For the last hour I’ve been scrolling and scrolling through old photos hoping to come up with a blog idea. However, it’s been a long day, I’m exhausted, and all I can think is, No, that won’t work. But I told a good friend today that probably the best thing I’ve ever done–in my entire life–was to have sinus surgery, so when I saw pictures from the surgery, I thought, That might work. (One hour, and I’ve got a solid maybe.) This–it would appear–is the life of a writer. Doesn’t it sound glorious? Sign up now and you can live with your parents too!

But I digress.

For nearly two decades, I had multiple sinus infections a year. I know I’ve written about this before, but it was hell. For the longest time, I’d have an infection–marked by fatigue, colorful snot, and sometimes fever–once every six to twelve weeks. Maybe more often than that. At some point, I stopped counting. But it seems as if I have just as many memories being sick as I do being well. I was sick in high school the night Mom and Dee-Anne and I drove to Little Rock to see Les Mis. I could barely put my clothes on. I was sick probably half the times I went to Houston for an annual Lindy Hop convention. I was sick almost every Thanksgiving.

In high school I used to think that God was punishing me for–I don’t know–being a straight A student. I’d pray–and pray–and pray–and still wake up coughing up blood-colored snot. Before I knew what to call it, I’d tell my family, “I feel weak,” and my Dad would say that I was burning the candle at both ends. I’d think, I just need to slow down.

Over the years, I tried everything I knew to try. I took a ton of antibiotics, swore them off, took a ton more–with steroids. Had an allergic reaction, whatever. Alternatively, I ordered things off television, off websites. I saw a naturopathic doctor who suggested herbs for my immune system. I took so many herbs, drank so many teas. I looked into the emotional connection to sinus infections (crying inside). None of it solved the problem, but I did learn a lot. In fact, having constant sinus infections is one of the things that led me to Reiki, Chi Kung, and meditation. Again, none of it fixed them problem, but they’ve all added a multitude of benefits to my emotional, physical, and spiritual life. So I don’t consider everything a waste.

Except maybe the Neti Pot, that contraption you use to pour water in one nostril until it runs out the other. If I had a nickel for every time someone said, “Have you tried a Neti Pot?” I’d be set. YES, I have tried a fucking Neti Pot–it didn’t work.

Whenever I’d get sick–again–I’d get overwhelmed and think, I can’t do this anymore. Of course, I did, since I didn’t have much choice in the matter. Plus, things always look different in the morning. Which morning, I can’t say. But go through enough mornings, and things will look different. For me, I guess things started to turn around a few years ago when my primary care doctor suggested seeing an ENT (ear, nose, and throat doctor). Now there’s an idea! So that’s what I did–locally–and the doctor explained that 1) my septum was blocked, a lot, and 2) my sinuses weren’t draining. Basically, I always had an infection “on deck.” His recommendation? Surgery, to the tune of approximately $14,000 dollars.

Well, shit. I don’t have insurance.

Or $14,000.

Fast forward to just before this last Christmas, and I was living in Fayetteville, about to travel to New York City, and sick–again. So I called my ENT’s office to finally do something about it. I had insurance, and even though I had a high deductible, I didn’t care. I had to do something. Well, no one answered the phone. I’m sure you’ve been on hold before. So I hung up and called a clinic in Rogers (Mercy Ear, Nose, and Throat).

“Can you come next week?” they asked.

“Ugh. I’ll be out-of-state next week.”

“What about two hours from now? Can you come then?”

“I’ll be there.”

Y’all, I hate to say this because it was twenty freaking years, but it was worth the wait. I’ve never been treated so well by an entire group of medical professionals. I don’t intend for this to become a commercial, but everyone from start to finish was amazing. (Pick up your phone and order now.) But seriously, my doctor’s name was Chad (actually Dr. Chad Putman, but I try to keep it informal on the blog), and he paid attention, asked questions, then laid out a plan–drugs first, a CT scan, then possibly surgery. “I don’t want to jump the gun,” he said. So we took it step by step, and six weeks later, I was in an operating room.

By that time, Chad had explained that my previous doctor had been correct–my nose was blocked 80 percent on one side and 90 percent on the other. Part of my sinuses weren’t draining, which meant they were constantly “smoldering.” (Isn’t this fun to talk about?) But whereas the previous doctor had suggested three procedures, Chad suggested six in order to really open everything up. The day of the surgery–February 15–he told my parents, “We’ll treat him like family.”

Uh, I know we’re family and all, but my butt is hanging out of this gown.

Surgery itself was a breeze. The anesthesiologist came in the room where I was waiting with Mom and Dad and said, “I’m going to give you a cocktail.”

I said, “I like cocktails.”

Then they wheeled me back to the operating room, moved me to a different table, and that was it. The next thing I knew, I woke up back in my room with a sling around my nose to catch the blood. Later Mom said that I was repeating myself a lot. How’d it go? God, it’s bright in there. May I have my sunglasses?

Mom and Dad took care of me for a week. Looking back, it was sort of a trial run for my living with them now. For the first several days, I couldn’t breathe through my nose at all and slept in a chair. Per Chad’s instructions, I used a Neti Pot (!) twice a day to clean out scabs. It wasn’t pretty, but it was pretty fascinating. I’d look in the sink, see all the blood, and wonder how I was still alive. But the Neti Pot actually worked and still does. Chad said it didn’t work before because my sinuses were blocked, so the water (or medicine spray or whatever) couldn’t actually get where it needed to go.

This is when I still couldn’t breathe and felt like Voldemort.

Within six weeks, I was pretty much back to normal–except way, way better. I could actually breathe. Wow, I thought, is this how much air regular people get? No wonder everyone is so damn happy. It’s oxygen. Six months post-surgery, I haven’t had a single infection, just one cold that kind of hung on. And if all this air and lack of infections is any indication of how things will go in the future–I’ll take it. The last time I saw Chad, I told him I was so grateful to finally have–

“An answer,” he said.

I don’t know why life works like this, why you can struggle with something for twenty years, do everything you know to do, and then one day–a miracle. I don’t know what finally makes the stars align, why God has the need to be so mysterious about all of his ways. This week, or the last twenty years rather, I’ve been working overtime to manage my emotions, not be overwhelmed by life, and find an answer to this thing called suffering. Of course, some days it feels like I’ve tried everything, that things will never look different no matter how many mornings present themselves. But tonight I’m reminded that healings happen step by step and often just when we’re about to give up. Perhaps this is the way we learn to hope–and therefore–breathe again.