Friday I went to the doctor and ended up in the hospital. Two things I hate the most. Apparently I passed out on the sidewalk (just “this close” to leaving the dreaded, but ever so helpful, doctor) and woke up with nurses holding me, an ambulance on the way, and a friend talking to whoever was holding my feet. “Tell us your name.” I tried to get the words out but couldn’t. Finally, with much effort, “Lee” from a long distance away but I finally said it. My friend helped them with the rest as the sirens got closer. (I very much dislike ambulances, more then the other two listed above; so Friday was not a banner day.)
They moved me onto a gurney, though I can only tell you this from what my friend filled me in on. Asked me tons of questions as they stuck needles in me. I woke up in the ER with needles all over me and bags hanging. No George Clooney though. Darn the luck.
Long and short, my boyfriend came from NY to take care of me bringing me five more books to add to my already bursting library. (God love him!) I am laying in bed with arms draped over my keyboard wanting so much to grab my journal of writing but cannot twist to get it. (My boyfriend had to catch a plane home as of yesterday.) And one of my dear friends is sick herself from staying with me every second in the hospital and walking through the rain in the dark and cold. (I am so grateful for the friends I have. They are a testament to the good in humans.)
But I am writing nonetheless. Why? Because I have to. It is what I do. I’m not much of a t.v. person and I must write. There are no excuses for me. But I am hard on myself and crack the whip. Not so with others. When people share things with me, I try to see it from their vantage point. What is keeping you from writing? Tell me and we will work on it together. What is your biggest hurdle? Let’s talk.