2023 is the year I leveled up for ten months.
Then I leveled way down.

I wrote three books and a novella. With my siblings, I cleaned out and sold my dad’s house, in a very long sale process involving a squatter. After my dad’s passing, I paid his bills and taxes and closed out his accounts.

If you’ve ever handled the estate of someone who’s passed away, you know: there’s always one more thing.

I traveled to England, Scotland and then Amsterdam, which I fell in love with. Then I flew to author conferences in Vegas and Alaska. I flew more this year than I ever have—sixteen take offs and landings—which is amazing, considering I’ve had a morbid fear of flying for most of my adult life. I did it while afraid, had a great time on every trip, and each successful flight helped me get through the next one.

At the Vegas show, I sold books in person for the first time, and I realized it was something I could do well. All of this was some serious personal growth. I pushed through my fears like I never have before.

Clearly on my way to being girl boss.

Then, eleven days before my Amsterdam trip, I caught COVID for the first time. I slept for three days, then felt weak, but okay/meh as the trip got closer. The morning I was to leave, I finally tested negative.

A week after I got back, I flew to Vegas for a big indie author convention. It was an incredible learning experience. Unfortunately, along with new ideas for my author business plan, I brought back RSV, Respiratory Syncytial Virus, which had spread at the event.

For the next six weeks, I was the sickest I’ve ever been. The RSV came with a Hometown Buffet of symptoms: digestive issues, fever and chills, congestion, breathing trouble, lung infection, and three weeks of coughing fits that kept me awake at night. I had no appetite and lost 10 pounds.

My back and rib cage hurt terribly. I cycled through the symptoms, sometimes repeating them, but I never seemed to get better. I had multiple visits to the doctor. At one point while coughing, I thought: maybe I won’t make it through this.

Then one evening I lay down to rest. When I woke up, I couldn’t move an inch in either direction without excruciating pain.

I mean, like labor-level pain. In my chest and back.
X-rays showed I had a cracked rib—from coughing. For the next week and a half, I was completely dependent. My husband iced and applied a heating pad to my ribs and back, brought me food and meds. Helped me get up when I needed to. A friend brought me amazing soup.

I couldn’t lift anything. It hurt to cough, sneeze, and laugh. Weirdly, the worst pain happened when I burped unexpectedly. It jolted my rib cage. When it happened, I screamed the F word like Roy Kent on Ted Lasso. My husband had doubts about taking me out in public.

I couldn’t sit in a car for long periods, so we had to cancel our trip to Seattle to spend Christmas with extended family. I was so down about this. Road trips are my jam, and I love family. I missed everyone. I was sick and in pain, and I hadn’t been out of the house much in a month.
I have never felt this weak.

I had to ask for help. Growing up, I didn’t learn that asking for help was okay.

When I accepted that I couldn’t do anything, I felt peace.I felt freed up. I listened more. I wasn’t always thinking of the next thing I had to do.
My husband and young adult kids seemed to like helping me, even though they’d just gotten over RSV themselves. I couldn’t bend down, so I had to ask them to pick up things I couldn’t reach, and they were happy to help me. They kept me accountable.

“Moooom! You’re not supposed to do that!”
“Next time just ask.”
“Mom, where’s your grabbing hand?”

With no trip to Seattle, our Christmas was quiet, just the four of us. We watched BattleBot robot fighting tournaments and played board games. My middle child gave me a Pokemon game for the Switch and is teaching me how to play (video games have never been my thing). It’s a goofy, whimsical game, and I’m having so much fun hanging out with Armen and playing it.

This rib is supposed to take 4-6 weeks to heal. Now that I’m in that range, I can do most things without help. What a miracle that our bodies can heal.
I don’t want to get better and go on like I was. I gained something from this time, and I don’t want to lose it. Writing is my external processing, and this post is an attempt to think about what changed during this time and what I can keep from it. Still thinking about that.

A pastor at a church I attended once said that following God is like riding an elevator. It seems like as you grow, you’d go up. But you’ve already pushed the button to go downstairs. To be humbled. Learn to be quiet. Learn to be weak.
My strength is made perfect in your weakness.

Life will always be a mix of up and down. This year, I got a lot of both, and it was intense.
It sounds crazy, but I’m thankful I got all of it.

Some postscripts to this:
PS1– PLEASE. Get the RSV shot if you’re eligible.
PS2 – Draft of cozy #4 is finally done!
PS3 – I am seriously thinking of writing a country song entitled “It’s a Cracked Rib Christmas.” Stay tuned for details. 😂