Spontaneity
Christina
Spontaneity: the quality or state of being driven by a momentary impulse.
(Or as defined in chemistry and biology, the measurement of disorder in the universe.)
I have never considered myself to be spontaneous, or impulsive, or disorganized. Rather, I believe I’m quite the opposite. Composed and prepared, I like to write reminders and tasks in my agenda book. I like to study a week in advance. I like to mark my calendar, even with the tentative dates.
You see, even though I understand that life is replete with surprises, I like to attempt to predict what the future has in store and prepare.
Thus, on the fateful morning of Thursday, February 28th, 2019, when I was diagnosed with a spontaneous pneumothorax on my right side (or in plain English, a collapsed lung), I was shocked. I remember that I pronounced the diagnosis out loud slowly: “spontaneous.” Then, once more: “spontaneous.” I laughed at the situational irony. A girl like me suffering from a spontaneous pneumothorax. Ha, what are the odds?
What started out as a typical morning (going to school at 7:00 am, attending study hall, eating my healthy yet scrumptious “everything” bagel) ended up completely awry.
In fact, I distinctly recall experiencing a sharp stabbing sensation on my right side, like shrapnel piercing my chest (as if I know what that feels like). “I’ll be fine,” I imagined. “Must be cramps, just in an unusual spot: my chest.” Then, I was short of breath. “I’ll be fine. After all, I have an important test next period that I wouldn’t want to miss.” Of course, breathing shallowly inevitably led to feeling light-headed. Finally relenting, I thought, “I’ll be fine, but I guess I’ll walk to the nurse’s office by myself.” Little did I know, that I would almost pass out along the way as my vision became spotted with white specks and my legs wanted to give way to an eminent collapse. (I blame the lack oxygen to brain for my lapses in judgement.)
That day, my parents rushed me to the local pediatrician who then ushered me to the ER. By the time I was at Los Robles Hospital, my hands were already tainted with a faint blue color, yet I still managed to walk to radiology and even crack a few jokes and make small talk with the hoards of nurses and physicians seemingly permanently lodged in the hospital.
I had a couple of x-rays taken, followed by my surgery, and a five day stay at the “five-star resort”: Los Robles Hospital. And you know the rest of the story.
My point is, adaptability trumps preparedness.
I learned that spontaneous events are bound to occur, and prepared or not, I need to learn to let go. To be perfectly honest, it’s not easy loosening my tight white-knuckled grip on life, let alone, letting go completely. Trusting in God has helped me believe in a figure, a presence, greater than myself, yet I have been taught from a young age to “be the driver of my own life” rather than “sit in the passenger seat.” I guess old habits aren’t so easy to break after all, so I keep reminding (more like reassuring) myself that I’m not in the passenger seat of my life; no, I’ve just discovered autopilot.
Spontaneity: the quality or state of being driven by a momentary impulse.
(Or as defined in chemistry and biology, the measurement of disorder in the universe.)
I have never considered myself to be spontaneous, or impulsive, or disorganized. Rather, I believe I’m quite the opposite. Composed and prepared, I like to write reminders and tasks in my agenda book. I like to study a week in advance. I like to mark my calendar, even with the tentative dates.
You see, even though I understand that life is replete with surprises, I like to attempt to predict what the future has in store and prepare.
Thus, on the fateful morning of Thursday, February 28th, 2019, when I was diagnosed with a spontaneous pneumothorax on my right side (or in plain English, a collapsed lung), I was shocked. I remember that I pronounced the diagnosis out loud slowly: “spontaneous.” Then, once more: “spontaneous.” I laughed at the situational irony. A girl like me suffering from a spontaneous pneumothorax. Ha, what are the odds?
What started out as a typical morning (going to school at 7:00 am, attending study hall, eating my healthy yet scrumptious “everything” bagel) ended up completely awry.
In fact, I distinctly recall experiencing a sharp stabbing sensation on my right side, like shrapnel piercing my chest (as if I know what that feels like). “I’ll be fine,” I imagined. “Must be cramps, just in an unusual spot: my chest.” Then, I was short of breath. “I’ll be fine. After all, I have an important test next period that I wouldn’t want to miss.” Of course, breathing shallowly inevitably led to feeling light-headed. Finally relenting, I thought, “I’ll be fine, but I guess I’ll walk to the nurse’s office by myself.” Little did I know, that I would almost pass out along the way as my vision became spotted with white specks and my legs wanted to give way to an eminent collapse. (I blame the lack oxygen to brain for my lapses in judgement.)
That day, my parents rushed me to the local pediatrician who then ushered me to the ER. By the time I was at Los Robles Hospital, my hands were already tainted with a faint blue color, yet I still managed to walk to radiology and even crack a few jokes and make small talk with the hoards of nurses and physicians seemingly permanently lodged in the hospital.
I had a couple of x-rays taken, followed by my surgery, and a five day stay at the “five-star resort”: Los Robles Hospital. And you know the rest of the story.
My point is, adaptability trumps preparedness.
I learned that spontaneous events are bound to occur, and prepared or not, I need to learn to let go. To be perfectly honest, it’s not easy loosening my tight white-knuckled grip on life, let alone, letting go completely. Trusting in God has helped me believe in a figure, a presence, greater than myself, yet I have been taught from a young age to “be the driver of my own life” rather than “sit in the passenger seat.” I guess old habits aren’t so easy to break after all, so I keep reminding (more like reassuring) myself that I’m not in the passenger seat of my life; no, I’ve just discovered autopilot.
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