about-face

i put a cautious toe in the water.

after my little weekly on-stage experience (no fun, anxiety-provoking, etc.) i popped up to the catheterization laboratory to get started.

i took care of the usual things. the cute little baby was tired and whiny, but could still be won over, giving me smiles as i examined her from head (even checked the insides of her eyelids) to toe (ankle pulses and femoral pulses too) and tickled her tummy somewhere in the middle. the parents were reasonably concerned and asked appropriate questions. baby came into the lab and fell asleep easily.

the rest of the day went smoothly and was fun. conversation amongst the staff was easy and jovial. as little things went right, i found that i was enjoying myself, and— what's this?— perhaps even happy.

yayyyyy. the catheter went where i wanted it to go. yayyyyy, hemodynamics were favorable for all the kids. yayyyyy, the vessel occluded perfectly.

we pulled sheaths and held pressure, and made conversation during the obligatory waiting period while attempting to achieve hemostasis. i definitely noticed the improvement in my mood to, well, cautious optimism.

and then somehow it came up, ever so casually. like the proverbial dagger, the subject of my greatest sorrow, however indirectly mentioned, cut directly through any illusion of happiness i could have sustained or that could have sustained me. immediately my spirits fell— splash!— into that lonely sea where i have dwelled, and once again weigh heavily around my neck.

fortunately, my thoughts shortly thereafter turned to cheesecake.

so fickle. so sensitive.

i wish i could just not care.

because if i could think about cheesecake all the time, i'd be much more likely to be happy more consistently.