Obviously, I am grateful to have an overnight kit during an emergency stay at the children’s hospital. I am grateful for the toothbrush, the toothpaste, and the 29 contact lenses.
29, though? Can I trade 27 of them in for some face cream?
It’s lovely to think that Tobias assumes I achieve this state of radiance through will alone. It is less lovely to look in the mirror after a night of cot-at-the-bedside hospital sleep to find that my eye cream is really, really effective but only if it is used.
Happy upcoming 40th birthday to meeeeeeeee!
Seriously, though, folks, Max almost died yesterday and it was sad, scary, and tiring. He had a prolonged episode of tachycardia so we went to the emergency room at the children’s hospital but the reversal agent didn’t work. They tried it again and again it didn’t work. The third time it did work, but between the first and the third time I went from calm, seasoned mother of a kid with a chronic condition to a person who’s watching her son die on the table in front of her. To the outside observer this just meant that I stopped cracking jokes but on the inside I was like GIN! Now I get it! Homelessness after coming home from a combat zone? OF COURSE because trifling bullshit is trifling. Who gives a shit about loan deadlines when you know what this kind of pain feels like.
Luckily, this sensation lasted only a moment and has since been treated with sleep, an afternoon of cheerful chatter from 4-year-old Frida, and some very good Chinese chicken soup. Also gin, but mixed with blackberries and selzer and at a very moderate dosage. No worries, friends, I’m as uptight about deadlines and social conventions as ever.