This morning I went to my local hospital for my pre-operative bloodwork for my upcoming back surgery. Nerves were at an all time high last night. After watching an episode of ‘Lost’ that hit a little too close to home (spine surgery gone wrong) I began thinking about what I would do if they nicked a nerve, cut my spinal cord, or if I died. I vented about it on Twitter as I usually do, and then, I told the boy. After trying to help me see the positives of having surgery, like regaining feeling in my left leg, and having NO PAIN, he said “What’s the worse that could happen? You could die, and then you would see Kevin. I’d miss you being on the other side though.” I stopped. That thought had never occurred to me. Death. Seeing Kevin. I was floored. Floored in a way that I could not imagine that my boy had the heart and capacity to say something so profound to me. I was in awe at his strength and insight. I cried myself to sleep in a sense of relief that no matter what happened, I’d be ok.
This morning, after my bloodwork, I stopped for a cup of coffee before heading into work. I knew I’d need that mid-morning jolt to deal with the slew of calls that were bound to come in from the recent flooding. There was a guy pouring coffee before me, with a size sticker stuck to his pant leg. “Excuse me, but I just wanted to let you know you have a size sticker stuck to your pant leg.” He looked down and began laughing.
“Thank you. Well, now, I have to share with you,” he said. He was a man in his mid to late 30’s, pouring some dark roast. I looked at him inquisitively, not sure what he was about to say. “I was up all night because my wife and I had a baby last night.”
Immediately joy poured across his face, and mine as well. “Oh my word,” I said, “Congratulations!” I was excited for him, and he was excited that he had someone to tell!
“Thank you. I’m running on zero sleep and have to go to work, so I never saw the sticker.”
“What did you have?” I asked him.
“A boy,” and his smile grew larger.
“He’s ok? Is this your first?” He nodded. “Well, congratulations again!” I told him before he exclaimed that he was going to grab an extra large Red Bull, in addition to his dark roast, to make it through the day.
I went to the cashier with a big smile. I handed her two extra bills and pointed out the man. “I want to pay for his coffee, he just had a baby.” I said, and walked out, no change.
That felt really good. Both of us were in the hospital that morning. I had such anxiety over the surgery coming up, but now I got to celebrate with him and his joy of becoming a first time parent. So this morning, I’m drinking a Coffee cheers to him…and to my boy. Sometimes it takes others to make you see the light. Or the light roast coffee.