Little Things

Yesterday was my two-week post-op appointment.  I drove because I'm not capable of biking too far yet.  Unfortunately, the parking garage was shut down due to to construction and I landed in the midst of a huge snarl of cars, delivery vehicles, bikes, workers, and out-lying overflow parking.  The frustration began to rise; I was going to be late.  I hate being late.  "Calm down," I told myself.  "The staff knows this is going on, they won't hold it against you."

I wove my way through the overflow parking, dodged past the smokers gathered in the no smoking area immediately outside the hospital doors, and trucked it through the hallways as quickly as I could.  The receptionist at the poli chirurgie (surgery desk) greeted me with a large smile and a commiseration about the parking situation.  My breathing began to normalize and I gave myself a mini-lecture along the lines of "you really need to calm down about little things like parking delays and be happy that you're doing well and this appointment will lift restrictions and you can move on with life".  The receptionist looked up, frowning, and informed me that someone had called and cancelled my appointment.

Me at Christmastime after my sixth surgery, trying to smile for the girls

and be happy so they wouldn't worry about how poorly I was doing.

Obviously, I didn't quite pull it off.

That was all it took; the shaking started.  I countered that I certainly hadn't called and cancelled the appointment, the receptionist insisted that I must have, I asserted that NO, I certainly had NOT and YES I needed to be seen TODAY and not in another two weeks at my four-week post-op appointment (which mysteriously was still on the books).  We went back and forth for a few minutes, both insistent, and then she sighed and told me to have a seat and she'd ask a doctor what he/she thought should be done.

Collapsing in the nearest chair, I leaned forward so the tears which had begun to stream down my face would be less noticeable.   Too late.  After I wiped my eyes with a tissue, commanding myself to breathe slowly, I looked up to find several people gawping at me.  One woman had an expression of muted horror on her face; only one man, an elderly gentleman, gave me a small smile of sympathy.

Welcome to the world of PTSD.  It was months after my first surgery (the one which saved my life and then almost killed me again) before I could enter the hospital back in Kingston without suffering a full-blown panic attack; years before I could enter without having to do deep-breathing exercises.  Such a little thing, a clerical mistake with an appointment, but because it is linked to such big, complicated things -- illness, fear, pain, death -- it opens the door to a terror which is, much of the time, hidden deep within me.

In the afternoon -- having been seen by a sympathetic surgeon who proclaimed me doing well and lifted the post-op restrictions -- I took Bubba to the dog park.  The sky was blue with great, blustery clouds tossing across and there was a brisk wind up on the hill; it was glorious to walk around, pet the dogs, gaze at the flowers and the city in the background.  Bubba bounded off through the long grasses; half the time all I could see was his tail bouncing along.  The wind blew harder, whistling in my ears, and a black streak rushed past me, then turned and came back for a pat and a snoepje (dog treat).

Bubba

We rounded the far side of the hill and came out on the top of the plateau.  A pack of dogs was happily rolling around and Bubba raced off to join them.  The pack took off: running, jumping, rolling, wrestling, running again; it was a great mess of quivering canine happiness at being out in the sun, playing.  I broke out into loud laughter at the delight of it all.

Such a little thing, a bunch of dogs playing, but because it is linked to nothing complicated or hard -- because it is such a little, simple, wonderful thing -- it took my breath away with the sheer joy of it.

The other dog owners nearby turned to look at me, every single one of them smiling, and then we all stood and watched our dogs and laughed, long and hard, until the tears came to our eyes.

What little thing brings you joy no matter what else is going on?