Sometimes good health feels like magic. Lately more than ever. I’ve had a number of friends and family diagnosed with serious medical problems and medical set-backs in the last few weeks. Like patients that I have been fortunate enough to care for with serious illness, it scares me, makes me sad, sometimes wakes me up at night. These episodes in illness are disorienting to the order of things. These diagnoses, uncertainties and realities are especially weighty this month amidst bags of gifts, holiday music, lit trees, and piped-in joy. Fear amidst cheer. Ultimately, these diagnoses and fears feel really real and make the rest of life blur. I suppose I just feel more angular, vulnerable and then compassionate right now. Ever-aware of the good health that surrounds me, too. Perspective defined.
When I was getting my tooth drilled on Monday (horrifying, really, having someone drill your tooth, yes?) I didn’t even really flinch. Even though I am absurdly scared of the dentist. See, this new found perspective of feeling healthy, lucky, fortunate amidst some who aren’t, is clarifying. The zoom-out, zoom-in of life. When we see and know clearly how absolutely good it is to feel well.
But then, there has been some magic, too. In early November just after we moved, F fell and cut up his hand. I wrote about our experience of moving and going to the ER. But take a look at that photo above. Just 6 weeks or so and F’s hand is all together, functional, beautiful. Skin healing is–magic.
And then more magic. I don’t know what happened, which stars crossed or how the winds blew in the right direction. But they did. O started to walk. Took about 6 steps toward me one night while on vacation last week. Then did it again. And again. By the end of the evening, he was covered in sweat like a professional boxer. He was battling his milestone and winning. Gowned in pride, crossing the room. Magic. My favorite milestone, I have no idea why, happened again. My little baby turned big boy and walked across the room.
Then, magic again. Thrice! F wore underwear for the first time. You know how pediatricians often talk about toilet training happening somewhere between age 2 and 3 years? Well, F has blown past those dates. Imagine him running and looking back over his shoulder at 3, laughing. But on the very day this past week that O started to walk, F donned his underwear, inspired by his older cousin.
Walking and underwear, healing and skin. Magic.
Now cross your toes that my friend with her newly diagnosed cancer, my two family members who have spent too much time at the doctor, and all those lovely, brave people out there who are hurting, find some magic, too. I’m now waving my wand. Join me.