Life is not random. We are still here because we are supposed to be here. That realisation came to life for me, on the 14th of November this year when I received a call that constipated my mind.
I wish there was an app that could screen calls based on the kind of conversation the caller wanted to have. A sort of preamble to invite you to take a seat if it was bad news or remain standing if it wasn’t.
So when my husband called me that afternoon and said, “Susan I am coming for you. They found something on your scan,” a chill washed over me. It started at the back of my neck and crept down my body like an invisible hand. I was alone in the house and the first thought that came to mind was, ‘What was the last thing I said to my children this morning?’ I couldn’t remember. And it stung that I couldn’t recall.
I had last seen my Irish twins that morning as I left the house to have the scan done. They were seated on the couch watching TV and were focused on whatever it is they were seeing. They barely noticed that I was leaving. So I slipped away not wanting to distract them from their hypnotic state. No need for long overdrawn good-byes with tears and promises of lollipops. ‘I should have hugged them,’ I kept thinking over and over.
When you are diagnosed with a condition that took your mum in law and best friend to the next room, it hits different. A condition so acute and life threatening, it is usually discovered posthumous. “Are you saying what I think you are saying?” I asked him my mind recoiling.
“Yes. You have a pulmonary embolism.” His words threw me, knocked me on the ground and kicked me around. The pain in my chest — that made me go for the scan in the first place — became worse. I panicked. His tone however remained calm, his breathing steady as he talked me down off the ledge. He became my emotional morphine.
The fact that I am penning this article means I did not go into the next room. It was caught and managed early. And the only reason I believe I am still here is because on that day, God said, “No.”
Since then I have been thinking a lot about life and its meaning. A lot about death too. And I am not going to write a long speech about hugging your children more or telling your friends and family that you love them. We should. But that’s not the gist of todays post.
Today, I simply want to say thank you.
This year I started this blog with an article about myself. About a time in my life when I stood on shaky ground and did not know which way to turn. At that time I was dipping my toe in the world of writing and didn’t know what to expect. I figured if I wrote in small chunks every other day and put up a post each week then maybe something would come out of it. And it did.
First one, then two and now hundreds of people started to read and follow the articles. And slowly I began to look forward to writing. It became a companion I didn’t know I had; an outflow of words I never believed I could birth.
It has not been easy. There are days I have been sick, days I have been physically and emotionally weak. There are days I have disappointed friends and family. Days I have been disappointed. A week would come and I would have every reason not to put up an article. Once, I was in so much pain, I couldn’t sit up to type.
But somehow I kept finding myself drawn by the promise I made to myself to deliver no matter what. And I believe that because I honoured my part, God carried me through.
It has not all been gloom and doom. In this same year of pain and loss, I have experienced unexpected victory. I have met and written about strangers and gone to the depths of emotions with friends.
And just recently, I graduated with my Masters degree in Obstetrics and Gynecology.
It’s been a tough year for every living thing this side of the universe. No one can claim not to have been affected directly or indirectly by this pandemic. So thank you to the people who have honoured me by allowing me to tell their stories, those who have cheered me on week after week, commented, followed, subscribed and encouraged me.
Life is for the living. Follow your dreams a step at a time. Because you are still here.
A pulmonary embolism is a clot found in the arteries in your lungs. I have done several stories on it here:
https://www.medroomeyes.com/post/an-intrusion-on-new-year-s-eve https://www.medroomeyes.com/post/ticking-time-bomb.
Taking a break. See you Next year in January God willing.