I have written at length about the miracle that happened to me and how I’ve started to resent the word, ‘miracle’. Today, I want to talk about the mundane as it pertains to said miracle. The first week I was awake, I wasn’t thinking about much of anything other than how the hell did I survive? My brother laid it out to me what happened and emphasized that I should not be alive. He wasn’t trying to be cruel–just matter-of-fact. It was a lot to try to understand, especially since I was still high as balls. Honestly, the only thing I really cared about was the ice water because it was ‘amazing’ in my words. I couldn’t stop gushing about it to anyone who came into my room. I insisted that every nurse bring me a new glass of ice water (usually meant they’d bring me a glass of water and a glass of ice), which meant I had several by the end of the day on my side table. The nurse (whichever was in my room at that moment) would ask if I wanted to get rid of any of the cups and I would be reluctant to let go of any of them–even if the ice had melted. That was my norm for my first few days in the hospital–asking for ice water. Actually, that was my norm for the whole week I was awake. I was obsessed with ice water and declared it amazing to anyone who would listen–and anyone who wouldn’t.
I talked to more people the week I was awake in the hospital than I have in the past several years combined. One of the people I talked to was the chaplain. I was chary at first because Christianity has been brutal to me, but he was very laid-back and chill. He didn’t try to shove the Christian God (with a capital G) down my throat and was just there to listen to me babble about my experience. This was the third or fourth day I was awake, so I wasn’t completely out of my mind. I think he was one of the people who asked if I questioned why this happened to me. If so, my standard response is, “No. There’s no reason it shouldn’t have happened to me. I’m not special or exempt, and I didn’t take particularly good care of myself.”
The part that got to me and still does is why I was lucky enough to return with so little damage. That’s the part I don’t get and has the power to drive me crazy if I let it. My nurse’s aide who does my hair (did it today for the last time) told me about a friend of hers who had a similar experience to mine when he was 49. Except he had to be revived 3 times and was in a coma for 29 days (I think it was around that much time). and he had necopathy in his lower legs that he still has to live with. He’s on permanent disability–and he used to be a hockey player when he was younger. He was fit and healthy when this happened to him; he’s not any longer.
This is what gets to me. He was in prime shape to withstand what happened to him and yet, he didn’t. I was out of shape and should have taken hardcore damage. I didn’t. Granted, I was only out for a week, but still. Yes, the Taiji helped (I’m convinced of it), but was it enough to completely turn the tide? If so, my teacher should put it in all her promo materials. I mean, Taiji allowed me to walk away from a minor car crash with only a gigantic bruise on my stomach from the seat belt. Or maybe the airbag, but I think it was the seat belt.
The chaplain said it was important to think about these things and see what lessons we can glean from them. But, he paused and added, it’s equally important to know when to let it go because it’ll drive you crazy if you think about it for too long. He didn’t phrase it exactly like that, of course, but that’s what he meant. The first week I was home, I spent so much time thinking about why I got to come back basically intact. I didn’t come up with any answer to my question and I know that I will never know for certain. that does not sit well with me, honestly. I don’t like not knowing things, especially about my own life. I’m a control freak and I do not like that there’s a week missing from my life. But, I can’t do anything about it and, again, I’m not as uneasy about that as I am about the fact that I came back almost better than ever.
Also, the fact that it’s eight weeks since I collapsed in my front highway, lapsing into an unconsciousness that lasted a week. That’s messing with my brain a bit as well. Eight weeks might as well be eight months as far as my brain is concerned. But, it might as well be eight hours, too. It just doesn’t matter at this point. I mean, I suppose on some level it matters, but it doesn’t in my day-to-day.
I am starting to think about the future a little bit. Not so much in the macro of what is the meaning of the life, but more so in the micro of what am I going to do in the next, say, month–no wait. I’m mostly thinking about life after my parents go back to Taiwan–which is in another five weeks or so. Life on my own! I can hardly wait. It’s been rough to have my parents around all the time when I’m used to being on my own. It’s really difficult for them to grasp that what happened to me is not something you can prevent. I mean, yes, I can be on the look out for the symptoms of pneumonia now that I know it’s a thing, but I refuse to wrap myself in bubblewrap and put myself on a shelf.
In fact, as I pointed out to my mother, this happened to my mother while I was hibernating during a pandemic. I was so cautious in the first eighteen months. After I got fully vaxxed, I l eased up a tiny bit, but not much. I ordered takeout once or twice and went to Cubs once. That was it! It wasn’t as if I was running around town, willy-nilly, licking everything around me. I still don’t know how I got pneumonia and I may never know, but it wasn’t because I was careless about my health.
My outlook on the pandemic has changed since I came out of the hospital. I still wear a mask when I’m out and about and try to keep my distance, but I’ve resigned myself to the fact that we are not getting rid of COVID-19 any time soon. It’s going to be around so I have to find a way to live with it. I’m not happy about it, but there’s nothing I can do about it, either. It’s part of life in 2021–along with the knowledge that I’m damn lucky to be alive. I don’t do New Year’s Resolutions, but I’m sure I’ll be contemplating my navel quite a bit this Sew Year’s Eve.