I’m sitting here in the hospital waiting room, waiting for Little Mate to come out of his minor procedure. He’s absolutely fine, just a little op to help his body function a little better. I was fairly unprepared though, particularly in comparison to when Giggles Magoo underwent a similar procedure…second child you see, I knew what to expect and fell into “I got this” mode.

My complacency got the better of me however, and I didn’t really get into the swing of things until last night, when post-work blues were setting in and I started the scramble for all the supplies I knew we’d (potentially) need today. For me, that was laptop, book, coffee and snacks. For him, I packed his favourite toys, a few books and a few surprises to help him through the hospital waiting game.

I forgot though, there is sometimes no waiting game. The hospital system excels at the ‘move you from waiting space to waiting space’ game, and today has been one of those days the staff have excelled in their role. We arrived as instructed, at 7am, were up in the ward by 7:30am and into surgery at 8:35am. It turns out he’ll be ready in recovery in just a few moments.

While I wait, I wanted to hurriedly reflect on how I am incredibly grateful for the access Australians can have to this level of medical care and thankful to each of the staff that have worked to help us through this unscathed. I also wanted to reflect on my fellow (or soon-to-be) Australians, and the high probability that not every family will have access to this same healthcare, or indeed the same positive experience. Australia, in the general sense has much to do in terms of universal health care access, particularly for our First Nations people. I think after today, I will seek out an organisation that works to help regional and indigenous families navigate the medical world.

I best be off, I can see the kind face of our surgeon making her way toward me and I really need to share this glamorous look with someone.

Happy Wednesday x

Since I’ve semi-regularly become a runner, I’ve developed a real love of running early in the morning and I easily found my morning groove to get out the door: I’d get up, usually 75mins prior to my designated start time, get dressed in my set-out-the-night-before running gear, eat two pieces of honey toast (aiming to have finished the toast 1hr prior to the start of the run), drink a coffee and then finalise the gear I’d be taking on the run (depending on how long the run was). My little waters bottles, neatly on the counter, only required me to fill them up and I’d be out the door, ready to explore. It is really the best, most-disciplined version of me I can think of.  

Alas, I’ve not been able to run very much recently, due to an unfortunate run of injuries; but, this last week or so I’ve tentatively been getting back to things. I’ve noticed the early-morning wake up hasn’t been coming as easily, and then this morning, I completely threw my morning rituals. I hadn’t totally committed myself to the run before going to bed, instead, I’d committed myself wholly to the enjoyment of Gin & Tonics and fine wines. Luckily, my alarm hadn’t been switched off from the day prior, and at 5:30am when it ungraciously started hollering, I strangely got up out of bed and unexpectedly felt well-rested. I proceeded to scrounge for clothes (I hadn’t organised any the night before), and a glass of water. Upon gazing out our new back-room windows, whilst sipping on said-water, I was able to watch the start of the morning’s glow pop out over the bushland in the valley just down from us. And, I’m not gonna lie, it was beautiful. Stunning, actually. Fuck the routine, I suddenly thought: I desperately wanted to be out in the cool and fresh air, watching the sun touch everything for the first time in the new day. 

I laced up and left, sans breakfast, coffee or any run supplies, but with a greater sense of purpose: take in the new day. I wasn’t going to run anymore than 5km, and so the need to refuel my body wasn’t pressing. Pre-child me completely loved the carefree way in which I scrambled to leave the house, with nothing but the clothes I was wearing and my phone. 

It was cold out, and I’d not grabbed gloves (damn disorganised, booze-swigging me), but I loved drinking in the new sunshine, trotting up the street. And didn’t this run just completely reinforce to me that I love running – the sense of freedom, the connection to land, the peace felt within, the achievement. It’s all the best-type of me. 

This morning’s carefree jaunt has certainly re-ignited my commitment to running…I’ve even got my clothes (including gloves) out for the morning’s long-run.