My 42nd Birthday

It was my birthday yesterday. I got sick.

I dropped Lilly off at her school, did my accounts. Every day, I look at how much I have to spend and how far I am in the hole. I am about 1200 in the hole this month. I had a bill from the university I wasn't expecting, and Elka had to get repaired.
"Next time, " Stavros says, "please to bring me the car for the roof before the rain storm!" $435. Brakes, windshield wipers, and roof. I was okay driving it without the wipers and brakes, but you gotta have the roof working in Little Dixie in October. It rains all the time.
I was doing pretty well until that bill. But, guess what! I had enough in savings to pay for it! It didn't go on a card--so I consider that a small victory.
I watch Lilly walk into the school--it's an old red brick building downtown. She's getting too thin. She has almost straight A's this quarter--the first time ever in her life. Hard classes, too. AP European history, Latin...but she just keeps losing weight. Every time I go back to school, Lilly falls apart in some way. It's this constant gnawing worry. No lightness possible. I watch her walk up the stairs, jeans hanging off her. Then I pullout into traffic. My parents wanted to take me to breakfast at Ernie's. I don't really have the time to go--I have to work on my research proposal and really need the time--but, I think. It's my birthday and having breakfast with my aging parents is more important in the universal scheme of things than going to the library and working on my research proposal.

As I pull into the left-hand turn lane, a pick-up truck turning right across the street from me by Senior Hall slams on its brakes, and a bicyclist goes down under the wheels. She hits her head on the bumper and sort of rolls and twists in a forward tumble onto the street.

"Shit," I think.

I start to get out of the car right there, but then think about all the other people in back of me. I drive over instead, pulling onto the sidewalk and get out, running to where she's fallen.

"Call 911" I tell the stricken driver. (Just like in the training video!) Then I make her lie down and stablize her neck. She's completely coherent. "I knew that." she tells me. "I knew I should do that. I'm a physical therapists. I know you!" Her pulse is racing, but not too fast. She doesn't appear to have any injuries. I put my jacket under her and put another coat over her and wait for the calvary to arrive.

"Don't move," I tell her.

The fire truck arrives and the paramedics get out. I get out of the way. This bald guy in carhart overalls kneels over her and places his hands on either side of her head. Then the ambulance from Crockett County Hospital--our nemesis--arrives and this sort of fat, middle-aged guy gets ou.
"Stand up." He tells her.

"Don't you think you should put a collar on her, first?" I ask politely.

"Ma'am," the bald guy says to me, "please leave this to the professionals. We know when she needs a collar."

She needed a collar. Right away. C2 fractures can destablize--look okay--then, crack, hi! You're a quadraplegic!

But I'm not going to get into it. I gather my coats and leave before they can get my name or interview me. I've done my duty.

But I'm angry. I call my unit educator. Tell her the scenario. "She needed a collar, right?"

"Of course she needed a collar."

Crocket County Paramedics. Bunch of morons. Horrible hospital. There was a van wreck 3 years ago--18 illegal Guatemalans. Crockett's ambulances were first on the scene. Took them to Crockett first, before ours, Crockett turned them away. Refused to even triage. Some of the victims were level 3's, could have been easily treated at Crockett--we lost precious, precious time, sifting through them, transporting them across town--a woman died, bled out. If we'd gotten her in time? If Crockett had done their job instead of practicing wallet triage...no legal risk, right? They were only illegal aliens. How on earth do you call yourself a nurse and do that? How do you wake up and look at yourself in the mirror?

Then I get to Ernie's. My parents aren't there. But my friend Alice (Alice the doctor who hung up her MD pretty much and now communes with plants) is. With a handpainted table cloth.
"Figured you'd be here on your birthday."
We wait for my parents. I finally call. They forgot. I'm their only child!
"No worries--" truel. Actually, I'm relieved. I didn't have time for a long horrible breakfast at Ernie's, smiling at my mother's snipes.
But they arrive anyways.
My mother launches into it right away. "It's just ridiculous that you're encouraging Nick to apply to all these colleges. What is he going to be? A history teacher? He should go to community college. You can't afford it. He'll never be able to afford it. This whole thing is stupid."

The tirade continues through breakfast. My mom. The mean fairy.

Alice excuses herself. She gives me a hug. "I love you like a sister, " she whispers, "I don't know how you ended up okay."

I don't react, eat my breakfast. My stomach hurts. Kiss everyone goodbye. Go to the library.

Xavier's best friend, Saul, has tracked me down, I find. He's emailed me a picture of himself, taken on a train in China. Golden fields behind him. I look at the picture and so much comes rushing back. Like a ghost wind over grass. Saul. Creaky and dear. Prematurely grey. Cuban. Jewish. We both loved Xavier equally. In a way, we were more partners than Xavier and I ever. United in our caretaking. 10 years since I've seen him. Oh, there was so much that I loved in Miami and left behind.

"How are you? Happy birthday."

Nick calls me. He's skipping school to take me to lunch. No studying today! What do you do? I go to lunch with Nick at Nino's. We get the soup.

I decide not to go to the library. I go to the Dakota instead. Lilly calls me and informs me she's going to hang out downtown with her friends. Okay.

The Dakota's internet doesn't work, so I walk over to the Pear Street Bohemia--another coffee shop--a little more upscale than the Dakota---leather couches, fake fireplaces. That sort of thing. There's only one table with an outlet. I plant myself there, and immediately, the guy at the next table starts hitting on me. This used car salesman type. I mean, he won't stop talking. God. I try all these sort of polite ways to shut him down. Finally, I text Jay to come over. He does. Pick-up over. But so is studying.

Lilly comes by the Bohemia, we go home and go for a run together. She literally runs circles around me, but I make about three miles--pretty good for not running for 2 weeks.

Nick is working on his college essay for Tulane. He's blocking it.

I have a date with Jay. He's made dinner, but I can't eat anything. He gives me this beautifual card with nice loving things written inside. I don't understand why he can write "I love you" but can't say it. Oh well. You take what you get. He gave me a silver and white turquoise bracelet, nestled in desert sage and lavender that he picked in the Nevada wilderness. I'm definitely running a fever at this point, but find it in me to make love anyways. Funny how that works. Saul pops into my mind, briefly, right afterward. I send a blessing. I never feel guilty about things like that. The subconscious is exactly that...sub.

At 3 am I wake up, head pounding. Mouth dry. Feverish. I call into work. Sleep in. Too sick to even drink coffee.

It's grey and cold. Now I'm home. Lilly is doing situps. Postal Service is playing.

42. That's what I did on my birthday. And that's my 1/2 hour.