Late Wednesday night last week, my mom called from her hotel room in Victoria, BC to tell me that an ambulance was coming to get her. She was in obvious pain, suffering from an RA flare. Knowing that a loved one is in pain, alone, scared and in another country is not an experiece I want to live too often. I've had some exposure to the medical system in Canada, and I knew that she was being well-cared for, but I still didn't sleep much more that night. On Thursday, I spent most of the day making phone calls; to work to tell them I'd be out (and to wonderful Adam, who cleared my schedule for me), to airlines to find a flight north, to her hotel to ask that her stuff be gathered up and stored safely until I arrived, to various family members to fill them in. I talked to my mom on the phone a couple of times over the course of the day, and while she was woozy from morphine, I could tell she was improving, and in good hands. In general I was pretty calm, focused on making plans, solving problems, things I'm good at. The panic only showed when I realized that I hadn't put my passport away after returning from India, and I had no idea where it was. I spent an hour tearing the house apart, on the verge of tears, before finding it in the pocket of the jacket I'd worn home from that trip.
On Friday, I caught a very early flight to Victoria, by way of Seattle. I used to be completely freaked out by the idea of traveling alone. I can't remember why now, or when exactly it changed, but I actually enjoyed this trip. I'd packed carefully, so that I could carry both of my bags on the plane, and felt light and self-contained. I read a magazine on one flight, knitted in the airport waiting for the next, found something to eat, made calls between flights. I'd planned ahead: I had the address of the hotel and knew I'd need to take a taxi from the airport, so I'd need Canadian cash. I had printed a map from the hotel to the hospital, so when I picked up my mom's car, I'd know where to go. The skills I practice at work every day serve me well in life, too. I'm good at thinking through the problem to the end and planning for the variables. I made it to my destination with a minimum of fuss.
The last time I was in a Canadian hospital was about 9 years ago. My ex-boyfriend and I had taken a motorcycle road trip to visit my grandparents on Vancouver Island for the occasion of my grandmother's birthday. We had already visited the grandparents, and were spending a couple of days in Victoria before catching a ferry back to Washington to head home. We were out on Mick's bike, checking out an apartment that was advertising an open house, and we had a freak, minor accident that caused Mick to land hard on his elbow and break one of the small bones at the joint. Luckily the accident happened in front of a house where an EMT lived, so he called an ambulance for us, and we were taken to emergency for Mick to get treated. What I remember most from that experience was being terrified. I didn't know how to deal with this situtation. I didn't know how to take care of myself, how to make decisions without Mick's input. I didn't know how to be, without Mick's input. That experience was a turning point for me, for that relationship, because I realized how dependant I had become, and I didn't want to be that person any more. In the intervening years, I have made myself over into a new person. I like the me I am now.
Walking into the hospital where my mom was this week was an entirely different experience. I was calm, confident. I knew what I was doing, and what I needed to do. I was not afraid. Mom was so glad to see me, too. I sat with her for a while, until her doctor came by. We talked about her test results and how she was feeling, and when she might be able to leave. I left the hospital for a little while, to get something to eat and to get some groceries for the hotel, since we were going to be there for a bit longer while she rested up for the trip home. I came back and waited while she was discharged, and we got dinner before settling back at the hotel for the night. I had made a cozy little nest for her to recuperate in.
It was about this time that I began to admit that I was coming down with the cold that Lisa had last week. This one is a lung cold, and Lisa had been coughing for days. The cold air of Victoria (not really quite spring yet up there, in contrast to the warm air I'd left in California) was making my lungs ache, and my head was fogging up. We spent a slow Saturday, Mom resting, me resting. Mom told me she'd decided she wanted to learn how to knit, and while she had me as captive, would I teach her? It rained most of the day. We drank tea, made a short trip out to a book store and a yarn store, and sat in a coffee shop in front of a picture window while I taught Mom how to cast on and knit. We came back to the hotel and watched BBC shows on the public-funded station and knitted. We drank more tea. I coughed. But I made a new knitter today.
I had re-arranged our flight reservations by phone so that we were on the same flights back home, and we packed up Sunday morning to leave. No denying the sick, now, I was in full throes of the cold, but Mom was feeling stronger. Armed with dayquil and cough drops, we headed to the airport. We had a long-ish layover in Seattle, and Mom knitted away on her scarf (she's a quick study). She learned the unexpected joy of knitting in public as knitter after knitter appeared and sat down next to us to start up conversation. We made it home in the early afternoon, and Lisa met us at the airport and ferried us home. I have a vague memory of eating dinner, after which I collapsed.
I called in sick on Monday, and barely left the couch. Sweet Meriko sent me a soup recipe, easy enough to be the next best thing to being made for me, and I did manage to make a batch for myself. It made it with a lot of garlic and it was wonderful.
I called in sick on Tuesday, too, though I did manage to work remotely for most of the day, catching up on email, checking in with my team, cleaning up a couple of messes that happened in my absence. The one phone conversation I had during the day was too much of a strain on my voice, and I wound up in a coughing fit in the middle of it. I'm feeling better, but I sound terrible. I was well enough on Tuesday night to make dinner for Lisa (simple dinner though it was), and made another batch of the soupy croutons for her. ("You never make bread for me!" she said on Monday night when she saw the remains of my Soupa-making on the counter).
I'm realizing, through the process of focus on making things this month, that I create in my life every day, whether it is "art" or not. This is what I do, I'm a creator. I take what is around me and make something new. Rearranged, reconfigured, added to, but made new and different by my influence. I like this about me.
