the farrow times

on wednesday morning
i woke up in an excruciating amount of pain
and thought, “well, maybe that’s it.”
i pressed my hands hard against the center of my chest
and checked the clock.
6 minutes
is too long for chest pain to go unchecked
so i went to the walk in.
it opened at 8 AM but i didn’t know and
at 7:30 am there was already a line of people waiting.
and as they let us in, 6 at a time,
i heard over and over
covid test, covid test, covid test.
i rubbed my hands lightly over my chest and waited my turn.
the dr didn’t hesitate
which i both appreciated and hated.
i’m not worried about your heart, she said.
i’m worried there might be a clot in your lungs.
we’ll do an ekg an X-ray and some bloodwork
and i thought
how will i pay for all of that and cried.
what is it? the doctor asked
i’m tired. i said
and later, as the nurse practitioner stuck needles in the tender crook of my arm and i closed my eyes tightly
she laughed.
oh i see why you were crying, she said.
you don’t like needles.

the ekg is excellent.
the X-ray looks totally normal
and the bloodwork should be in in 4-6 hours
if that’s irregular, we’ll let you know.
and what if it’s all normal, i asked
what’s wrong with me?
the doctor shrugged.
maybe just irregular chest pain.
that happens sometimes.

as i gathered up my things to do,
she stopped me
if the pain comes back, drive straight to the ER
your insurance won’t cover anything else.

i lay in my bed that night and rubbed my hands cautiously over my chest.
i’m worried about you, i said to my heart.
i know she said not to worry, but i am.
and my heart spoke back to me, softly, then
it said:

slow down.
do less.
be better at being unexceptional.
disappoint people and yourself.
let them down gently.
let them down firmly.
don’t show up.
say no and say yes to other things.
and
please
drink less coffee.
and
i’m still beating.
i’m still beating.
it’s okay to fall asleep now.

on friday night i messaged my friend chloe this:
i just did a terrible self tape lol
i didn’t even try?
i didn’t even learn it.
i did it once and then was like ok i’m done
idk what’s going on with me
my creativity feels depleted

and chloe said
let it rest then maybe
one of my mentors used to talk about ‘fallow times’ for creativity
ie when farmers leave a field for a few seasons to let the ground recover

so i took a warm bath
and stretched
and rubbed my hands over my chest
and remembered to take my vitamin d
and my baby aspirin
and put a glass of water beside my bed

today
i wondered what i had left to say
so i googled “fallow”
or at least my sleepy remembrance of the word fallow
which turned out to be farrow
which turned out to mean a litter of pigs
or the birthing thereof
and…

something about that
made the knot in my chest loosen just a little
and i heard my heart whisper let go
the things you create
the things you make
it’s just farrow
a herd of tiny pigs
that you’re birthing into this barnyard of a world
and they’ll roll in shit
and snuffle around in dirt with their tiny pig noses
smelly and grimy and unbearably small
and maybe only you will love them
or maybe people will drive hours to take selfies nearby and offer them bits of food

either way
even a herd of pigs
can’t grow and flourish
if the farmer is unwell.

it’s good enough.
it’s good enough.
it’s just enough.