Hello! Lovely to be with you again. I’m showing up on your internet doorstep exactly eleven days out from getting a tonsillectomy and I’ll tell ya, I’m nervous. The closer it gets, the more anxious I feel. Why a tonsillectomy, you ask?
Well.
Last year I was sick. You maybe thought I said “Last year I got sick once or twice,” but I assure you, dear reader, what I said was: Last YEAR, I was sick. Like, twice a month, give or take ten days at a time. I’m no math nerd, but I’m saying that rounds up to one whole year of sickness. It didn’t occur to me that this was exorbitant until my mother said, “Hey, seems like you’re sick a LOT, maybe you should go to a specialist?” Brilliant.
The specialist said, “If you’ve had three sore throats in the last year you need to have your tonsils out. Have you had three sore throats in the last year?” and I said, “Sir, I have had three sore throats, one case of strep, and a gnarly sinus infection in the last two months. Cut me open.”
At first I was excited. Not about the surgery part, but about the possibility of having a healthy year, and not having to wonder if any plan I make will have to be canceled. Equally exciting (before I did any research): the prospect of spending two weeks watching good TV while I recover.
As the hour draws nigh, however, I’m reading terrifying sentences like, “Make sure you sleep sitting up so you don’t drown in your own saliva,” and “Oatmeal is great on the fifth day because it really grabs on to those flakey scabs.” I’m sorry, this is a situation where grabbing scabs is a desirable thing?
I’m coping the only way I know how—curating TV and recipe lists for myself. At the top of the watch list are Stranger Things and any Jordan Peal movie, because I can only do scary if I’m ill and/or drugged. In general I avoid all horror-adjacent entertainment, but occasionally something in the genre makes enough noise in the pop culture scene that I put it on my “save for sickness” list. At present my list skews heavily toward intense drama, with only one or two options for lightheartedness. If you have any funny, frothy, or nonsense show recs, put them in the comments. I really think I’m gonna need a laugh. And for the love, if you’ve had your tonsils out as an adult, give me everything you got. I need all the help I can get.
Alright. Let’s get into it.
P.S. - If this is your first edition, I promise I don’t talk about scab grabbing every time.
Welcome to The Paradox Paper, a monthly newsletter that honors paradox in the every day. If a friend forwarded you this email, click here to subscribe:
In this edition:
A subscription I like better than Audible and use more than HBO
A way to tell a friend “I love you,” and make them laugh too
The best kid’s show that every storyteller should watch
The pain of a friend’s suffering
A book for the doubters who want to believe
A prayer for bedtime
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Scribd
I love audiobooks, but I have never liked Audible. I’m going to pay you a subscription fee, but I also have to ration out these weird tokens? And not everything is available? And the app is hard to use? No. No thank you. I have turned to Scribd. Books, audiobooks, magazines, academic articles, the works. $12/mo, access to the full library. It is a bit like Netflix in the sense that the library is vast, but titles come and go based on publishing rules, rights, blah blah blah. The user experience is intuitive and simple, I love the option to save titles and organize them into lists, and you can share your subscription across five devices. I think it’s five? It’s enough. Big fan.
Em&Friends Postcard Books
I’m a note writer. For the times when I have lots of thoughts and feelings to share, I use these blank cards in fun colors from Target. Other times I want to let a friend know that I’m thinking of them, but I want to keep it light and brief. That’s when I use the Good Vibes and It’s Gonna Be OK-ish postcard books. I’ve got my eye on the Pep Talk set too.
Bluey Season 3
There are new Bluey episodes. When I tell you that Bluey is an amazing show, I’m worried you’re hearing “This is wholesome entertainment for your child, and you’re free to turn it on and get on with your tasks while the kids watch.” That’s true, but I need you to know that when you make dinner or scroll your phone while Bluey is on, you—a grown adult with refined entertainment tastes—are missing out. If you have ever been or ever known a child, this show will make you laugh and make you cry. The episodes are six minutes. SIX MINUTES. How are they telling such engaging stories in SIX MINUTES? Don’t cheat yourself. Watch Bluey.
I had all my babies at home. My pregnancies were low risk, and I have a hard time telling doctors what kind of help I need, so it made sense for us. My births have been textbook. After somewhere between four and twelve hours of labor, out comes a screaming baby, and we all crawl into bed and call it a night.
I’m grateful, and painfully aware that it’s not that way for everyone. Just this week a friend had a cesarean section when she’d been hoping for a vaginal birth. Last year one of my oldest and dearest spent the first three weeks of her daughter’s life in the NICU. Two other women I love are wrestling with the risk and weight of whether to try again after miscarriage. Irrespective of dreams and desires, plans and preparation, birth—like life—doesn’t always go the way we hope it will.
I watched a documentary in college—back when marriage and children were still abstracts and it was safe to form concrete opinions about them—about a midwife who attended home births. She championed her clients’ choices, praising them for their wisdom and bravery. When a laboring woman felt overwhelmed and begged for the hospital, this midwife could talk her down and bring her through. “You’re almost done,” she’d say. “When you feel like you can’t go on, that’s when you know you’re almost there.” She was good at her job, and confident in her words.
Then she birthed her own baby. All her expertise and experience left her unprepared. She told the doc crew about the first birth she attended after returning from her own maternity leave, and I’ll never forget the look on her face. Hope and helplessness at once. She said, “I was useless. I was no help to those women. Before, I could cheer them, I could bring them above the pain. Afterward I was overcome with empathy. I’d have a screaming client and I’d just rock back and forth next to her and whisper ‘I know. I know.’”
I think about those words all the time, especially when my friends are suffering. There was a time, before I’d suffered much myself, when I would’ve had words of cheer and perseverance. Now all I have are my hope and my helplessness. This pain will end, I know. Nothing can be done to make it hurt less or end sooner, I know.
Hope and helplessness. I know, I know.
After Doubt, AJ Swoboba
I’m not done with this yet, but I’ve found it so helpful and thought provoking I decided to share it with you anyway. AJ tackles the question, “Can we question our faith without losing it?” and does a beautiful job of exploring the pitfalls and benefits of doubt. If you’ve enjoyed my words on the topic, I think you’ll appreciate this book.
It is a true joy to write for you each month, and I always love to hear about anything you tried and loved or anything that resonated with you. Simply reply to this email or leave a comment to let me know.
Until next time, hold the paradox, don’t panic. Love you.
-Steph
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