Word up

I haven’t posted for a while but lately I’ve been forced to think about the power of our own words. Here's why…

As 2014 was drawing to a close, I remember very clearly declaring to my partner: 

“2015 is the year I want EVERYTHING to change!”

By everything, I was thinking along the lines of upgrading my career and boosting my financial status. And maybe a new haircut to mark my impending 50^th birthday.

I obviously should have been more specific when I so resolutely released those words into the Universe.

If you read my last post, you’ll know that my car was completely written off on New Year’s Eve as it sat parked in a quiet street in a neighbouring village. I definitely didn’t see that coming but, after a carless month and a day spent dragging my boys around the soulless streets of Sydney’s used-car suburbs, we found the perfect replacement and daily life went back to normal.

A week later the lock on our security screen broke, leaving us unable to get inside our own home one afternoon. The locksmith sorted that out pretty swiftly and I didn’t think anything much of it. Then my standalone cooker short-fused and died in a puff of smoke, never to as much as boil an egg again.

Okay, I thought… That’s three things out of the way. All a bit of a hassle but no great harm done.

Two incident-free weeks passed before I somehow managed to slam my handbag in the car door and smashed the screen on my phone. Still no great harm done but by now I’m just expecting EVERYTHING I touch to turn to dust and require replacement.

Image via themamaproject.com

Then, two Thursdays ago, my youngest son (YS) and I decided to curl up together and watch a couple of episodes of Outback ER – it’s set in my hometown and we’re heading out there for a visit soon, so it seemed relevant (we also both love a good reality ER show).

As we watched events unfold in the hospital where I drew my very first breath, YS pointed out – in an intrigued and almost longing way – that he had never stayed overnight in hospital before. While he wondered out loud what it would be like to be poked with needles and have drips attached to his body, I said the obvious to him: “That’s not something you should ever wish for!”

YS went off to bed and – no word of a lie – an hour later he came back into the living room complaining of severe stomach pain. He was cold and his skin had a greenish tinge, and when I felt his stomach it was tight, just as I remembered mine being when I had appendicitis way back when.

I won’t bore you with every detail, but in short my prognosis was correct. YS had keyhole appendix surgery the next morning and spent the following two days in a public ward at Nepean Hospital, with X and I taking shifts. Needless to say he now has a profound understanding of what it’s like to be in hospital and is pretty clear about never ever wanting to go back to one again (and don't get him started on the food).

As for me, I’ve been sufficiently spooked by recent events and am going to be extremely cautious about what I wish for in the future. 

Thankfully, material goods aside, other aspects of my life are also slowly being replaced. I’m undertaking a bold career move that should positively impact my finances down the track and I’m currently researching potential new hairstyles. Just don’t wish me luck!