Friday, April 23, 2010

someone else's something

Yesterday I had a day.

It was if the me that's been missing for longer than I can remember quietly slipped back in and took charge. The efficient me. The me who doesn't waffle, procrastinate, angst, complain. The me who tackles a to-do list with calm and determination. I made appointments. Figured out the whole forwarding, masking, domain thing that needed to be re-worked since my laptop death—after Apple and Godaddy couldn't help, I worked it out on my own. I navigated the posting waters at BUST and got my first piece up, mailed out copies of FLOW to winners of a contest, dealt with missing PTA bylaws and an upcoming election with our DOE contact, finished and republished my three websites, sketched out two new guest post ideas, tackled a new mass email program and got a middle school weekly blast to families on time. Planned Jack's birthday party in 2 parts. Made it to yoga. To Iz's curriculum night. Through it all emailing, tweeting, returning phone calls, updating my complicated spring calendar.

Somewhere in the onslaught of emails (the BUST post got a good reaction), I got a message from my brother, asking if I'd help with his dialysis. I was about to head into a portable Star Lab at Iz's school—which turned out to be a cross between a bouncy castle and a giant silver igloo. You had to crawl through a tunnel to get inside and I spent at least 10 minutes of the show focused on breathing while my mind flirted with a panic attack. I did learn all about Draco the Dragon and the bear constellations though. As the faux stars traveled across the sky I quickly wrote back I'd do whatever he needed. End of story.

Later last night, after we got everyone to bed, and I had a chance to go through all the emails I'd only had a chance to skim earlier, I read his whole message. And then read it again. And again.



What had been an abstract topic of conversation over the past few months was now an imminent reality that I was going to be a part of. Which is fine. For the most part I'm good at medical things. I'm a great hospital guest and can chat and distract while machines are whirring and clicking. I can handle blood. Helping, supporting, taking care of people is what I spend much of my life already doing.

But now this is real. I was reading details of how dialysis works, where things will be set up in his apartment, what I'd need to do for training. Why he'd need me there, which basically is for support in case something's not going well.

I have to say shit again.

I float through life coping, dealing, juggling, feeling, fighting my fears that I'll have something profoundly big to deal with, hoping against hope the stuff I contend with will be minor in the scheme of things.

This is major. MAJOR.

I don't know that light-hearted banter is appropriate but I don't know that I know how to do anything else. Having said that, I'd do anything to help so if that doesn't work, I'll find a new way to be.

1 comment:

The Plush Gourmet said...

Ouch. Big One. But it is just like all the other Big Ones that you have already done. Sometimes lighthearted banter will carry the day and sometimes tears will need time to come out. My only advice? Always carry tissues. Hugs to you and brother.