Fixing the Flamingo
When I couldn't fix the problem that scared me most, I fixed the one I could.
“Cardiac catheter first. Possible stent. One or more.”
The cardiologist said it matter-of-factly, as if he were discussing the weather.
“But I’m healthy,” I protested.
He smiled the way doctors do when they’re about to tell you something you don’t want to hear.
“You walk?”
“Every day. At least a mile and a half.”
“You smoke?”
“Never.”
“Blood pressure?”
“120/77.”
“Cholesterol?”
“Reasonable.”
“Then why?”
“Your family history.”
That stopped me.
My grandfather died of a heart attack at a young age. My father had heart disease, and he died at age 47. Apparently, genetics had been quietly keeping score while I was busy collecting daily steps and congratulating myself on salads.
I left the appointment stunned.
Not crying. Not panicking. Just stunned.
The doctor’s words bounced around in my head. Cardiac catheter. Possible stent. One or more.
So I did what any rational person facing a potential heart procedure would do.
I drove to Home Depot.
I wasn’t ready to go home and think. Thinking felt dangerous. Thinking led to Google. Google led to statistics. Statistics led to fear.
Home Depot felt safer.
I wandered the aisles until I found what I needed: a metal rod.
The cashier looked at me.
“What are you using this for?”
I answered without hesitation.
“I’m going to stick it up my flamingo’s butt.”
She blinked.
To be fair, context would have helped.
The rod was a structural support for a papier-mâché flamingo that had developed an alarming tendency to topple over. The flamingo wasn’t dying. The flamingo just needed reinforcement.
Unlike me, the flamingo’s problem had an obvious solution.
As I drove home, I realized that was exactly why I needed the rod.
Crafting restores agency.
When life hands you a problem you can’t solve, fixing something you can solve becomes an act of self-preservation. I couldn’t control my arteries. I couldn’t rewrite my family history. I couldn’t negotiate with genetics.
But I could stabilize a wobbly flamingo.
And sometimes that’s enough.
Not because it solves the larger problem.
Because it reminds you that you’re still capable of solving any problem at all.
(Incidentally, real life can mimic my work rather surprisingly. In Gingerbread, Dead, Man, Kiki Lowenstein confronts a problem she can’t fix by focusing on one she can! Pre-order your copy today! https://amzn.to/3S8C3u5)
Mystery Mondays
This coming Monday at 7 p.m. ET at Joanna’s Readers, our guest will be Christine Knapp, author of the Modern Midwife Mysteries.
Love, Die, Neighbor is a BIG hit!
It’s still free today—https://amzn.to/4uSQ3qx
Joanna, almost a year ago I had weird symptoms, went to the ER and the next day had 3 stents put in. This is a very common procedure (my hospital is 1000's a week). For whatever reason I wasn't scared. Not sure why, because this was a big deal, but maybe because my Mom had a stroke 6 months previously, my problems were minor in comparison. I did cardiac rehab, take meds, go to the dr more and eat better. So I look at the situation as a positive. I am sending positive thoughts that you will have as uneventful procedure as I did. Take care of yourself!!
Hope your heart is fixed as easily as the flamingo. Take care.