My Overly Eventful Birthdays
On July 15, 2020, I turned 30. Honestly, it's not much different that 29. I have a few more gray hairs... and a few more stories to share.
Now, this is not a ramble about morality and getting older. (That's actually standard stuff for an introvert.) This post is several slice-of-life stories, about birthdays.
I've had thirty birthdays. Some were perfect, some unremarkable, and even a few heartbreaking ones. However, this post is about what I call the 'Overly Eventful Birthdays.'
True Stories
My first Overly Eventful Birthday happen when I was a wee child. I don't remember my exact age. I was at that age were you basically invite your whole class over, or in my case the Sunday School.
It was summer backyard party. The parents put out a waddling pool, some water pistols, and then let us run around until we were tired. We'd eat watermelon, rinse off, and open gifts.
On a hot, Oklahoma summer, chilled watermelon is better than cake and a nearby farm grew vine-ripe melons. It was definitely the highlight of the event.
So imagine, the party is at its peak. All the children whooping and bouncing around. One of the other mom's comes up to me. I snap to attention. (Birthday girl gets first slice you know.)
However, this lady is not bringing snacks. “I'm taking your mom to the doctor.”
...WHAT?! I dart to the house and scramble to find Mom. She's in the kitchen with a bloody towel around one thumb!
Now because I was a young lass, I don't have clear memories on what all was said and done. Just panic and confusion. Apparently, Mom had been struggling to cut through the watermelon. A heavy chop through the rind had also chopped through the pad of her thumb. It required stitches.
Needless to say, the party wound down quickly. Mom had not bled on the melon, but the situation was an appetite killer. This was my first Overly Eventful Birthday.
And a Crappy Birthday to You
Life continued. The milestone birthdays - 13, 16, 18, 21 – happened with various level of excitement. (I was a settled introvert by then. Big crowds and noisy events weren't my idea of fun.) After 21, I prepared for the long stretch of 'Boring Birthdays.'
Twenty-two through twenty-four were nice and quiet. The new pattern was diner with family and friends Unfortunately, January of 2015 rolled around, and the year went to hell.
2015 holds the record for 'Worse Year of My Life.' Dad died suddenly in the spring. That's was one of five deaths. My life was a stressful mess of funerals, moving, and, to top it off, medical referrals.
At twenty-four, I was past overdue for my first colonoscopy. Yes, at twenty-four not forty. Dad developed his first round of stage four colon cancer in his early thirties. (Oddly, enough it wasn't cancer or chemo that got him in the end.) Early screening is a must for me and my two siblings.
However, there are only a handful of doctors in Oklahoma and the waiting lists are insane. There are no options, you take what Scheduling gives you.
They booked me for July 15, mid morning. The day I turned twenty-five.
Colonoscopy prep is every bit as awful as you've heard. After a horrible night, I spent the morning dehydrated, with a pounding migraine. I remember griping about the illogical of the hospital expecting me to have enough urine to take pregnancy test, being rolled onto my side... and then I woke up.
That was my twenty-fifth. I left the hospital a foul taste in my mouth, a sore butt, a gap in my memory, and my left hand swollen like a balloon from the nurses digging for a vein. What a party. (However, the screening came back clean.)
After this 'Crappy Birthday,' I was ready to resume the 'Boring Birthdays.' Unfortunately, it was not to be.
Scheduling Department Strikes Again
What can top a colonoscopy on your twenty-fifth birthday? A major surgery on your twenty-sixth.
I spent my birthday in the same hospital as the last one, just a in different ward. Those four days are a blur of pain, drugs... and running for my life.
July isn't just a hot month. It's storm season, tornado season. One touched down near the hospital. I was beginning to think I wouldn't make it to twenty-seven.
I and the rest of the maternity ward took shelter in the operating rooms. However, since I was nether pregnant nor elderly, there was no wheelchair for me. Apparently a gal with a six inch, freshly sealed wound is left to fend for herself.
By some miracle, the forced march didn't make me spring a leak. It hurt though. I spend the rest of the drill on a metal folding chair, hugging my werewolf plushy to my stomach. I was done. Done with crazy birthdays. Done with stupid scheduling departments. Just done.
To date, 2016 hold the record for Most Eventful Birthday.
This Year
Finally, 2020 rolled around. There's been plague, shuts downs, riots, and a whole lot of uncertainty. Lots of kids can complain about 'Worse Birthday EVER.' I sympathize; even though it's not my Worst Birthday.
Life happens. It doesn't care about a mark on the calendar or how many laps you make around the sun. Life isn't 'tidy.' I'm just glad to still be living.
On my media, I mentioned this year wouldn't make the Overly Eventful Birthday list. I was geared up for a boring quarantine meal of take-out pizza with my family. However, once again, life happened.
I spent the morning of my birthday digging a grave for my Kid Brother's dying cat.
I still got my pizza. However, then I had to drive to the vet with my brother and said cat. On the way back, I stopped in the two gas-station town of Haskell, and sent Kid Brother into the grocery store for ice-cream. I stayed in the car... and tried to stay causal about what was in the box on my backseat.
That was my thirtieth birthday.
