At 38, I thought that I was preparing for a new life where I taught writing, particularly creative writing and that my late-hubby would retire and play.
My entire life changed at 41. I ended up in a German hospital for almost five weeks, which I almost didn’t survive.
All of my dreams were ripped apart. His, too.
It took me two years to finally train my brain enough to write again.
I had worked my entire life since I was sixteen and the thought of staying out of the workforce was a foreign concept to me.
I did try to work when I started to feel better at the end of that second year. Because I was in close quarters with other people, I got sick again and was told that if I worked in that environment I wouldn’t survive very long.
This is my past. Why I mention these experiences is that I recently talked to my nephrologist about having more energy. She is just over five feet with a name like Dr. Fang. You’d be right in thinking she is Asian. I am respectful of her because she has kept my kidneys function these last three years. That is no mean feat.
So when I asked about more energy, she laughed. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but you have more energy now than most. It just gets worse from here.”
I started to think of all the things I have been able to do and what I have done since my illness. If I keep up this pace, I will do more than I did as a young woman. Oh yes, I traveled to South Africa, Japan, Panama, and Germany. I lived in Florida for a short while. I met some great people and some not so great people. It was the usual. In those days while I was having adventures, ironically I wanted to write stories.
So the past has come and gone. But it is the past that reminds me that every moment I write and every moment I breathe is precious.
I have less guarantees for a healthy life than most. It doesn’t mean I should curl up and die. I won’t.