Picture this: We’re driving back to the hospital for what seemed like the 800th time. The four of us were all kinda quiet, lost in our own thoughts. Mom was the first to admit she was in a low moment and asked someone to tell a joke.
A: I got one…it is a favorite of my grandma. Have you ever smelled moth balls?
A: How’d you get their little legs apart?
And thusly, the joke of the last two weeks was born.
Picture this: We’re all in the room with the doctors where they are telling us “it’s time.” Mom and I were literally holding each other up. Amber was taking notes with a hand so shaky you could almost hear it. The cowboy nurse was crying. Hard. Those of us that believe in Ja–hee–sus, were praying. Those that prefer to worship at the alter of Marlboro, Grey Goose, or Hershey were begging for salvation in their hands. Then the cellphone of the neurosurgeon of unidentifiable decent rings. It’s the noise you hear in a haunted house when you get to the most ghostly part. OOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH.
Awesome. The doc looked embarrassed and collectively, we all exhaled for the first time in 20 minutes.
Picture this: I’ve made it through the past two weeks which ended by being chased both figuratively and literally by a huge storm of black clouds. My best friend’s parents bring me home which is both comforting and exhausting. I unpack my bags so I don’t have to still smell hospital in the morning (seriously, when will the smell leave my nose???) and climb into bed knowing I’m not going to fall asleep until the anxiety passes. Then Noah, my dog, comes up by my face and gives me one little kiss on my nose. Then, he turns around and snuggles right up next to me doing his best to give me a little doggie hug. I’m asleep in four minutes.