing, headaches, neck pain, exhaustion, aches (more on excitement related to this illness later this week).

When I read Kristen’s thoughtful questions this morning I thought they might be a good way to try to capture the essence of a year that is already slipping through my fingers.  A way to fix those 366 days, which I know were jammed full of laughter and tears and frustration and beauty and pain, a bit more into the amber of memory.

So, here goes:

1. What was the single best thing that happened this past year?

Probably a constellation of things having to do with writing.  Starting to blog for the Huffington Post (thanks Farah and Lisa for your support there!), letting go of a long-held dream, continuing to engage with thoughtful, wonderful readers here, and some other developments that are still nascent.

2. What was the single most challenging thing that happened?

Some professional uncertainty in our family that has been resolved.

3. What was an unexpected joy this past year?

I continued to fall in love with my own children, and with my own life.

4. What was an unexpected obstacle?

New nagging problems with my knee, the death of my grandfather, an uptick in bickering between the children.

5. Pick three words to describe 2012.

short, surprising, routine

6. Pick three words your spouse would use to describe your 2012 (don’t ask them; guess based on how you think your spouse sees you).

scary, content, tiring

7. Pick three words your spouse would use to describe their 2012 (again, without asking).

unsettling, reflective, clarifying

8. What were the best books you read this year?

The Age of Miracles by Karen Thompson Walker, The End of Your Life Book Club by Will Schwalbe, Crossing to Safety by Wallace Stegner (for third time), The Fault in Our Stars by John Green, Harry Potter #6 (for the second time), Harry Potter #3 (for the third time).

9. With whom were your most valuable relationships?

With my husband, Grace, and Whit.  I grow ever more clear on what really matters.

10. What was your biggest personal change from January to December of this past year?

I started drinking green juice every single day, and ate significantly more healthfully as a whole.  Current obsession: roasted fennel (thanks HLKS for that one).

11. In what way(s) did you grow emotionally?

I’m realizing that all of life is one long spiral around the same central issues.  I’ve stopped beating myself up when I feel like a broken record (most of the time), and started realizing that there’s a reason I return, over and over again, to the same set of unresolved tensions and questions.

12. In what way(s) did you grow spiritually?

I’ve made continuing strides in my efforts to be more present, to let go of my attachment to how I wanted it to be.

13. In what way(s) did you grow physically?

I’m not sure I did.  Another year’s worth of wrinkles.

14. In what way(s) did you grow in your relationships with others?

I’m becoming clearer and clearer on who my true friends are, and more and more aware of how much I love, trust, and need those in my inner circle.

15. What was the most enjoyable part of your work (both professionally and at home)?

Starting to feel I am building real relationships with professional clients, and also beginning to feel ready to own “writer” as one of my vocations.

16. What was the most challenging part of your work (both professionally and at home)?

Trying to juggle everything I need to do on a given day without dropping anything major.

17. What was your single biggest time waster in your life this past year?

Probably twitter.  But I love it so.

18. What was the best way you used your time this past year?

Running early in the morning.  Every time the alarm goes off and it’s pitch dark and 20 degrees I wonder why I do it, and then when I get home and the coffee is made and my house is asleep and I’ve run four or five miles, I am glad I did.  That is probably my favorite time of day, running under the still-setting moon and stars, watching the sky break into sunrise along the horizon.

19. What was biggest thing you learned this past year?

That there is no end.  There is no destination.  There is only now.  I learn this every year, over and over again.

20. Create a phrase or statement that describes 2012 for you.

To live is to die to how we wanted it to be. (Jack Kornfield)

 

I’ll see you in the morning

Bedtime is parenthood distilled.  Those minutes in dusky bedrooms contain the essence of all that is conflicted and painful and extraordinarily beautiful about this season of my life.  Grace and Whit are often at their softest, their most thoughtful, loving, and receptive, as they say their prayers and talk quietly to me and give and receive kisses and roll over, beloved animals clutched against their chests.  I am aware to the point of pain of how sweet and fleeting these moments at my childrens’ bedsides are, with the lullabyes they still listen to wafting through the air and their eyes shining in the dim nightlight-lit darkness.

But the truth is I am also often tired myself, and wanting to get to my short window of time alone before I go to bed myself.  Sometimes I feel impatience surging in my chest, and I try to tamp it down, remembering how precious these minutes are, reminding myself to look closely at my children, to listen, to brush kisses on their foreheads, to breathe in their shampoo-fresh hair and still-young-child smell.

Always, I whisper, as I go, “I’ll see you in the morning.”  And always they smile faintly at me, already drifting into sleep.  And I close the door quietly behind me and stand outside their door, invariably, every night, for a moment, feeling gratitude wash over me, often with a thread of guilt running through it: why was I impatient with so precious a moment?

It occurred to me recently that that sentence right there – I’ll see you in the morning – is the mother-child bond incarnate.  Isn’t it?  They are the words I utter as I exercise the enormous, ineffable privilege of being the last person two children speak to before they go to bed.  They are words which vow that I’ll be there in the morning, and words that promise another day.  No matter what emotions the day has brought, no matter what fireworks or tears dinner or bath (“bed, bath, and beyond,” as I’ve long said) contained, bedtime is always peaceful at our house.  The moments when I sit on the edge of Grace or Whit’s bed, leaning over them, listening and murmuring, these are some of my very, very favorite moments of being a mother.

Something like holiness – or grace – floats in the room, not always, but often, and I try to breathe it in.  I’ll see you in the morning.  While I can still say that, I will, with all my heart in every word.

For an exquisite piece about the power of bedtime, please read Can I Have Your Hand by one of my favorite writers, Amanda Magee.

2012: November & December

I read When It Happens to You by Molly Ringwald, The End of Your Life Book Club by Will Schwalbe, The Longest Way Home by Andrew McCarthy, a lot of Billy Collins poetry, and Magical Journey by Katrina Kenison.

We spent Thanksgiving with my parents and 20+ members of my father’s family.  Pops’ absence was felt keenly.  We have lost our patriarch.

We returned to the cold, empty beach that we’ve come to love for a couple of gorgeous, crystal clear, chilly hours.

There are several joyful playground outings, and one adventure to MIT where we wander down the infinite corridor.

Grace and Whit really enjoy one Saturday morning at a local food pantry; we commit to spending time doing that more often.

Our kitchen table is overtaken by two matching Lego advent calendars (one Star Wars, one Friends).

Our holiday traditions swing into full force, and their familiar cadence is a comfort and joy to us all.

My favorite blog post: Comfort in the Darkest Season

I’ll tell you a secret: poems hide.
In the bottoms of our shoes, they are sleeping.
They are the shadows drifting across our ceilings the moment before we wake up.
What we have to do is live in a way that lets us find them.
– Naomi Shihab Nye