Last week I took a little tumble at home — knocked myself out, broke a few bones, and earned myself a dreaded trip to the ER.

After a blur of tests and scans, the doctors found a brain injury and decided to send me to another hospital that could “handle it.” I didn’t know exactly what needed handling, but I figured I’d better be on my best behavior, even if I was a little loopy.

Everyone kept telling me how lucky I was to be alive, that I should’ve come in sooner, that I needed to make “better choices.” (Sure, let me just add don’t fall down to my to-do list.) Then one nurse gasped, “Your blood pressure just went sky high! That will make your brain injury worse. Does it always spike like this?”

I thought carefully before answering. “Only when I’m in pain… and doctors talk to me.”

They got the message. Pain meds and blood pressure meds went right into the IV, and I tried to calm myself by repeating a nursery rhyme: One, two, buckle my shoe…

They told me they’d “monitor” me for a bit — hospital speak for put her in the hallway until we find a spot. My bed joined a long row of about twenty other poor souls lined up like an ER parade.

With nothing else to do, I people-watched.

The patients:
Some actually slept (how, I’ll never know), others shouted for nurses or pain meds, and a few just stared at the ceiling, resigned to their fate. Me? I curled up into the smallest ball I could, like a wild animal licking its wounds in private. Apparently, that made me invisible — I was checked on exactly twice in five hours. One, two, buckle my shoe…

The staff:
The nurses were absolute heroes — kind, patient, and clearly running a marathon. Of the three doctors I saw, two seemed to be auditioning for “Most Arrogant Physician,” but one was a gem. (I’ll take a nurse practitioner any day.) The security guards, meanwhile, looked like they were just waiting for something — or someone — to restrain.

The visitors:
Some stayed faithfully by their loved ones (my husband did, until I sent him home to care for the dog — priorities!). Others power-walked through the hallway, eyes fixed straight ahead, terrified of catching the “hallway patient” eye.

One woman on crutches dropped her visitor’s pass and burst into tears when she couldn’t reach it. Nobody noticed. So I carefully got out of bed, squatted down (thank you, exercise class!), and picked it up for her. She thanked me through her tears. I told her, “We’re all in this together.” And really, we were.

Finally, at 1 a.m., I got my “room.” The transporter must’ve trained for NASCAR — we zoomed down hallways, played elevator bumper cars, and got lost twice before reaching our destination: a long, dimly lit room filled with ten other patients being “observed.”

If you’ve ever seen the old movie Coma, you’ll understand why my blood pressure spiked again. It looked just like the room in that movie where they kept patients for sinister reasons. I was convinced my organs were going to be harvested. The nurse smiled (a little too serenely, if you ask me), gave me more pain meds, and I drifted off thinking:
I wish I could tell everyone I love them one more time…maybe I should appreciate my ordinary days more…I want to live a little longer.  One, two, buckle my shoe…

When I woke up, lights flashed, machines beeped, and voices shouted. For a split second I thought, “Oh no, I didn’t make it — this is it!” But nope. It was just morning in a hospital.

A few hours later, I was finally released and made my escape — free at last! Walking through my front door felt like pure relief. My life may look a little different for a while, but it’s still my life. And that’s more than enough.

Sometimes it takes losing your footing to find your balance again. Life’s fragile, messy, and unpredictable—but it’s also beautiful, full of second chances and laughter you didn’t know you needed.

So here’s to a little gratitude, a lot of Tylenol, and learning to appreciate every perfectly ordinary day. Because sometimes you don’t need a big adventure to feel lucky—you just need to wake up, take a deep breath, and say, “Well, I’m still here.”

-Peni