The Year I Held My Breath

Posted on by Victoria

I don’t disagree entirely with the Anne Rice quote:

“It’s an awful truth that suffering can deepen us, give a greater lustre to our colours, a richer resonance to our words.”

I see her point and a life that’s perpetual sunshine and rainbows might become tiresome, predictable…and yet I’d like to queue up for that if there’s a line forming somewhere.  Just saying. 😊 I’ll save a place for you. 

When I was little, I had the bizarre habit of hiding under the front seat of the car whenever we crossed a bridge.  If I couldn’t finagle my pumpkin head under one of the front seats (see photo evidence above – I’m the anxious-looking tyke on the right) I crouched into a twisted, flanked position – kinda horizontal – facing one of the doors, head down, down, down.  An advanced stage of bridge anxiety, made possible by the fact that seat belts and car seats were unknown to parents in the 60’s. We were free-range kiddos, able to roam the back seat untethered.

I graduated to full body hiding maneuvers after a progression of closing my eyes, holding my breath – then doing both – and realizing I could still peek if I wanted to, which was tempting and fearsome.  Better to go into hiding because I didn’t trust myself.  I could part those pudgy fingers, stuck to my face with sweat, too easily.  All I had to do was relax the death grip on my face and I’d see the unthinkable…my nemesis…a damn bridge.

You might be thinking a couple of things about now, starting with hey there, will every post from Vicki be some childhood confessional, like last week’s “I Was a Childhood Lurker”?  No, I promise I’ll move on, but not quite yet. But first let me address other hmmm thoughts that may be bouncing in your head:

Why so many bridges?  Good question!  We did a lot of road-tripping when I was a kid and invariably our travels had us zigzagging through the Midwest.  The big rivers – the Ohio and Mississippi?  We crossed those puppies frequently, visiting family in several states and because of our many moves, as a result of dad’s job transfers.  It didn’t matter if said bridge was dinky or daunting, I had the same visceral, distrustful reaction.  Bridges were absurd.  Death traps.  Even as a wee one, I was dubious that some shaky looking steel and asphalt canopy-thingy could magically suspend our car – long enough for us to arrive safely ‘on the other side’. It didn’t matter that other cars made it.  Nope.  I had a childhood doom cloud front and center.  I didn’t trust adults or their engineering.  Was I a witness to too many collapsed Lego structures?  I don’t know. I should’ve offered you a TLDR courtesy:  Lots of bridges?  Yes, we were on the road a lot. Some roads included bridges. (Twelve words instead of 167, thank you word counter for shaming me!)

How did mom and dad cope with ever anxious me?  Surely they tried to soothe?  Sure, sure.  They did.  Mom sang showtunes as we crossed bridges – but that just scared me more!  Dad, usually the driver, would weedle his right arm into the back seat to pat my knee and say ‘There, there, it’s okay, little Vic”.  Lisa?  My sweet sister was just a bit older and given her vision problems and other disabilities, she’d just giggle at my antics, unaware of the predatory bridges.  TLDR:  None of it helped.

What does any of this have to do with an Anne Rice quote?  I’m getting there! 😊

I like Anne Rice’s thought about life lustre born from grit.  Gray days CAN conjure gratitude and a deeper appreciation for the sunny days. Yah, yah, yep.  Gives a girl ‘depth’.  Okay. But as I think about the quote, I’ve decided it only holds up to a point.  Shade can be good, prompting reflection, restoration.  But it’s all a matter of degrees.  “Suffering” in a situational way, where resolution and relief are possible?  I think I’ve carved a place for that in my life.  But for many the agony is anything but short-term…it can be endless and the prospect of relief is akin to magical, fantastic thinking.  Out of reach.

As I’ve thought about my wacky bridge behavior, I realized my antics were manifestations of little me trying to control what I could.  We were going over the bridges – I knew swimming wasn’t an option, nor travel by boat – so in order to calm myself and self-soothe, I did what I needed to do. Looking back, I see it as silly remembrance, but one that foretold my future, my tendency to seek control when possible and when in doubt, hold my breath and hide.  I’ve learned it’s not too cool to do that as a grown-up – the hide and seek game. So I learned to push anxiety to a private place and go about my business in an ‘as if’ manner.  I’m a master at that.

Proof positive?  I just completed a year like no other.  I declared 2022 ‘The Year I Held My Breath’.  Why?  On January 29 of last year, my hubster, my partner in life for 40 years experienced a massive health crisis. His initial hospitalization for bacterial pneumonia escalated into a two-month journey of near-death experiences, intubation, and more. By the end of March and after nearly 8 weeks in two hospitals and an intensive physical therapy unit, he came home and he’s more or less, back to his old tricks😊.  But the memory, the nightmare that began last January?  It still has me in its clutches, trauma/drama style. Caught off guard, I expected the trip to the ER on 1/29/22 to involve a medical look-see, some antibiotics and we’d be on our way home.  I had no idea – nor did he, of the acceleration to come. 

As I look back on his recovery, I can’t express the gratitude I feel for the health care providers who tended to him, first and foremost and still found the heart to care for me.  I know I’m not alone – there is so much pain and agony in the world, crises beyond our control.  Like the little girl who held her breath while traversing bridges, I feel I’m nearly on the other side.  On solid ground, able to relax just a little now that the calendar has rolled passed a dark day that shook me.  January 29, I hate you.  And yet…you pushed me to see the truth:  Life is beautiful and every moment counts.

Love, love, love,

-Vicki 💓

43 thoughts on “The Year I Held My Breath”

  1. Pingback: Pieces of Me – Victoria Ponders…

  2. I can not imagine the roller coaster of emotions you guys experienced through that. Can not. Thankful you still have your hubbs and he’s still around to make mischief. It is such a scary, feeling of powerlessness and vulnerability, once those medical things start coming down the pipe. God bless those men and women who take care of us when we need them. (I had a short, short scare last July, as I called 911 and watched the ambulance take my sweetheart of 40 plus years off to the hospital). Life IS precious, and unpredictable.

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    1. Yes – agree, DM — grateful for the outcome and the support she received. Sorry to hear you’ve had a scare with your loved one. Precious and unpredictable, indeed. 💓

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  4. I understand why you dubbed ’22 the year you held your breath. Hold your breath and don’t move. Must have been scary and unnerving, sometimes stillness is the only answer. Obviously you learned a lot about your own reservoirs of strength– and how the experience changed you for the better. Still, sorry it happened.

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  5. What a beautiful point and post. I’m laughing about getting in line – sure, save me a spot! 🙂

    On top of everything else, it’s so hard when you think it’s going to be a short bridge and then it turns out to be a very long bridge, one for which you can’t hold your breath all the way through. How incredibly tough that must have been. So glad your hubby has made it through – and you have too! And thanks for sharing all the beautiful lessons borne of suffering, my dear friend! ❤

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    1. Thank you, Wynne! I’ve debated endlessly about whether or not I wanted to write this…and then post/share. Never have I felt more vulnerable…but that’s the point. I know I’m not alone…and humor, connection, trying to have the ‘long view’ — hasn’t failed me yet. Onward! Appreciate you. 💓💓💓

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      1. I can totally understand your hesitation – sometimes things feel too close and emotional to write about. Thank you for braving that vulnerability to remind us all we aren’t alone in suffering and reaching for that long view!

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  6. You know I’m not on here much, but I’m trying to still read the HoTM posts when I can, and I’m sure glad I did today! There were SO MANY things that spoke to me, but I had one overriding thought.

    You’ve alluded to your hubby’s health once or twice, but no details. And I’ve often wondered if he was okay, how all of you were holding up, and even whispered prayers for you, but… never wanted to intrude by asking. This, however, confirmed my suspicions. Namely, that all of the times you’ve been “here,” supporting all of us – offering words of love and encouragement – you were dealing with your own very real issues. It touches me deeply to know how much you’ve set self aside, time and again, to do so. Saying thank you seems so trite, but truly… thank you for being a bright light to others, even when you may have felt that light was shining a little dimly in your own life. Beautiful post, Vicki! ❤️❤️

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    1. Thank you so much, dear Kendra. It was a toughie to noodle on – posting about it at all…but I thought it was time, given that the calendar moved on…something about the one-year anniversary gave me peace…and then a tidal wave of gratitude. And…I can give because I “get”…I have so many magnificent humans around me…including you. Thanks for your silent prayers, for listening for the unspoken. You’re a marvel. xo! 💓💓💓

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  7. You may have worried about being vulnerable and sharing this post … but you needn’t have worried, it’s such a great post. So much wisdom. It reminds me too, that we all have Bridges in our lives that we put out hands up to our eyes and only partially watch. Love, love how you ended! “And yet…you pushed me to see the truth: Life is beautiful and every moment counts.” Wow, such great advice. Glad too to hear that your husband is doing well. Lots to celebrate! Here’s to continued health! Thanks for sharing.

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    1. Thank you, Brian – so much! Yes…I know we’re not alone – the staring down of life-threatening challenges. So much fragility — but you’re right – the reasons to celebrate are here! Cheers to you and your friendship and kindness! 😊😊😊

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  8. I absolutely agree that suffering deepens but I have to say not just short term suffering. As you found out, suffering does not come with a predetermined duration. Neither does it come with a handy guide to estimate how much discomfort will we get with each round of suffering. It’s unpredictably is part of the program. I am happy to hear that your hubster is mostly back to his old tricks. I know it wasn’t just the two months in organized care but it took another 10 months of your care and his determination to be able to scoot past 1/29/23. My life has many months and years of suffering’s uncertainty and I am certain that although I’d have much rather done something more “fun” for the last ten years, I wouldn’t be the who that I am now, who by the way I like much more than the one who was suffering-free in those earlier years. There is always the chance a bout of life’s suffering will end with the ultimate loss, but we take that chance when we wake every morning. Yes, every moment counts. Even the unhappy ones. Thank you for sharing you with us so graciously!

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    1. Thank you, Michael! I so appreciate what you shared about the 10 months after the hospitalizations. Yes…a journey of its own. I know from pieces you’ve written that you have had your own firsthand experiences in being protective of your health and as you said, all of the experiences add up to make us who we are. Every moment counts — yes. Scooting past 1/29/23? You’re right! It was a milestone for sure! Hugs to you today my friend! 🥰

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  9. God, Victoria, the vulnerability that you share is so beautiful. Every one of us has our own bridges to cross. The last several years have revealed my own to me–but the suffering has caused a hidden treasure (previously masked by my belif in personhood) to surface. My revelation: knowing recognition of That which I truly am. My suffering was related to divorce–because I believed that marriage was part of my supporting structure of “my” life.
    I’ll definitely be looking forward to your next post.
    I’m so grateful that your husband has recovered. Blessings to both of you. 🙏🏻🧡🙏🏻

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    1. Thank you, Art — you are wonderful about providing insightful comments. Yes — our own bridges to cross. Indeed — and you’re right — all sorts of moments that feel like loss…including relationship changes and the persistent rethinking of who we are as we move forward. Appreciate your friendship and good wishes! 💓💓💓

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      1. You’re welcome, Victoria. Yes, everyone has their own bridges to cross. Regarding our true nature, I’ve always found great truth from the following passage from Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj (which can be experienced directly):
        “Before the mind–I Am. ‘I Am’ is not a thought in the mind. The mind happens to me, I do not happen to the mind.”
        🙏🏻

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  10. I’m glad I’m looking to be the 23rd and not the 29th comment. Gosh, I was feeling the anxiety reading about your husband in the hospital. Maybe it’s worse for me currently because Hubby hurt his back and is walking like an injured old man in a lot of pain. He was trying to stretch it out by lying on the floor. Then he rolled over, curled his knees in and made prayer hands under his chin. “Is this the direction of Mecca?” he asked me. Ah, I love his humor. Anyway, back to you. That’s so scary. I can hardly imagine. And poor little you with all those bridges. Darn those big rivers! I’m glad everything is better now. The only problem with a life of rainbows (appreciate the saving us a place in line-line. 😛 ) is that you don’t fully appreciate the good times without also experiencing the bad times, as you know, of course. But at least there’s THAT to say for the darker times. 😛

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    1. Thanks, Betsy! And you know what makes the gray days better? Fun friends who are willing to connect about the icky bits…the less-than-sunny stuff. Appreciate you!
      And…your hubs? Wowzers. Sounds painful…sending healing thoughts for back pain relief! And yes, yes. I’ll hold a place for you in the ‘rainbow’ line…but truth be told, if a queue forms for ‘rainy days and Mondays’ I like those…maybe more. Decisions, decisions! 🥰🥰🥰

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      2. Deal…and oh yeah…thanks for the quip about not being the “29th” comment…. I caught that. 😉 You’re the funny one! Same goes for our places in line? Let’s make sure we don’t draw unlucky #29. xo! 💓💓💓

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  11. I loved reading “free range kiddos”! So many memories of the huge back seat in our Plymouth. I shudder now to think about it. Truly though, as a child there is so little that we can control and we often carry that forward into adulthood. How could you not want to crawl right back under the car seat and hide with the news about your husband. Having the wisdom and courage to face that journey beside him was phenomenal Vicki and I suspect you are both stronger for all of it. I am so very glad that it seems to be behind you now and that he is well.

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    1. Thank you, dear Deb. I’m so glad the pieces connected for you — the bridge anxiety, wanting to hide, worrying about my hubby. Appreciate your good wishes for wellness. So grateful he’s here…and mostly recuperated. I am a lucky lady. xo! 💓

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    1. Thank you so much, dear Dr. Stein. I appreciate your comment and kindness — and for taking the time to share such a lovely – and uplifting – thought. I never thought about the word courage…to describe my journey but I believe I’m going to embrace it. 😊 Big hugs and smiles to you! 😊💓😊

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  13. I’m glad that your husband is better but those two months must’ve felt long and harrowing. The Anne Rice quote definitely holds true. And I agree. Adversity gives us grit and adds luster and richness to the things we often take for granted. Wishing him and you both continued good health.

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  15. Thank you for sharing such a vulnerable story, Vicki. I had to chuckle at the fear of bridges, as I was terrified of the walking bridge (over the shallow, man-made lake in my neighborhood 😆) as child, and the relatability of that grasping at some sense of control. I’m so relieved to hear that your husband is not only doing better, but also “back to his old tricks.” 🥰 I can only imagine the fear and helplessness you must have felt. With the Anne Rice quote, I think it’s near-impossible to recognize the luster when we’re in the thick of the suffering, but reflecting back often gives us the distance to see to the small gifts.

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    1. Thank you, Erin. You expressed that perfectly –‘in the thick of suffering’ makes it hard to see the wins, the gifts, the awareness. Yes. So true for me. Thanks for sharing your bridge story, too…oh yes…those swinging bridges. Wow…a whole other bucket of fun. Sending hugs to you this morning…big healing, loving hugs! 💓🥰💓

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  16. Wow- I’m so sorry to hear what you and your husband went through, but I’m glad things turned out ok. I’d never even heard of bacterial pneumonia. And then, for a “cool down” event you have a major house project going on?! No wonder you held your breath for 2022- that’s a lot. I hope this year brings you a record setting amount of peace and joy.

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    1. Thanks so much, Todd! Yes — the whole remodeling thing was scheduled to be in progress when he was hospitalized…so everything got pushed back out of necessity. You are so right…LOL. Not exactly the relaxing, cool-down I envisioned, but we have lovely peeps doing the work who have been friends for many years. That’s helped a lot. Still….the DUST! 😉
      Big hugs to you this Monday morning…have a great day and thank you for being a blogging bud. Appreciate you! 😎😎😎

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  17. Oh Vicki, 2022 really has been a tough year for you. I hope you did something to mark 29th Jan this year as a success so its not a negative marker in the future.

    Growing up with that fear of bridges must have been so stressful; our reactions in these situations can be scary because they’re totally outwith our control but probably as a child we can’t articulate how we feel and can’t see how irrational they are. You don’t say if you’ve overcome this fear now, but if you have, that shows a really strong character, being able to fact up to fear. That is what has made you stronger now and that strength is what has helped you through this past year’s challenges. By sharing your vulnerability, Vicky, you are also showing your strength and are an inspiration to others.

    Thank you for being you Vicky,

    Bx

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    1. You are such a love, Brenda! Thanks for your sweet comments…and what a great question — about whether or not bridges still freak me out. Thankfully, not…I think it was just the childhood me trying to survive. And the past year? Yes! Cheers to putting it behind me but I so appreciate your sweet thought — thinking of ‘the year that was’ in successful terms, so that Jan 29 isn’t always so gloomy. Beautiful! And…how about this? Thank YOU for being you, dear Brenda! xo! 💓💓💓

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