Saturday morning, football and the next chapter of the story

Saturday morning, September 5, 2015 I woke up and felt terrible. But I'd felt terrible for the few days before that and the kids were clamoring for me to get out of bed so I did. I didn't last long out in the living room. Curled into the recliner as all four kids happily snuggled with cups of milk and Elmo, sitting on their daddy on the couch, I saw that I was not needed and went back to bed.

Fell into my comfy bed, fell back asleep. Something or someone woke me up so I sat up, felt my head swim a bit, waited to get my mind right, and then got back up to head back out. To make breakfast? To sit next to them while they ate? I don't remember. It didn't take long for me to send myself back to my room to sink into the pillows. This wasn't an "Oh, I am so tired I just can't wake up this morning!" type of morning. This was an "Ohhh, it should not be this hard to physically get out of bed and stay upright. Something is not right."

But there was the Draft to think about.

Weeks before I'd put out a request on Facebook asking if anyone was looking for another player in their fantasy football league. The kind where you draft players and change them up each week, trying to avoid getting in a situation where you're sort of rooting against your home team because your top receiver is going against them and you need him to score you some points. It's a fun way to get more into watching all the football games and I had missed playing. Sometimes it's hard to remember that the circumstances of your life have changed and that your Sundays are no longer spent at a bar full of TVs and your friends, drinking beer, eating yummy, delicious, bad-for-you football-game food. Or in a living room with your friends who have NFL network, one guy manning the remote for maximum game coverage. See also beer, food, probably (definitely) some marijuana smoking in this second situation. Ah parenthood, how you have changed the weekend experience.

In any case, my friend Fabio (yes that's his real name, yes he pulls it off, and yes high school and college in the 90's could be a bit rough on the guy when this other guy was around a lot http://www.fabioinc.com/ ) responded to my request and invited me to join his league. Yes! I was so excited. Fabio is a huge sports fan, a super-competitive person (which I love, being one myself), has a tendency to have smart, funny friends, and regularly makes me laugh out loud with his texts because he has such a great way with words.This sounded like the perfect league for me as well as an opportunity to spend more time, even if it was to be mostly virtual time, with one of my favorite people. Sure, I thought it was a little intense that the ten of us in the league had to meet in person to draft our players but hey, it seemed like a Fabio thing to do and it would be a fun way to spend a Saturday morning (see: beer, food and no kids)

Throughout the past week as I'd felt sick and weak and cancelled plans one after another, I kept thinking "I need to make it to the draft." That was seriously my goal--to be healthy enough to drive to Marin (just like driving back to Stinson Beach, a 1.5 hour drive) so I could draft my team. Not that I was in any way prepared to draft my team--here in 2015 the only players I know by name are the ones who have been playing since I graduated college like Peyton Manning or Tom Brady. With a few "newer" players like Marques Colston who was my surprise, awesome fantasy pick the first year I played. Of note, that was in 2006 when he was a rookie so I don't think he counts as new anymore. I also knew Andrew Luck and Colin Kaepernick due to their Bay Area connections. I was sick, I was unprepared, I couldn't think of a single running back that I would want to try to get, but I knew I had to go because you need an even number of players (ideally 10) for a league and if I dropped out last minute it would cause problems and Fabio would be mad. I hate disappointing people, especially if it's by saying "It's too hard, I can't do it." Not only do I hate it, I pretty much don't do it. I don't let my body or my health tell me what I can and can't do.

Now any rational person could have told you, or me, or Fabio, that there was no way I was going to this draft in Marin-and they could have told it to us days before. Not me. Determined, even as I periodically tried to get out of bed, got light headed, and laid back down. I might have had some problems of the mental, not just physical, variety.

The draft was to be held at noon in Marin. I figured I would have to leave by 10:30 at the latest, Our son was also signed up for his first gymnastics class, to be held that day at 10:30. My husband was going to take him, to enjoy some rare one-on-one time with one of our children. We also had idea that gymnastics would be good for Cyrus who has always had a slightly peculiar sense of balance. The kids woke up around 7:00 and my mom arrived before 8:00 to help out. I can't remember who in this trio of adults knew that I was still thinking of going to the draft in Marin. I doubt my mother could have known because she would have smacked me, figuratively, upside the head.

At 9:15 I texted Fabio the following:

"Will I ruin everything if I don't come? Having a big colitis flare and not totally sure I can safely drive there."

Sidenote: me actually telling a friend that a) I can't come to something and b) it's because of my chronic disease involving poop rather than making a more sanitary excuse is a big damn deal. This is not something that happens.

A little while later I called him, slowly coming to my senses that I could not wait for him to give me permission not to come. I could tell I was dehydrated--weak, light-headed, and completely emptied out from not just the past few days of being sick but from waking up at least every hour the night before to run to the bathroom. I avoid the ER like the plague, not because I don't like it there but because it takes forever, rightfully so, as they are triaging the people who need care urgently like gunshot wounds. So I only go if I'm pretty damn sure there is something really wrong with me that they can actually fix. The idea of going to the ER was peering at me through quiet, slightly reproachful, used-to-being-ignored eyes. And as I write that I realize that my mom certainly knew that the plan had been for me to try to go to this draft because I can picture her face and body language in my mind right now, doing her damnedest not to get involved because she knows how I get when people tell me how to take care of myself. I thanked her for that later. I called Fabio 30-40 minutes after my text and left a message saying essentially "Dude. I can't do it. I am too sick." And laid back down.

My husband and son left for gymnastics. Fabio texted me back at 10:29 to say:

"'Ruin everything' is a strong phrase. You're the tenth person of a ten person league. There aren't nine person leagues due to the math of head to head scheduling. I'm not kicking someone out to get to eight and finding a replacement for a live draft with a day's notice on Labor Day weekend is unlikely at best. I can come pick you up door to door, pick you up at BART, or whatever else you need (and yes, I realize that is a dangerous comment). Hydrate, eat bland food, get a massage, etc. and let's get this thing done tomorrow. Let me know about transportation."

There are many things one could get from this exchange. I'm sure depending on who you are, reader, you reacted to some aspects more than others. Let me point out a few, in no order of importance:

1) Yes Fabio, I know how the math of the league works, hence my concern about dropping out last minute and messing things up when I know how hard it will be to find a last-minute replacement.

2) I have funny, loving friends who would offer to drive from San Francisco to Concord and then over to Marin to get me to a draft. Some of those friends are perhaps a little intense.

3) I told you he was competitive. He also has a strong sense of how things should be and damn it, this ten-person league was going to happen.

4) The draft was being held the following day, on Sunday.

Oh. Problem solved. Off the hook. I texted Stephanie, still in bed, asking her to take me to the ER. Stephanie--caregiver for my children for almost two years, friend to me in a way that keeps growing and changing, as I am to her. Mother to a tween and a teen, responsible for another tween and a teen. In their house Saturdays are a swirl of soccer games, cheer leading, chores, driving and picking up. Between her and her friend/roommate/co-parent/sister-wife Haku they keep that household, and often our household, running. I knew she would find a way to come take me. I knew I would feel safe with her and that she would take good care of me without my needing to take care of her. She responded immediately to say she was on her way.

I slowly got dressed and walked out to tell my mom. She was visibly relieved. I asked her or she asked me whether it would be better for Steph to stay with the girls while my mom took me and I said no, I liked the plan as it stood. She agreed.

We (I) decided we'd go to the local hospital, despite a feeling in my gut that it wasn't the right place to go. In my past life working in organ procurement we worked with all the hospitals in Northern California. Depending on your role in the organization and who you interacted with the most (the doctors and nurses, the patient's families, the operating room staff, the administrators, people on the phone vs. in person, the deceased patient's) you often came up with your own assessment of how good the hospital was or whether you would want to be a patient there. Maybe not a good one or an accurate one but you had one nonetheless. My experience told me that our local hospital was not the one that would give me the best care but I am new to the area, I'm raising my family here, I believe in supporting local businesses, and I wanted to see for myself. Plus I didn't think it would be that difficult to treat me.

It was not the best decision. It is also another insight into how my exhausting mind works and how maybe it should just take a back seat every now and then.