Wisdom From Stephen King

"At the time we're stuck in it, like hostages locked in a Turkish bath, high school seems the most serious business in the world to just about all of us. Its not until the second or third class reunion that we start realizing how absurd the whole thing was." - Stephen King, On Writing

The high school absurdity I most poignantly remember is my fear of walking through Senior Hall. Even though I had to pass that way every morning of my freshman year on my way to band class, I most days walked clear around the outside of the school to avoid said hall. On the days when I was too late for the detour, I rushed through the hall as quickly as possible.

Senior Hall was lined with, as you might imagine, senior boys. They sat shoulder to shoulder, legs out in front of them, creating a menacing gauntlet through which we all passed. And my fear - no, what I knew to be true - was that they were checking out my ass. My friends laughed at this assertion, but I knew the dark truth. I had seen them with their mocking eyes, cupping their hands to whisper to one another their assessment as each female form navigated the gauntlet.

Now, 25 years later, I am still confident in that truth. Growing older has simply given me the confidence not to care what others think of how I look.  And, its given me enough security to understand that NOT everyone is staring at my ass!  What age has given me is the wisdom and confidence not to give a shit.

Against the odds, a good one

Today, I really didn't want to go. I had a somewhat grumpy day at work, as most of them are these days. I stopped at McDonalds to get dinner, which I am loathe to do but I gave in and got myself a cheeseburger and a McFlurry and decided I just won't go tonight. Its a helluva lot easier to give in to this demand for fast food than go home and cook a meal and convince people to eat it.

I got home and was immediately accosted by a starving orange cat, an overly excited dog, and even a bunny who put his little paws up begging for my immediate attention. The girl immediately griped that the house stinks and demanded to be taken to the gym. The boy demanded his McDonalds and disappeared into his room.

I searched for my divorce decree, as I need the original in order to change my name back, and was frustrated to find that I don't think I have an original, or if I do I can't tell it apart from any of the copies I have. Goddammit.

I finally changed my clothes and ate my cold cheeseburger. But, I changed into running clothes, which is always key, because that way I have the INTENT if not at least the OPTION of running. Changing into the flojo is outright admitting I'm not going.

I took the girl to the gym and decided to just run from there, that way I don't have to go home, go
run, then drive back and pick her up. All that time is wasted anyway. So, I took off, no phone, no watch, just my ipod. I did glance at the clock and knew I left at about 7:40 (yes thats PM folks, its not only dark but cold, so I'm facing two primary obstacles head on here). I decided to run up this hill that is normally the end part of my 6 mile route. I was still good and grumpy and
just figured I'm going to effing walk if I want to. I grumpily started jogging up that damn hill, the one I always swear I'd never be able to run up when I'm on my way down. But I jogged up it, all 1.5 miles of it, and I felt ok. I decided I'd keep going, and I went to where I figured was 2.5 or 3 miles, then turned around, still feeling pretty decent. Remember, its dark AND cold, two variables that work to my advantage in long runs (stay with me here). I got back down and looked at my watch and it was 8:41. Because I don't have my sister's fancy technology to be slave to, I then drove my route and found it was 5 miles round trip, so that's darn good given the hills.

Both K and I commented that having run in the Denver altitude over Thanksgiving was incredibly beneficial for running back home. If I keep that pace in Vegas, I will finish in 2:36ish, which would be great.

I have still not found satisfactory cool matching hats for us all to wear, so that's a quandry that needs to be solved this week. Sunday is race day!!

she's back

This is a direct quote from a text conversation between K and one of her friends today:

Friend: Don't worry K, I went through an ACL tear so I know exactly what you're going through
K: My coma shits on your ACL tear

God I love that girl.

Hope

They have slowly reduced the medication to allow her to wake up, and hopefully the seizures will have stopped. As hours pass, her legs begin to move, her arms. The doctor comes in and looks in her eyes, speaks to her. Her eyelids flutter. There's hope. Movement increases. Suddenly she's pulling on the tubes and wires. Her arms and legs are tied to the bed to prevent this, but she breaks the restraint and pulls at the arterial line. I shout for the nurse, "she broke the thing! she broke the thing!" Suddenly we're surrounded again and it takes several people to hold her down. She's lifting her head, trying to lift her body up and pull away, to get right out of the bed! She's gagging on the tube down her throat. She's terrified. A doctor comes in and sedates her again. Next time we hope that she will waken more slowly. They turn down the ventilator so that she's breathing mostly on her own. One of the doctors is telling a trainee how unusual it is for her to breathe as deeply as she does, that the ventilator actually cuts off her breath, that she must be very fit. I'm so proud, and hopeful. She's a resilient girl. She's never been one to be told what her limits are, not by a ventilator or anything else.

We wait. Her legs begin to move again, her hands. The doctor looks in her eyes, rubs her sternum, tells her to open her eyes and she does. Asks her to squeeze his fingers and she does! Tells her to cough, and they will pull out the tube. She gags, coughs, and it comes out. She's babbling incoherently, a scratchy weak voice. "bhweh bah bahh" (where am I?). The nurse explains that she's in the hospital, she hit her head, she needs to relax and rest. She's asleep again, almost immediately, and begins to snore. The most beautiful sound I've ever heard. Her body is calm, she's resting comfortably. I'm elated.

#2

At last we are allowed to see her. They prepare us for what we will see - tubes all over her body, a machine breathing for her, vomit in her hair. I'm still unprepared. I gasp at her lifeless body, at all the technology surrounding her. We sit. We speak to her. We wait. She's deeply sedated, but occasionally her body seizes, shoulders locking upward, toes curling downward, head back. I panic. I tell the doctors, its happening again. They up the medication. She's calm for 30 minutes. It happens again. They up the medication. The doctor tells me they need to transfer her to a pediatric hospital. I'm asked to sign a form granting my permission. What the fuck. Do I have options here? What rights am I signing away? What if I say no? I sign where I'm asked to sign. I don't read. I have no choices. I can't think clearly. I just need her to be ok.

The doctor tells me he needs to induce a medical coma because her body won't stop seizing. I'm so frightened of all the medicines. I'm crying again. I'm stunned. How did we get here? What is happening? I ask her dad these questions. He has no answers.

J has been a pillar of strength. He hasn't cried. He has been by my side silently, observing, listening, comforting with a small hand on my arm, my back. I tell him he can go home with someone, maybe he should. He refuses to leave. He wants to be here. Needs to be here.

She's in a coma. The ambulance arrives to transport her to the pediatric hospital. I ride in the front. We go to another emergency room. It will be the darkest night of my life.

The badness #1

A simple phone call. I'm late to pick up the girls from practice. I mentally curse myself as got confused on what time practice ends this night, despite my mental reminders. Its her friend on the phone, asking if I'm almost there, telling me that K has bumped her head. I roll my eyes. Say I'm leaving now. Apologize for my lateness, once again. I'm still angry from earlier, when I had to tell her to leave the dinner table and she waited outside for her ride. Still angry from Halloween, when she called me a bitch. Its been a difficult couple of weeks, the distance between us larger than its ever been.

Another phone call, the friend again. She tells me K is having a seizure, and can I please hurry? I can hear voices in the background. I shout at her. What? Who are you talking to?? Put the adult on the phone!! The trainer gets on the phone, apologizes, says K has had a seizure and they have called 911, that the ambulance will be there shortly. I speed through a couple red lights, panic rising in my belly. Seizure?? An ambulance turns in front of me and I fall in behind it to the school. I run to her. She seems disoriented but it sitting up, talking. I decide they've overreacted. She keeps asking for me even though I've talked to her. She says, "don't tell my mom, she won't believe me." I gently ask her to stop. I look at her critically, wondering how much of this is her enjoying the attention, the fact that she has a REAL injury. Wondering if she's exaggerating. I hate that I had these thoughts, but I did. After all, this is the girl who rejoices in the smallest of injuries, keeps ACE bandages in her drawer and ice packs in the freezer, who's favorite Christmas present is a first-aid kit, for whom I cannot ever keep an adequate supply of bandaids in the house. The girl who once stared with envy at a giant bandage on the face of a grocery store employee and told me she wouldn't be embarassed to have that because at least then she'd have a "real injury".

The fire captain pulls me aside while they examine her. Tells me they want to transport her to a trauma center as a precaution. That she has some signs of concussion. I am staring at him in disbelief. He keeps asking if I have any questions. I shake my head dumbly. What can I ask? My only questions are, is this really happening? What the fuck is happening? What happened? Is she really hurt? He doesn't have answers for any of these questions. I turn around and they have put her on a stretcher. I burst into tears. The cheer coach hugs me. I ask if I can ride in the ambulance. They tell me I can ride in front. I call her dad, crying, telling him he needs to come to the hospital, he needs to pick up J, who is alone at the house.

On the way to the hospital I keep watch through the tiny windown that looks in on the back of the ambulance. I can see them turn the stretcher on its side as she vomits violently. The paramedic looks back to me and tells me she had another seizure. He asks if she has a history of seizures. I tell him no. I text her dad and tell him to hurry, that she's having seizures. I can hear the medics in the back shouting her name. "K! K, can you hear me? K, answer me. K. K! K?" Panic grows in my belly.

When we arrive at the hospital I jump out and walk around to the back. I'm greeted by a security guard with a dog. He shows me the way inside. I stop to wait for the stretcher, to wait for K, and he tells me I must walk on, that I need to wait in the lobby. Again I burst into tears and tell him I need to go with her. He firmly says no, and escorts me out. I wail, "how will I know how she's doing??" I'm left alone in a hallway. Crying. Someone tells me there are others in the lobby for K. They show me out and I'm embraced by K's friend and the cheer coach. I'm sobbing, wracking hysterical sobs.

We sit. We wait. A social worker introduces herself. Tells us she will take us to a private room so the doctor can talk to me. I'm hysterical with suspicion. Just tell me here, I say. She says this is standard, she assures me its normal, that there's nothing wrong. We go back. We sit. We wait. Her father arrives with my J. We wait. The doctor finally arrives. He says she's had at least four more seizures and that she's been sedated and intubated. I balk at him and stifle a moan. What is happening? He needs to know exactly what happened. The VERY IMPORTANT CHEER COACH begins to explain, tells a 20-minute version, says she seemed fine after the accident. I insist that she wasn't fine, that she was incoherent, that she couldn't answer basic questions. He leaves again. We sit. We wait. I go to the hallway and try to call my sister, who always is a presence of calm, who will have rational things to say. I want to throw my phone against the wall in frustration that I can't get a signal. She doesn't answer anyway. Its the middle of the night.

We sit. We wait.

#3

I was in a bubble. A glass case. Watching a TV show. A scene from an ER. A young blonde girl has been wheeled in from an ambulance, unconscious, intubated, bruised, in a stiff neck brace and on a board. Her naked body covered under a thin sheet. Twenty people in yellow gowns and masks surround the body, shouting orders and taking commands. It was a well choreographed dance I watched. Each person completing his own task in well coordinated chaos. Poking. Prodding. Measuring, x-raying. As one they rolled the body to its side, her naked backside exposed. At other times the sheet shifts, exposing her breasts. Such violation I witness. Such arbitrary loss of dignity. It breaks my heart for her.

I stand silently off to the side, my dull tear-stained eyes staring, taking it all in. Mumbling something of seeming importance occasionally to the social worker at my side, who alerts the doctors that it might have been a medication administered at the last hospital, that she was still having seizures until right before we left, that she was hit in the head but didn't lose consciousness, that she has no history of seizures.

Eventually her father arrives and joins the solitary audience. After awhile she is wheeled through the hospital to ICU where the yellow coats settle her in, then begin to disburse. Her body tremors (not seizures?) and she is tucked under a blanket. Her dad and I settle on the couch to continue our vigil. It hurts to look at her. It hurts to talk to her, wondering if somewhere in there she can hear me. It seems lately everything I say annoys her, and I'm so very self-conscious of everthing I say, hoping to bring comfort and not annoyance. I stroke her arm and forehead, somewhat reluctantly, knowing that if she were awake I would not be allowed this luxury. Wondering if in her head she's willing me to remove my hands from her. I've lost confidence in my ability to mother her, to bring comfort. God, when did that happen?