Two weeks ago I was pumped. I had tweaked the outline on my teen novel, and had concocted a six-hour a day writing schedule, albeit a tad aggressive considering that I work. Anyway, I was off and running. I wrote and I wrote and I wrote, determined to get to the finish line. For the first ten days I was so motivated my heart pumped a zillion miles an hour. I didn’t waiver from the track. I could almost touch the finish line, and then BAM.
Last Wednesday night my fingers got knocked off the keyboard. Life had thrown me a curve ball. I found myself rushing my wonderful husband up to the emergency room with chest pains. I dropped him off, (I thought he was well enough to check-in), parked the car and took a deep breath. Ah, a piece of cake, we’ll be home by midnight. I need a night off from writing anyway.
No such luck. After zipping back and forth to visit my hubby at the hospital who was hooked up to a heart monitor, and where tangled wires hung from suction cups that gripped his chest hairs, and where the stench of death lurked around every corner, I couldn’t write even I wanted to. By now I was so far off the beaten track I couldn’t see straight. Not to mention I sat by the phone waiting for a report from the hospital to let me know if…
Ring— I stared in disbelief at the call display window. Danny boy’s name (that’s what I call my hubby) popped up.
A shaky finger pressed the answer button. “Hello,” I said with trepidation worming its way up my throat.
“When are you picking me up?” he asked like he’d just finished work.
“Pick you up? B-but, you just had a heart procedure done.”
“I’m good to go.”
“Be there in thirty minutes. Danny?”
“I love you and I’m so glad you’re alive.”
My writing is an exhilarating release, but when someone you love is at death’s door, it sure puts a whole new spin on what’s really important.
So much for schedules.
Has life thrown you a curve ball lately?