IMR: Entries: 2002: July: 26 — Friday, July 26, 2002

Crash This week was hell. Tomorrow, I hope to find heaven. This week — like they say on Wall Street — I hit a four-year low. A truly disastrous screw up at the office, coupled with some heartbreaking news at home, seemed to very nearly knock the life out of me. It was frightening, yet almost thrilling, to again taste the churning, seemingly bottomless cavern of melodrama for which Scorpios are known. At work, a project for which I have primary responsibility for was badly, badly fucked up. A big, expensive, important project. And the worst part is, I was on vacation for most of it. It was in the one tiny part they insisted on leaving to me — the reason I mentioned having to go back into the office the week after Zac was born — where the huge and bafflingly brainless mistake occurred. The screw up was so unthinkable, the entire staff was very nearly physically ill, and the dressing down that we all received was... historic. So I spent most of the week flailing under a double-edged panic attack. First and foremost, the problem had to be fixed, damn the losses, and with the directive that no one go home until it was taken care of. (The last night, I was toiling frantically past midnight, and stopped only because the vendor I was working with had to go home.) Secondly, though, I had — have — very good reason to fear the abrupt end of my often floundering tenure there. I was convinced I'd get canned, and even if I wasn't, I was on the verge of canning myself. I was disgusted with myself, and scolded myself, and the biggest thesaurus in the world, frankly, wouldn't have had enough synonyms for "stupid." While all hell had broken loose at work, though, there was an entirely different universe of stress and anxiety at home. Because this week also brought Zac's visit with the pediatric neurosurgeon. Zac has a condition called "synostosis." We've actually known about it since a few days after he was born, while we were all still at the hospital, when the doctor ordered some CAT scans. I meant to write about it, but never did, and probably didn't really want to. Because ever since, through follow-up visits to the pediatrician, and a consultation with a plastic surgeon, it didn't seem all that serious. Jen and I were looking between the lines of the experts' opinions — we both harbored a quiet hope that, somehow, things would just heal themselves. And it was constantly, constantly on our minds. We talked about it a lot, absolutely, but still not as often as we thought about it. It was the "elephant in the living room," a topic we were nervous to bring up and were also sometimes upset when it was. (In fact, I only found out on Wednesday when I mentioned the appointment to my dad that he didn't know anything about it.) But, his condition isn't going away by itself. And the neurosurgeon not only confirmed that corrective surgery would be needed soon — a fact for which we had just about prepared ourselves — but explained that Zac's case is a bit more complicated, and would require a second, and much more traumatic, procedure a few more months down the line. I still haven't quite absorbed it all. I trust the doctors we're working with, and while unusual I know these procedures aren't rare (the neurosurgeon said he does several a year)... but I'm still scared. I didn't even try to keep a stiff upper lip. I crashed. All at once I was thinking all of the the worst things one could think when a child is concerned, and meanwhile that I'm also worthless at my job, that I need a new job, that I'm going to lose my job, but that I can't lose my job, and that I need my job. Since I never know when to quit, while I was firing off resumés I made the mistake of pulling out a pay stub to calculate exactly what my current salary is. Salt in a wound. Recklessly indulging a spiraling flame-out like that, I don't know where I would have ended up if it weren't for Jen, who in the midst of her own anxieties endured my late nights and random grumbling fits to keep me breathing and to keep everything together. I don't know how I could ever repay my friends, who — while I too often neglect them — were still happy to shovel some sweet, warm, ego-boosting bullpucky on me. They all listened to me and encouraged me and even humored me by passing along resumés, even though they knew looking for a job right now is the very definition of futile. And I don't know how I would have made it through the week without my mom, who — only yesterday — heard the desperation in my voice and suddenly suggested that the whole family and I take an unscheduled trip to Hilo. She was going over to the Big Island for her job, and she offered to bring us along... on her dime. She always understood our unexplainable spiritual connection to that island, and somehow knew a short, simple, ten-hour visit would be good for our souls. I hate flying. But I can't wait. Breakfast at Ken's. A walk through the much-changed UH-Hilo campus (where Jen and I met eight years ago). A drive up to Volcano, perhaps even down Chain of Craters Road to meditate in a wooden cottage overlooking a lava field. Sharing with Katie the many places special to us, and bathing Zac in the incredible, wonderful healing energy there. This trip won't help me figure out what the next few weeks will bring. I still won't have answers when we step off the plane tomorrow night, and I'll still be nervous and worried. But perhaps whatever vital part of me that ran dry this week will be filled again. And that might make a difference. We have to be at the airport at 4 a.m. I better get to bed.

Comments *flickin'thebic* It's lit. Good healing vibes to The Whole Ozawa Clan. *peaceandhealingpeaceandhealing* Love you guys. —Jolene (July 26, 2002 10:39 PM) You all are in my thoughts... take care and be strong. I grew up on the Big Island and I know the healing power the island can bring. Take care and I will be praying for you all. Much aloha... —Joy (July 26, 2002 10:53 PM) You're all in my thoughts as well. Much love to your little family. —heather (July 27, 2002 9:24 AM) Zac will pull thru. We're sure of it. I kinda know what you're going through. Our daughter, Aeryn, was born with Atrial Septal Defect (ASD). We're monitoring it now, but if it doesn't take care of itself down the road, she'll likely have to have surgery, which, I admit, is a scary thought because it involves open heart surgery. —Haken (July 27, 2002 4:25 PM) Prayers...positive thoughts...meditation...affirmations...you name it, I'm doin' it. And, I'll keep doin' it 'til you tell me to stop. Tutus are like that, ya know...even the calabash kine! {{{{{Ryan, Jen, Katie, Zac}}}}} —Tutu Sue (July 27, 2002 5:01 PM) My thoughts and prayers are with not only Zac, but with you and Jen, who have to be strong for him. —SusanJ (July 27, 2002 6:48 PM) See above and multiply it by Meep and me... I have no fear; you tw..thr...four are an amazing family. Strength and hope, my brother... —Lusus Naturae (July 28, 2002 10:41 AM) *hugs for all of you* If there is anything at all I can do for you, please let me know. —Lisa (July 28, 2002 3:09 PM) Though I think you're probably neck-deep in "ego-boosting bullpucky" right now, lemme throw some more your way. :) As for Zac, all I can really say is that with the state of health care nowadays, everything will turn out OK. As for finding a job, let me say that finding a job isn't "the very definition of futile"...the opportunities are definitely out there...you just need to dig. I know, because I've been checking job sites every day for the past four months. Anyway, hugs go to you, Jen, Katie, and Zac. Hang in there. —Keith (July 28, 2002 7:31 PM) I was going to add some egotistical bullpucky of my own about how these last few weeks have been sheer hell on everyone, but I'll save that for later; in the meantime, what I can offer is my love and prayers for you and your family. I know, it's never easy when everything is involved, but whatever happens, it is my hope that everything will turn out for the best, even when it always seems rough. (And I'm with Joy here in hoping that the trip to Hilo brings more healing energy for everyone, especially considering how much you've always loved the place.) Take care and God bless. —Stella (July 28, 2002 10:54 PM) Mahalo a nui loa... Thank you all so very much, thanks a hundred times over for your kind words and positive thoughts. I have faith that all will be well, and any fear that lingers is eased by knowing that we're not alone. —Ryan (July 30, 2002 1:12 AM) Yeah. What they said. —NemesisVex (July 30, 2002 7:51 PM) E kala mai! Comments have been disabled due to overwhelming abuse by spammers. Please click through to any of the video hosting services linked above to leave a public response, or feel free to send an e-mail. Mahalo! < July 11 · July · July 29 > © 1997-2008 Ryan Kawailani Ozawa · E-Mail: imr@lightfantastic.org · Created: 13 November 1997 · Last Modified: 14 January 2008