Papa November

I had my first chance to be the cool headed one in an emergency the other day. So far, I’ve been the cause of most of our family emergencies and Michelle has been the calm everything-will-be-fine handler of said emergency. While I yell things like “Screw the tollbooth! Keep driving! Aaaargh! Isn’t there a closer hospital? Faster! AAAHHHH!” Michelle calmly pays the tollbooth operator and takes us straight to the hospital in an amazing zen-like state that makes me look like I’m possibly rabid and also a total sissy.

Michelle is also the master of the slow burn crisis. In the 30 days between being told that I needed heart surgery and the actual surgery I never saw her lose her cool once. She constantly reassured me that everything would be fine, that open heart surgery and dual valve replacement were no big deal, and wasn’t this so much better than having surgery when I was old and couldn’t recover as quickly and completely as I was about to? She almost made it feel like a treat or at least a priveledge to be slowly dying. I meanwhile gave her instructions on which of my belongings went to which friend or family member and requested mariachis at my funeral. (it didn’t help my attitude that the hospital sent pre-surgery instructions that included updating my will) So this past weekend came as a big shock to all of us when I found myself in the position of comforting my hurt son and calming my about to pass out wife all while not swearing or screaming “aaarg!” even once.

We were given a kitten last week and Grant was engaged in his new favorite game called “chase the kitten for 6 hours straight” when he slipped at the base of the stairs and smacked his lip on a wooden step . He bit into the inside of his lower lip and gashed the outside pretty badly. Michelle was fine until he opened his mouth to cry and blood came out. Then she turned white, got dizzy, and was commanded by her newly calm and in command husband to sit down before I had two people to take to the hospital. She sat on the floor next to the stove while I assesed the damage and pressed a clean rag to his lip.

After about 4 hours in the ER Grant was brought in to get stitches. He fought the doctor like a tiny lion. I found myself oddly proud and annoyed at the same time. They actually had to sedate him. As he was waking up he just kept repeating nonsense sounds and staring at the lights. Then he told me “Papa….this room sure is wobbly”. As we left the hospital he told me the hall was wobbly. In the car on the way home he said “this car is wobbly too. This is a wobbly day!” and fell asleep. When he was getting the stitches out a few days later Michelle overheard him telling a little girl that they had to remove his kitty whiskers.

I’ve found the secret to remaining calm in an emergency; have no other options. If I had had the option of running from the bloody scene, hiding in a drainage ditch covered in leaves and moaning until the situation was over and Michelle brought back my patched up son I just might have. Maybe zen is just another way of saying “what else am I going to do?”