Twelve years ago I was in labor. For close to 24 hours, I had been in labor. I entered the hospital on the corner of Geary and St. Joseph’s. My only memory is of a singular focus to make it to the elevators at the end of a brightly lit wood paneled hallway; its distance measured in the number of halting and bracing contractions that stopped me along the way. I finally arrived in the place where I labored through the night and into the following day and eventually through a birth that was entirely different than what I expected. A facilitated surrender of the body. A resignation of mind. A reckoning and reconciling. That birth opened me and gave me my son.
Twelve years of raising Charlie. Of being both never and always surprised by how he moves through the world. Of learning and unlearning, of forgetting and remembering, of letting go and holding on. Of teaching him and of him being my teacher. Of sorting out what’s his, what’s mine, what’s ours. The discovery that I have to understand and accept myself first. Raising a human while being a human has been a confrontation with control, a reframing of resignation, an exercise in relinquishment.
I am 45, my son is almost twelve, and I just had my first colonoscopy. I don’t believe it, but I know it’s true.
My second time walking into the hospital on the corner of Geary and St. Joseph’s, this time by myself. I didn’t have to ask where I was going. I knew. Same entrance, same wood paneled hallway, same elevators. Same oversized socks with grippy bottoms, same gown that opens in the back. Different anticipation, different aloneness and stillness amid the buzz and motion of a different medical choreography. Different chill in my bones.
Same wheeled gurney ride towards the unknown, same trapped animal before sedation, same disorientation. Different knowing that I would be ok, even if I wasn’t certain, even if I wasn’t ok. Different trust. Different letting go.
Chris again waiting for me on the other side. Same exit. Same curb. Same direction home.
Different vulnerability. Different strength and resolve. A different relationship to control, to resignation, to surrender. A restructuring. A reordering.
Same body, different message. Same mind, different story. Same soul, different animal. Same life, different season.
Same building, different floor.
