Seen and Unseen

Exactly one year ago, not feeling well, I decided I should cut short my trip to Asia. So I rolled over in my hotel room bed, put my laptop on my stomach, booked what appeared to be the last empty seat that morning back to Washington, flew back to the US, and went right from Dulles airport to the emergency room. I was never in pain; I just knew something was really, really wrong.

Little did I know I was about to spend more than four months commuting between the hospital and my bedroom at home, scheduling surgery, wearing hardware, and having, to use a word that became familiar, procedures.

Through it all, I could attend business meetings by zoom, even from bed using a virtual background (“The audience never knows…”). If memory serves, I missed only one meeting. In addition, I was always able to co-host every week’s “White House Chronicle” on PBS stations, also by zoom from home; after all, on television, you only saw my head and shoulders. And I knew I was getting better when our ever-patient director said he no longer had to do color correction to adjust my on-air complexion.

On turned out to be my last hospital visit, I remember being asked, “What is your expectation today?” And I replied that I expected to return the next week. No, he said; we’re removing all of the hardware. You don’t have to come back. You’re done.

Just like that.

So now, a year later, a belated big thank you to the surgeon (a USC alum!) and everyone else at the hospital, who were always so cheerful, even as they were warning me of possible lifelong complications -- that, mercifully, did not happen. Some said it was luck, if you believe in such things.

And a special thanks to all of the family and friends who put up with me (more than usual), most especially my round-the-clock nurse a k a ever-patient spouse, ever the lurker on social media.

(In addition to being smart, artistic and my in-house editor, she is also very inventive: When I was so weak I could not get out of bed without her help, she moved a chair next to the bed so I could pull myself up and out. When it worked the first time, it was so liberating that I turned to her and said, “If I were not already married to you, I would marry this chair.”)

Now I am healthier than I have been in some time, ready for an 81st year and more. And for more adventures and trials.

Remember, life is an audition.