I used to hate Christmas. Hell, I used to hate all holidays that weren’t Halloween. But, as I’ve talked about in other posts, my recent medical scare has changed many things for me. One of them is my hatred of holidays. It’s gone. Vanished into the night. I went to Thanksgiving at my brother’s with my parents and had a good time. I’m considering going again (without my parents because they are back in Taiwan) for Christmas and it’s not causing me to break into hives.
What makes the difference? Well, I’d been moving in that direction for the past few years in general and this year, the fact that I’m alive trumps many, many things. Including my hatred of holidays and my hatred of having my picture taken.
And, I was just raving on Twitter about how amazing my body is for having survived the medical trauma it went through. I used to have body issues for–well, all my life, but those have been wiped away. My body is fucking mazing for surviving non-COVID-related pneumonia, two cardiac arrests, and a stroke. Not only surviving, but accruing no lasting damage. How can I hate on my body after that?
But some things never change. One of them is my everlasting love for the one true Christmas song, O Holy Night. Every year, I listen to countless versions of it just because I can. I’m doing that today and I’d like to share a few (or a dozen) of those versions with you. Before I do, however, there are two Christmas-related songs I really like that I’ll share first. One of them is Vienna Teng’s, The Atheist Christmas Carol.
The next is White Wine in the Sun by Tim Minchin. He’s also an atheist, but one who likes Christmas.
With that out of the way, we can get to the endless versions of O Holy Night, the only Christmas carol that I acknowledge exists. Why do I like it so much? It’s ethereal without the overly-saccharine tones to it that so many other Christmas carols have. The melody is just so pleasing to me and I actually sang it once in church for Christmas. I had to strain to hit the high notes, but I did well over all.
I was going to do my usual thing of listening to and listing a dozen versions of the song (and I still might), but I’m in a musing mood and want to talk some things out. Since it’s my blog, I can do whatever I want. Let’s start with one that is more on the traditional side with a heavy gospel flavor to it. It’s Chris Tomlin, featuring CeCe Winans, whose voice is magnificent. she can convey so much emotion with it and her black eye shadow is on point.
Why did I used to hate holidays? Because they are so commercialized. I wrote an editorial for the school paper when I was in eighth grade about how Christmas was becoming all about the presents and that was almost four decades ago. Well, three-and-a-half. It’s only gotten worse in the meantime. In addition, I’m not a Christian so I wasn’t happy about how a whole month was dedicated to that religion. Oh! That was another reason I really hated Christmas–how it was creeping past the date itself. Christmas commercials started appearing earlier and earlier until not even Halloween was safe from them.
As I’ve said before, most Christmas music is saccharine crap. And, obviously, it’s Christian. I’m not against sugary-sweet, but there’s something about the combination of the two that really sets my teeth on edge unless it’s handled very delicately.
As I said, I’ve changed my mind about a lot of things this year because of my medical scare. By the way, I’m still struggling to find a way to talk about it that doesn’t make it seem more dramatic than it was. It’s really hard to bring up two cardiac arrests and a stroke into a conversation without it becoming the center of the conversation. And, yes, I know it was a big thing. I know I died. Twice! But that’s not necessarily something I want to talk about in casual conversation.
I haven’t attended any Taiji Zoom classes since coming out of the hospital. While my parents were here, that was the reason. Now, I find that I just don’t want to talk about what happened to me. I know that people will bring it up in a concerned and friendly way. I get that they were worried about me. But, I don’t want to talk about it. In part because Taiji is my refuge away from my life. To be clear, I don’t begrudge other people caring about me, obviously, but one thing I realized after leaving the hospital is how once you go through something like I did, people can get a bit weird about your health.
About a month after leaving the hospital, my parents pressured me into going to a neighborhood barbecue (which is an issue in and of itself, but not for this post). One of my neighbors said brightly, “Oh, you were using a walker a few days ago and now you’re not! Good for you!” Which, first of all, I never needed it–I just carried it with me to lean on it as needed as a rest for walking. More importantly, it was none of their fucking business. And why did they feel the need to announce that? This is what advocates of people with disabilities talk about quite vocally–treating people with disabilities like infants. I don’t need a cheer squad for being able to walk. And even if I did, it would be one of my own choosing. That’s the biggest gripe–I’m not on display and my walking is not up for other people’s approval.
And, yes, I know the neighbor meant it in a positive way and was trying to be encouraging. It doesn’t change the fact that it was patronizing as fuck and none of their business. I would never dream of saying to them that they looked like they had lost twenty pounds and good for them because that’s none of my business and vice-versa.
That’s one of the reasons I don’t like the whole miracle label that has been slapped on me. I get the intent and I agree that what happened to me was miraculous. But calling ME a miracle is reducing me to one moment (well, to a series of calamitous events)
Nat King Cole’s straightforward, no fuss, no muss version.
When someone calls me a miracle, that doesn’t take into account that my story is still being written. As I said, saying the fact that I’m still alive is miraculous , I have no issues. Saying I’m a miracle? Nah, I don’t like that. I allow it from my medical team because they saw me at my worst (my absolute worst, in fact) and they were the ones who got me out of it. So they get a pass on, well, a hell of a whole lot.
I’m going to get back to my Taiji Zoom classes when my teacher gets back from her holiday vacation. It’s time to jump back in and just deal with the inevitable talk about what happened to me. I have to be ok with deciding how much (or little) I want to talk about it. I honestly don’t care if people want to talk about what happened to me–there’s nothing to hide–but I also don’t want to feel like I have to talk about it.
It’s funny because for the past three months, most of the people I’ve talked to outside of my family are medical people. So I have no hesitation bringing up having my ass wiped or the weeping sore on the back of my head (which has since healed) or the scars left from the countless IV needles. I have talked candidly about me dying with both my heart and my head docs.
Jennifer Nettles and John Legend.
I don’t hate my body any longer. How can I after it pulled me through that darkness? I was raving on Twitter about how I got over my body issues in an instant once I left the hospital in a large part because it had carried me through something that should have killed me. Something that DID kill me twice. I know I am repeating myself, but this has been difficult to digest. Intellectually, I understand it and as I said, I don’t have a problem talking about it–with trusted people. Like if my brother brings it up, I have no problem with that. When my parents’ friend who is a doctor brought it up in an extremely callous way, I had a big problem with it. Then again, I don’t like him in general. At all. But I was offended because he hadn’t earned the right to be that jocular about it with me.
The Cimorelli sisters.
I have become seemingly blasé about what happened to me. I wrote a post about it and sent it to Ian because it was part of my end-of-the-year games awards post. I gave the last award to me for what I survived this year. He said it was tough to read, but also joyful to read. I mentally kicked myself a bit because I’m so used to talking about what happened to me in a matter-of-fact way. Yes, I had not-COVID-related pneumonia, two cardiac arrests, and a stroke. Yes, I was unconscious for a week and was hooked up to a breathing machine. That’s just facts for me and nothing special–in part because I was unconscious for the whole thing. It’s only when I think about it that I realize it was a big fucking deal.
That’s all for now. I may pick this up again tomorrow. Here is my current favorite version of O Holy Night–it’s properly disquieting.