In August of 2012, I got very ill. I thought it was a simple recurrence of a digestive issue I had struggled with for years. Actually, it was. The problem was for over two decades, it was misdiagnosed as IBS, when actually what it was was chronic appendicitis. This time it had finally burst, thanks in part to an inexperienced, overly cocky Emerg doctor who shrugged and told me to follow up with my family doctor, later. Then he released me to go home to brew up a shit storm (if you’ll pardon the expression) of deadly bacteria.
Five days later, my then-partner (now wife) burst into tears and told me she was frightened for my life. I wasn’t eating, drinking and was barely able to get out of bed. Her tears were the only thing to get through to my foggy brain and I agreed to see my own doctor. My doctor sent me immediately to Mount Sinai Hospital, where I would spend the next 16 days–some of that period fighting for my life.
I had four abscesses, a blocked intestine, pools of infection in my abdomen, peritonitis and the scary bit–sepsis–a potentially life threatening complication. I remember some of the dialogue in my head that night, before the surgery. “But I can’t die…I still have my novel to write. What if I have waited too long and I didn’t do it and now I am just going to die?” There were parts of that day I felt so sick, I actually didn’t care if I died. But this voice in my head reminded me of my partner and that she really needed me to stay.
When I awoke from the surgery, I remember thanking my surgeon for saving my life. She said, “We’re still trying to do that, Kari.” Between the morphine hallucinations, feeling like I had been hit by a Mack Truck, struggling with a deep, almost indescribable fatigue, the inability to eat or drink and an incision that decided not to close, I remembered the value of life and purpose.
I had months of painfully slow recuperation, where sometimes I didn’t feel particularly positive. But during that sometimes dark, lonely period I also realized what mattered. Love. Life. Authenticity. Creativity. I wanted to write. About things that mattered. Still, somehow I managed to get lost in all the “how am I going to support myself, so that I can do this?” kind of stuff. In many ways I have yet to find the answer, but I can’t continue to be caught up in that creativity-killing mindset. I can’t give in to my previous fears. Not anymore. I am not dying with an unfinished first novel inside me, if I can help it.
I have promised a talented, writerly friend that I will follow her hunch and write everyday for the next three months. I promised another entrepreneurial, rather high-achieving friend, that I will start a blog and throw down the Cloak of Invisibility.
This seemed like an appropriate image and thought for today. Thanks Anna Taylor.
And off we go…so mote it be…
Kari
opening the shutters 