From the Hospital Waiting Room

Apr 03, 2025

Hello ♡,

I wanted to write you a really meaningful newsletter this week. Not in a performative way, but because this is how I process life.

But I don’t feel profound, I feel full, distracted, emotional, happy, all at the same time. This is what it’s really like isn’t it? Life is a lot, we are all swimming as well as we can.

As I sit in a hospital waiting room, my husband is finishing up a heart procedure we have waited months to get. I thought I would have some profound thoughts on “waiting,” and the “in-between.” But the truth? I can barely think straight beyond updating people and eating the lunch I brought from home (it was really good). I feel glad that I took care of myself in this way, making myself a lunch as I made lunches for the kids early this morning. I did get one really important email sent, but that took me an entire hour.

And this is what it’s really like isn’t it? It’s all a lot.

I teared up when the anesthesiologist said, “You are our family today.” She told us how she’d take care of my husband, and then joked about how great his breathing tube would fit. I laughed nervously.

While we waited hours in the prep room for his procedure to start I cried as I talked about being home together tonight and this being over, then I laughed, then remarked on how many feelings I am having at once.

We made a lot of jokes about our dogs, we decided one of them cusses now when she’s stressed. We narrate our dogs thoughts, and it is endlessly entertaining. One of my favorite hobbies is making my husband laugh.

The guy in the waiting room next to me is talking so loud on his phone now and lamenting about “sabotage” at work and looking for a new job, as well as not knowing where Dad parked the Subaru. He ended the call with, “ok mom.”

The automatic doors nearby are opening and closing repeatedly, I think I will hear them in my sleep tonight.

One of the hospital signs says, “This is a healing environment.” And I thought, I want all spaces to be that, including my home and work, and maybe I can keep working on being that myself. It made me think of this quote:

“I found the world woefully lacking in safe spaces, so I became one.”

- J. Warren Welch

I took a picture of the watch that saved my husband’s life as we left for the hospital this morning. It represents a miracle to me. We talked about the story as we waited for his procedure today, him in his hospital gown, me in my sweats.

This super healthy man never wears his Apple watch except to sleep so he can quietly get up for his 5:15 exercise class. On one random day in September, he didn’t take it off. It told him his heart was dangerously out of rhythm. That arrhythmia would soon cause heart failure, a new reality we’ve been navigating since the Fall. He never wears his watch, but he did that day. I raced from work to meet him, and then to wait for hours in the ER.

It’s all woven together isn’t it? The miracles and the chaos. We’re all swimming as well as we can. Maybe you feel like you can’t think straight as the metaphorical automatic doors open and close repeatedly in your life.

Maybe you can’t think past the shouting of people around you. Maybe the shouting in this country has you scared and overwhelmed. Maybe the noise is internal, too.

Maybe you long for a safe and healing space. Maybe you are working hard on reclaiming your own, or on being one, too.

It is all woven together. It’s all a lot. And realistically so much of life is lived within this ever-crossing, overlapping, patchwork of moments and feelings, miracles and obstacles. Waves upon waves we’re all bravely facing and swimming through. I see you.

And my takeaways? I can’t think beyond these seven things:

Feel it all. Selectively numbing the hard feelings also numbs the good ones. Cry and laugh.
It all passes. I take comfort in the knowledge that no feeling is final. I ride the waves, knowing they will recede.
Store up your stillness. I return to still moments in my mind and still places in my heart and body when I am scared and overwhelmed. Practicing meditation helps with this.
Let it be chaotic. My husband is the best at this: stop resisting, accept this as it’s happening.
Hold the helpers close. Thank God for the family and friends that show their care. May I return it.
Have a foundation that is wider than your two wobbly feet. This is my faith. My relationship with God stabilizes, sustains, and comforts me.
Don’t worry alone. Let people in if you are scared, and then be that safe space for someone else.

I get to go back and see him soon. He told me he’d be ok. That’s just like him. I didn’t even ask for that answer, but maybe my face did. He’s the most still person I know. He wasn’t worried.

This afternoon, we’ll drive home in the terrible Atlanta traffic, try to keep the dogs from jumping on him when we walk in, talk to the kids, thank my parents for picking up our youngest and for all the food they brought, put him to rest, and be grateful for the miracle in the chaos of it all.

With you,

Monica

Book News!

Tickets are going fast!!

Are you in Metro Atlanta?!

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This is going to be such a special night!! I love Cultivate, and I am so honored to do this with them! Register at the link above to join us, as it is limited seating. We will talk about the book, learn about naming your pain, have drinks and snacks, and Giveaways! April 23rd at 7:00 pm! I can’t wait to meet you in person!!