…and how was your week?

Laryngitis and the vomiting bug for me. Add in a splash of croup and another bug for my six year old and you get the idea of the last eight days.

I told my doctor, a man who is generally upbeat. He paused and just said ‘Fuck’. Brilliant.

I had no voice. I had a painful high pitched squeaking cough, that changed to a deep growl when I threw up. I couldn’t call for help. I had to bang on the wall and hope my partner heard me.

My chest hurt from the racking cough. Micheál told a joke and the laugh hurt so much I cried and then rocked and held my head from the pain of the headache.

My physiotherapist laughed when I answered the phone with a whisper to cancel my appointment. I’m not sure if she knew what was going on. A woman just whispering down the line at her. Ludicrous. It helped. Perspective shift.

I began to feel a little bit more human.

I’m sick of telling people I’m sick. Sick of ‘learning what I need to learn’ when life isn’t going the way I want.

I told a friend. She sent me a voice message verbalizing how I was feeling. ‘Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. That IS poxy!’ Yes. Poxy. A perfect word.

Another friend. ‘Boo!…. that’s rubbish!’

My friends know better than to say ‘You poor thing! Poor you!”

Yesterday we checked in again.

Me – covid free and now have steroids and painkillers to combat the symptoms.

Her – …Good news/bad news! Pulled a muscle in her back turning in bed, sadly not a euphemism. Also, soooo excited about first overseas visitors coming soon whoop whoop!!

I countered with the news that I was going ahead with planting at my kids school and had two volunteer parents on board to help. I’ve been clearing the inner courtyard for the last month and now it’s time for the fun stuff, planting. It changed my thinking to have the good and bad balance.

My fuckity fuck fuck fuck friend sent chocolate and stickers today, my favorite of which is ‘Good enough is really fucking good.’ – Brené Brown

Now into today:

Last night my six year old was up from 2:30am. I was up with him. I have some energy, most likely driven by the steroids and determination inspired by a newsletter from Ijeoma Oluo, titled ‘There’s never a good time to write’ (NYT best-selling author of So You Want To Talk About Race (2018) & MEDIOCRE (2020). Intersectional anti-racist). The tip that most struck me was ‘Five minutes of writing is better than no writing.’

Today some of the planting is done. Help from two other mothers, the short time frame, and the fact that I had enough energy for that one hour meant that it was possible. There’ll be something really good to see in Spring.

I’m re-emerging…. again.

So I write, to you, and for me, as I begin again. It’s never easy.

There’s never a good time.

Show up if you can, and begin, even for five minutes.

…… and how was your week?