Between the Worlds

Well, this is a new record. Three months without posting. It's no wonder my brain feels as though it's about to explode.

In synopsis, I broke my arm. Got it fixed. Had the cast removed. Am recuperating well. Note to self: Polyurethane wheels - old school - next time trying on roller skates. Duly noted.

After spending two months in the "fast track" section of the ER, it is altogether stimulating, infuriating, stressful, educational, sad, gross, inspirational, and illuminating to be back in the main department. In other words: situation normal. I once wrote a poem that included the phrase "snap like sternum." After a recent 16-hour shift, which included two virtually dead people within an hour, I have a new understanding of that phrase. 'Nough said.

I've moved into a home which is coming along much more slowly than I'd like, but is proving to be every ounce of the comfort I've been looking for. It's a labor of love, but it's so amazing to simply weed the garden, light a fire, sit in the hammock on the back deck and watch the stars move across the sky. Simple pleasures are everything these days.

I lost a friend several days ago, one who had fought sarcoidosis (a lung disease which essentially turns the lungs into fibrotic masses, not conducive to the exchange of oxygen, which is, as it turns out, pretty goddamn important). As the case would be, lung transplants aren't quite the efficient procedure for one whose lungs have turned into calcified masses. So it seems the bitch of attempting to survive becomes the impetus for a quick death. Congratulations! You've got new lungs. Bad news? Everything else got fucked in the process. Still reeling from the irony of it all, refusing to delete his phone number from my list of contacts on my cell phone. Still stubbornly hoping to see his name on the greaseboard at work, hoping he'll come in with a mild exacerbation of breathlessness, all the while knowing it's over and he's gone. Still having a hard time accepting that, accepting the fact that I will never again bump into him in the main lobby when he's exiting physical therapy at the same time I'm coming in to work. He may have been okay with it, but I'm finding I'm not. At least, not as okay with it as I thought I was.

My daughter is entering 5th grade this year. New school building, lockers, boy crushes and all. I'm both excited for her transition into preteen-dom and horrified at the prospect of having her hate me within the year. It's all I can do just to show her as often as possible how much I love her. I fear I am doomed to repeat my past as an angst-ridden teenager, only now through the actions, emotions, and struggles of my little beanie burrito. History repeats itself. I pray to a god I don't believe in that her transition into adulthood won't be as tumultuous as mine was.

And I'm going to be a stepmother soon. This is completely foreign territory.

Everything is on the line, and yet there's a sense of peace in knowing that I'm heading into the future with someone who is unequivocally THERE. Which is another foreign concept.

Is it possible that things will turn out okay?

Is it possible that life and love have taught me enough to bear the burdens this transition implies? Without driving him crazy?

These are questions I deal with every day, questions every human being deals with every day. There really is not much difference between me and the homeless woman who shows up in the ER looking for help and a safe place to sleep.

The proof is in the pudding, and although it curdles from time to time, I find myself in a place that is safe, secure, loving, passionate, and warm.

How did this happen.