Goodness, it’s been a while since I’ve posted here, hasn’t it?
It’s not like there’s been a lack of knitting in my life, or other fiber-related pursuits. There’s a certain brand of perfectionism that I keep succumbing to: if you can’t do something absolutely perfectly, you don’t do it at all. Quickie blog posts, that don’t do justice to the hours and hours of knitting that they reflect, just don’t seem to happen… which is ridiculous, if you think about it, given how frequently I post to Twitter!
Anyway, I’ve been thinking. The whole reason I’m writing this blog is not really because of the knitting — the knitting itself will happen whether I write about it or not. It’s because of the good friends I’ve developed in the knitting world and beyond.
And, although it’s the American Thanksgiving this week, and we Canadians have long since celebrated ours, I’m thinking a lot about gratitude, particularly in connection to those great friends.
Case in point: this past weekend.
Mr. Bee had come down with a GI flu the previous Monday, with lots of unpleasantness that I won’t inflict on my handful of readers — if there are any left at all! He had gone to the clinic on Wednesday, and was told there that, yes, he had a GI bug, and yes, he was doing the right things for it, drinking plenty of fluids, eating simple things, and washing his hands obsessively. The doc told him to stay home on Thursday, and go back to work Friday if he was feeling better. Mr. Bee thought he was recovering enough, so he went back to work as planned, and even worked from home on Thursday, to prove to his boss that he was really committed to the job. (He’s working on contract, but hoping to be hired on permanently…)
Well, his boss wasn’t impressed with his attendance this month — given that we’d both had H1N1 or something incredibly like it, just two weeks earlier. She came down pretty hard on him, and said it would take “a lot” to convince the management that he should be hired permanently, even though he is so good at the work he does.
Mr. Bee was pretty much crushed by this. He’s been counting on the permanent salary to kick-start the next steps of our lives — the eventual house, and dog, and (I think, in his mind) the 2.4 children and the minivan and the 6 am hockey practices and the whole deal.
I tweeted that he was having a bad day, and immediately had friends inquiring after him, after me, and asking what they could do. He came out to the pub on Thursday night, for knit night, to get out of the house and try to cheer himself up, but ended up fleeing for fear of breaking down.
That’s when Suzanne stepped in, and not only drove me home to rejoin him, but came in and gave him exactly the kind of big-sister pep talk/shoulder to cry on that he needed. Sometimes, hearing things from me or from his parents just doesn’t do it, you know? He needs (don’t we all!) to hear reassurance and encouragement from an outside source, and Suzanne struck just the right notes…
Fast-forward to Saturday. Lindsey and her husband were heading out of town for the weekend, and had invited us to dog-sit their lovely Samoyed, Melody. Mr. Bee and I showed up Saturday morning, knowing that he was still on the mend, but very much looking forward to a weekend of relaxing and playing with the dog.
The freedom to relax in their house, with the dog, was wonderful. So was sitting and chatting (and knitting, and playing Wii, and watching hockey) with Catt, who came over to join us for a couple of hours. Mr. Bee was still exhausted (see above photo for proof!) and bummed about the work situation, but Saturday was a little oasis of relief in a rough week.
Unfortunately, Sunday wasn’t as good as Saturday. By 2 am, Mr. Bee was in the throes of the worst GI symptoms yet, and utterly miserable. I called Telehealth, and the nurse advised him to go to the ER, so I started gathering everything we needed. I was just letting Melody outside — not knowing how long we’d be stuck waiting — when I heard a CRASH in the upstairs bathroom. Mr. Bee had passed out! And of course, bathroom doors open inwards, so he was blocking the door from opening, as he lay there. I managed to get a hand through the door, and shook him awake, then immediately called 911.
The paramedics took him to the hospital, and took tremendous care of him while we waited for an open bed in the ER. An hour or so after we arrived, he was in the washroom with another bout of nastiness, when my blood sugar dropped, FAST. (Not surprisingly, my insulin regime doesn’t take into account the stress and activity of this sort of panic, especially at 3 am!) By time he came out of the washroom, the paramedics had grabbed a wheelchair, plunked me into it (to get me off his stretcher, no doubt), and fed me glucose gel. One of them stayed with him, while the other wheeled me off to triage!
Although I came around pretty quickly, everyone was concerned enough that I ended up in the ER as a patient myself. The nurses arranged for us to be in the same “room”/curtain, so we didn’t have to be separated.
By about 6 am, I was tweeting on my blackberry, saying that we were in the ER. By 7 am, my sister in Japan had seen those tweets, thanks to the time difference, and had phoned my dad to alert him. By about 9:30 am, my mom had arrived at the hospital, there to support both of us. I can’t say what a huge relief it was to see her walking in!
Within a short while, as my friends started waking up and heading to their computers, I’d had so many concerned replies to those initial tweets. Suzanne, Johanna, Catt, and Lindsey all chastized me for not calling them immediately, and asked what they could do. (Need a drive? Need me to go feed Melody? Need groceries? Need hugs and company?)
Others, from all over, like Gina and Meredith in Waterloo, Teresa in Kitchener, Tara in Midland, Cathy in Ohio, Michele in North Carolina, Annie in St. Paul, Tiffany in Virginia, and Carolina and Lousia in England, had all jumped in to wish us well and express their concern.
That’s MINDBLOWING. The amount of care and concern had me almost in tears (though that might also have had something to do with exhaustion). I’ve never felt such a wide net of caring — my family are wonderful, as are Mr. Bee’s, and we have a select group of good friends here in town, but to have all of this care from all over the world… that’s a pretty incredible feeling.
That’s why I’m so grateful. THANK YOU to every last one of you. From me, and from Mr. Bee, too.
I also want to say that I hope we haven’t shared Mr. Bee’s virus with any of you over the last few days. We’ve been as careful as we could, but we didn’t realize until too late that he wasn’t recovering as he should have been… I’ll feel dreadful if we’ve made anyone else ill. You all deserve only wonderful, happy things, not virii.