it's friday the 13th and that's alright with me.

december 13th.

today was the day my Daddy died 35 years ago. it still hurts.

today was the day i got out of rehab 2 years ago, after 60 days. it's still hard.

there are no coincidences.

there is no such thing as "closure."

life is unfair.

but it can still be fun making a list about it.

THE DANVIAN TOP 40 COUNTDOWN of THINGS THAT ARE UNFAIR—with your hostess HENNYBIRD

40. it is unfair that Christmas has always been a season of melancholy for me. i do not need to watch "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer" ever again. The Queer Elf, from The Island of The Misfit Toys—who just wants to be a Dentist—throws me over the arctic edge. and can i watch "It's a Wonderful Life" once, just ONCE, without completely losing it? [is this possible for anyone?]

39. it is unfair that i will never taste Daddy's tomato and mayonnaise sandwiches again.

38. it is unfair that U2's last album was kinda shite. [it really was.]

37. it is unfair that there exists no such career as professional groupie. [which is ironic considering the last statement.]

36. it is unfair that there are no words to describe a California sunset.

35. it is unfair that i can't appreciate running water more.

34. it is unfair that Daddy didn't get to walk me down the aisle.

33. it is unfair that i can't hug my niece, nephews and godsons whenever i want. [living in Winnipeg, Saskatoon and Tennessee—except for the ones in Pasadena!]

32. it is unfair that you post pictures of food on Facebook.

31. it is unfair that i burst into tears whenever i hear Dick van Dyke sing "Hushabye Mountain."

30. cellulite. [enough said.]

29. it is unfair that black licorice and coconut popsicles are not Superfoods. [like that ever stopped me.]

28. it is unfair that "Breaking Bad" ever had to end.

27. it is unfair that Fiorinal is addictive.

26. it is unfair that kidneys don't grow on trees.

25. diseasepovertyracismdiscrimination

24. it is unfair that i will never have tea with Bedstemor and Bedstefar again.

23. it is unfair that some people are paid well for doing nothing and others are paid nothing for doing well.

22. it is unfair that lilacs don't bloom all year long.

21. it is unfair that i cannot eat up my basset hound with a spoon. [because then she would be gone.]

20. it is unfair that i really couldn't have children.

19. it is unfair that i still have guns of steel and a belly of pudge. [and what the fuck is this back fat?]

18. it is unfair that "they" dared to remake "The Sound of Music—LIVE!" seriously. shame.

17. it is unfair that i have still not found the perfect pen. [this is my inner "Anne Shirley" plaintive cry.]

16. it is unfair that the Kardashians won't go away.

15. it is unfair that Daddy and I will never sing "Yellow Submarine" together again.

14. it is unfair that i cannot be alcoholic one day a week, a "day off" like Sundays,—like on the "Body For Life" program.

13. it is really unfair that orgasms don't last for an hour. [although the multiple thing is pretty rad.]

12. it is unfair that anyone is on dialysis.

11. it is unfair that no-one sings "Hallelujah" like K.D. Lang.

10. it is unfair that we just discovered "Dexter". [no spoilers!]

9. it is unfair how much i have grown to love and defend the bagpipes. ["they really are accomplished, talented players! and sexy! dead sexy!"]

9a. it is unfair that Daddy never heard Kevin play the bagpipes.

8. it is unfair that there does not exist a street named in Kevin's honor. [although i hear his mum is working on it.]

7. it is unfair how much i love you, E., for those 60 days.

6. it is unfair how much i love my in-laws for those 60 days.

5. it is unfair how much i love writing.

4. it is unfair that anyone pushingashoppingcart/living underneathabridge/beggingbythefreeway/livinginabox is ever judged or dismissed or ostracized. i am the same. i am exactly the same. but for the grace of god.

3. it is unfair that Kevin ever has to know another second of pain.

2. it is unfair that i will never go to an AA meeting with my Daddy.

1. it is unfair the amount of peace and love i hold in my heart today. on december 13th. today of all days.

when it rains, it explodes

when i woke up at 5:30 am yesterday morning, it was raining.

i lay there, thinking, "my husband is in the hospital."

it is my last thought at night, and my first thought when i wake.

you've heard about heart transplant recipients—how their taste in music, fashion and food will change. apparently, it's like that with kidneys too. i now pee every hour like my husband, and as if we weren't joined at the hip before—now joined at the kidney—my inner worry went off at 5:30 am, because something was wrong with him.

his body was exploding with heat and sweat—a fever of 102.7—impossible foreshadowing of what was to come.

my immunosuppressed body had crashed into a wall of sleep and my emotionally-suppressed brain had ignored my alarm.

"i have to get to Cedars" was the only thought i could grasp in the fog of morning brain.

i stood in front of the bathroom mirror, contemplating the effort it would take to cover up my puffy eyes, dehydrated from the hour-long drive home the previous night. bawling your eyes out is oddly romantic as you cruise home from Cedars-Sinai against the Friday Night Lights of Sunset Blvd., then turn north towards your Valley ranch. in one hand a makeup brush hovered over a brow scrunched in worry. in the other, my cell placed a call to room 8122, tucked against a shoulder carrying the burden of worry and wait.

and then i heard it. BOOM.

was it a car accident along Sunland Blvd. echoing up through the canyon below me? the garbage truck dropping the plastic bin with a careless thud?

and again—BOOM.

was it the thudding of my heart as my beloved updated me with the surgeon's report?

2 explosions in a row.

BOOM. BOOM.

i whirled towards the sound, and through the bathroom window saw a thick tongue of flame lick 30 ft. high against an ominous plume of smoke. black. frightening.

"omg. our neighbor's house is on fire!" i gasped and hung up, racing to our yard.

FIRE. unbelievably, FIRE. at the top of our property, it raged. i could hear its coarse munching as it devoured a shed-like structure, even as the sirens began overwhelm the soothing California drizzle.

denial had me in a chokehold. i stood there in disbelief.

"i guess i call 911", i gasped to no-one.

"911. what is your emergency?"

"my neighbors ! their house! it's on FIRE!" more sirens began to fill the air with their soothing screeches. help was on the way. i was transferred to "Fire and Somethingorother Services" and put on HOLD. just for a minute. just The Longest Minute Of My Life. and then a voice. and again, i stated my panic.

"my neighbors house! it's on FIRE! it's like 50 feet away!"

"ma'am, calm down. it's raining."

REALLY? REALLY. i'm not sure what was worse. being called "Ma'am" or having him sass me for being freaked during my first 911 call ever.

i didn't know what to do. did i evacuate my house with a bag full of immunosuppressives, his bagpipes [he would never have forgiven me otherwise] and our shockingly chill basset hound, or attend to my husband lying helpless in a hospital bed and take my chances?

so i went into our bedroom, and made the bed.

one of the gems i picked up in rehab, was to always make your bed in the morning. this, was not something i ever had to be encouraged to do. i seemed to innately know from birth why this was important. rumor is i tidied up Mum's womb before i left.

we make our beds, because it's pretty much the only thing we can control in our day.

and outside my home raged the proof.

chaos seems to follow us around like a puppy, nipping at our heels wherever we turn. maybe it's because we love dogs so much, but because we would never, ever kick an animal, the only way to get through this is to accept it as it comes—bit by crazy bit.

because all we really want now is peace.

the metaphor is not lost on me.

my husband carried the weight of our world around on his shoulders for years. and now his back is broken.

i can't fix it, but it is my greatest joy to be able to shoulder the load now. mine. and for a time, his. until he is strong enough to take it back again.

our house, unbelievably, is still standing.

"neither rain nor hail nor sleet nor snow nor heat of day nor dark of night..." can take us down.

kevin, its my turn to carry you, my love.

i am going to bed thinking, "my husband is in the hospital."

but, the fire is out.

and it has stopped raining for tonight.

things i noticed at cedars-sinai today

everyone is tired at 5 am. everyone.

i love the smell of hospital food in the morning.

when your husband is being prepped for back surgery, you CAN keep it together until you round the corner past the exit sign.
     
never underestimate the power of coffee. never.

every member of my husband's OR team was female: nurse, anesthesiologist. administrator. coincidence? i think not.

my husband's surgeon totally checked out my rack. twice. so touche.

men really, really, REALLY don't like catheters.

the oatmeal in The Ray Charles Cafeteria is bitchen.

you say a prayer in the chapel and find peace under The Star of David.

you are not above squatting on the floor of the waiting area next to a power outlet to charge your IPHONE. #addictedtosocialmedia

reigning in your inner Shirley MacLaine in "Terms of Endearment" [GIVE MY HUSBAND THE SHOT!!!] is oddly satisfying.

your husband is adorably sentimental when medicated. ["See Kevin, I TOLD you Dilaudid was awesome"]

when willing to sign up for the bone marrow registry, you can't because 1) you have had a whole organ transplant and 2) you have left the box [age 18-44]. broken and old? OR saved and set free? discuss.

whatever you do, SANITIZE.

how come i never looked that hot in a hospital gown?

the words, "i think my neck and legs feel better" sound like, "we have achieved world peace".

when you feed your husband ice chips, it's the most romantic thing on earth.

32 years as a patient did not prepare me to see my husband in pain.

we are overwhelmingly, ridiculous loved.

hey, McIntyre! The Elizabeth Taylor Suite AGAIN? geez, how many Cedars-flier miles has a girl gotta rack up to score da crib?

[and I can't wait to do it all again tomorrow. i love you, Kevin.]