The time after delivery was full of hardship. Karolina developed a dangerous bacterial infection which, mixed with stress and fear for the baby and for herself, stayed with us for over a week. During those 12 days in hospital I noted a few observations I’d like to record - for myself and for you:
While the dread lasts, I’m not able to assess the scale of danger or risk - the body switches to good/bad mode. When the fever returns, Karolina is definitely going to die and I’ll be a weak, lonely father. When the fever passes, it’s certain that soon we’ll be a happy family in our own home.
That question - asked by hordes of doctors, midwives and nurses - lost its meaning after the tenth time. There’s a version of that question that comes from care, and a version that’s diagnostic ritual. From the receiving end, the difference was obvious - and so was the fact that answering it fifteen times a day did nothing for anyone. Stirring the tea doesn’t make it sweeter.
Going outside, looking at clouds, the sun, or even other people simply going about their business - it helps you remember that the hardship is only in your corner, that the whole world isn’t ending, and that this hardship will pass one way or another. A visit from a friend with whom you can just smoke a cigarette and walk around the building gives the mind more than twenty questions about how you’re feeling.
Making coffee, slicing a tomato for a sandwich, counting 4, 8, 12 hours without fever, or noting a fever slightly lower than the previous one, a moment of quiet sleep from your daughter - all these small facts give hope, charge the batteries of belief that the hardship will one day pass and the sun will return.
One of the best moments of those 12 days was the moment Karolina started getting angry - at the staff, at the hospital food, at me. It was a signal that life was beginning to come back. I’ll try to remember that the next time I get annoyed that someone is angry.
Now that the dread is away and as I’m writing this, one thought - albeit management-infused - emerges and perhaps is worth sharing: the team that’s gone quiet is more worrying than the team that’s pushing back. When people stop arguing about a decision, stop expressing frustration, stop sending the pointed emails - that’s resignation. I’ve watched leaders mistake the silence of exhausted people for the silence of convinced ones. Karolina’s anger told me she was fighting and beginning to recover. The same signal works in organizations. I’d rather have a room full of irritated people with opinions than a room full of polite, disengaged nodders. If the agenda is not on the table it’s beneath it - but that’s a story for a different time.
This episode of hardship ended well. We’re home, the little one is gaining weight, Karolina is recovering. I’ll return to these moments whenever something in life doesn’t go my way.
]]>Waiting doesn’t come easily to me, yet I find myself waiting for a few things and people. The most important person I’m waiting for is my daughter, who was supposed to be born last Thursday - as it turns out she’s also waiting for something, probably for the ‘right’ moment. I’m also waiting for my partner, waiting for her to return from the pregnancy mix of states: exhaustion, joy, anticipation, hope and fear. I’d miss the daily smile, and the gentle mischievousness that colors our conversations.
I’m also waiting for a few parcels at the pickup machine - a charger for my phone, my watch and headphones, filament for the 3D printer so I can continue to fill the waiting time for my daughter with waiting time for the next drawer organiser. In this waiting of mine there’s a lack of control, of agency - and yet it’s a completely liberating activity. I don’t have to do anything, because after all, I’m waiting.
This reminds me of my first years at work, and the shock I felt hearing “well, I sent an email and I’m waiting.” It used to drive me nuts - by “this” I mean the act of surrendering power and control over the situation. I’ve done all I can, I sent the email and now I wait.
I’ll probably never truly make peace with waiting. I can’t imagine waiting for my daughter to start preschool, or waiting for some interesting job offer to come to me on its own. I think a fair amount of what I’ve managed in life I owe to an almost unbearable allergy to waiting.
I prefer writing about waiting to waiting itself.
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