National Nutrition Month: Isn't it Ironic (Cue the Jagged Little Pill)
February was one big fucking cluster-fuck. There, I said it.
It started with the first shit storm of a regularly scheduled W-2 tax time party turning into a debt-wallowing surprise shower. Whereas we usually get a good nest egg each year, this year we apparently 'fell through the cracks' and managed to barely come out with enough money to buy a pizza or two.
The second perspective shift was a round of issues at work. Clients and heart-break, struggles and strife, stress and tears. After walking among the homeless and forgotten for so long, my soul was feeling heavy and depression was setting in; like a winter storm. I felt cold, like those around me were cold, like the world was turning into a big Game of Thrones Episode and I was just Sam. Good ol' Sam...
Then, as I put my notice in for returning home to stay with the kids and work part-time while pursuing my doctorate... my five year old fell ill. A scary three days of fighting a fever turned into a rushed hospital visit, late into the night... visions and nightmares smearing by. He stayed in the hospital for almost six days and was released with a slurp of meds to bring home. It was scary, but we seemed to be ahead of things. We filed our sorry taxes, I cleaned the apartment we wished would become a house and then... something terrible happened.
Brandon had a heart attack. It was my half-birthday, Stellan was just finishing his antibiotics and I get a strange call on the way to work.
"Excuse me, are you the wife of a Brandon Soderlund?"
My heart sank.
It sank.
I swallowed hard.
As a case manager, having worked in trauma, I knew this clinical tone of voice. She asked me if I was somewhere safe and if anyone was with me. I started to freak out.
I couldn't pull over and I explained I was driving away from the cities, towards work and did I need to pull around immediately. She explained my husband was in the ER triage and was rolled in with severe chest pains; he's having a heart attach mam, get here safely but as soon as you can.
I pulled off at the exit just a mile from my work.
The knob of the gasoline lever was heavy and cold.
My card worked, I punched my zip code and I could feel tears rolling down my cheeks.
I could hear the loud noise of the full tank.
I put everything back where it was supposed to go. Cranked the lever closed.
I walked inside the station to an empty, small space.
I needed a donut (I was going to take an Attivan, please God say my PRN meds I swore off last year are somewhere in the car...) I need a donut to wash it down.
When the man asked me about my day, I started to cry. I broke down right there in the middle of the HP Gas station.
Ugly crying, searching for chocolate, scrambling for my wallet, wiping my tears, breaking to feel shame for my inability to drive towards my husband RIGHT NOW. Panic was setting in and my anxiety was real.
The man came around the counter and hugged me - he asked me what was going on and I spurted out, "my husband is having a heart attack and I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do?"
He gave me a big bear hug and advised me to get on the nearest exit on the right, just outside, and go until I saw the hospital sign. I couldn't miss it - it would all be fine - drive safe and take this, he explained all this while handing over a piping hot cocoa and a bag of chocolate.
"This is on the house, get going, I'll say a prayer for you!"
I insisted I pay as I fumbled through my wallet, crying and sobbing...
He gently opened the door and helped me to my car, where I sat for a few minutes to compose myself. With a big breath, I pulled myself together and put the car in cruise control on the highway just 5 mph over the speed limit.
The entire night, night(s), week was a blur. Brandon finally came home with a good prognosis and in the wake of it all, we're just doing follow-ups. It blows by and passes like a storm. The rush of calls, the hard-to swallow texts from family, the beeping in the background, the smell of the hospital, the empty bed....
Now it's all back to normal.
Thing is, there's no going back.
Changing for the better. From the inside out.
Shit just got real.
It started with the first shit storm of a regularly scheduled W-2 tax time party turning into a debt-wallowing surprise shower. Whereas we usually get a good nest egg each year, this year we apparently 'fell through the cracks' and managed to barely come out with enough money to buy a pizza or two.
 |
| Red in the morning is a sailor's warning. |
The second perspective shift was a round of issues at work. Clients and heart-break, struggles and strife, stress and tears. After walking among the homeless and forgotten for so long, my soul was feeling heavy and depression was setting in; like a winter storm. I felt cold, like those around me were cold, like the world was turning into a big Game of Thrones Episode and I was just Sam. Good ol' Sam...
Then, as I put my notice in for returning home to stay with the kids and work part-time while pursuing my doctorate... my five year old fell ill. A scary three days of fighting a fever turned into a rushed hospital visit, late into the night... visions and nightmares smearing by. He stayed in the hospital for almost six days and was released with a slurp of meds to bring home. It was scary, but we seemed to be ahead of things. We filed our sorry taxes, I cleaned the apartment we wished would become a house and then... something terrible happened.
Brandon had a heart attack. It was my half-birthday, Stellan was just finishing his antibiotics and I get a strange call on the way to work.
"Excuse me, are you the wife of a Brandon Soderlund?"
My heart sank.
It sank.
I swallowed hard.
As a case manager, having worked in trauma, I knew this clinical tone of voice. She asked me if I was somewhere safe and if anyone was with me. I started to freak out.
I couldn't pull over and I explained I was driving away from the cities, towards work and did I need to pull around immediately. She explained my husband was in the ER triage and was rolled in with severe chest pains; he's having a heart attach mam, get here safely but as soon as you can.
I pulled off at the exit just a mile from my work.
The knob of the gasoline lever was heavy and cold.
My card worked, I punched my zip code and I could feel tears rolling down my cheeks.
I could hear the loud noise of the full tank.
I put everything back where it was supposed to go. Cranked the lever closed.
I walked inside the station to an empty, small space.
I needed a donut (I was going to take an Attivan, please God say my PRN meds I swore off last year are somewhere in the car...) I need a donut to wash it down.
When the man asked me about my day, I started to cry. I broke down right there in the middle of the HP Gas station.
Ugly crying, searching for chocolate, scrambling for my wallet, wiping my tears, breaking to feel shame for my inability to drive towards my husband RIGHT NOW. Panic was setting in and my anxiety was real.
The man came around the counter and hugged me - he asked me what was going on and I spurted out, "my husband is having a heart attack and I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do?"
He gave me a big bear hug and advised me to get on the nearest exit on the right, just outside, and go until I saw the hospital sign. I couldn't miss it - it would all be fine - drive safe and take this, he explained all this while handing over a piping hot cocoa and a bag of chocolate.
"This is on the house, get going, I'll say a prayer for you!"
I insisted I pay as I fumbled through my wallet, crying and sobbing...
He gently opened the door and helped me to my car, where I sat for a few minutes to compose myself. With a big breath, I pulled myself together and put the car in cruise control on the highway just 5 mph over the speed limit.
The entire night, night(s), week was a blur. Brandon finally came home with a good prognosis and in the wake of it all, we're just doing follow-ups. It blows by and passes like a storm. The rush of calls, the hard-to swallow texts from family, the beeping in the background, the smell of the hospital, the empty bed....
Now it's all back to normal.
Changing for the better. From the inside out.
Shit just got real.
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