After sliding onto the surgical table from the gurney, I look up to see the floating clouds above my head. Even without my glasses, I know these clouds are one of those clever light diffuser panels used to create a calm focal point for the patient before surgical anesthesia begins. As I take a deep breath into the mask and the medicine begins to flow into my veins, the familiar lyrics and a singular female voice impart:

Rows and floes of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons everywhere
Looked at clouds that way…

I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down and still somehow
It’s cloud illusions I recall
I really don’t know clouds at all…

I awake to the clouds above me once again; they continue to move but in the opposite direction this time. There is commotion, intensity, many sets of eyes focused above me with several voices talking simultaneously, and then darkness once again.

The next time of conscience clarity is in a different space where the soft voices of my beloved M, our youngest daughter, and my friend converse quietly near me. Carefully chosen words of assurance are given in my right ear by a voice I do not recognize. A gentle touch to my shoulder provides comfort and the sense of grounding strength. There is great heaviness upon my chest, short and shallow breaths, and so many questions to ask but nothing venturing out of my mouth. Did the heart procedure go well? Why am I struggling to take a deep cleansing breath? More darkness.

Moans and groans awake me. The noise is resonating from my own labored breathing. What is happening? Where are we? When will this elephant get off my chest? Why are my eyes out of focus (I can’t hear well without my glasses). Who are my helpers here? How do I convey my needs?

It’s C-ICU and the “routine” ablation procedure did not go as expected. Once inside my heart, my blood pressure unexpectedly plummeted and pericardial effusion with cardiac tamponade ensued. Four minutes of CPR, two drains placed inside my chest, and units of blood, platelets, and plasma stabilized the situation to ensure my pericardium stayed free from additional fluid. A hematoma developed at one of the surgical sites. When details of the procedure were eventually shared, the situation sounded terrifying, and then most sobering.

Because of the clouds above my head with the song lyrics in my mind on that particular day, part of this experience reminded me how much my mom adored any form of poetry. Song lyrics were her favorite to analyze, like Joni Mitchell’s “Both Sides Now“ (1966). While this song explores the shifting perspectives of life, love, and illusions as we move from youthful idealism to adult experiences and beyond, it is her unique perspective resonating the most. Her beautiful words highlight the growing wisdom unveiled through the complexity of life and all its living. True understanding in life is often elusive, and life is defined by its, often contradictory, “both sides.” How ironic to experience my own “both sides” in such a unique way.

Recovery commences and reality sets in on a “new normal” (whatever this truly means). Several appointments, labs, and scans later, we move onward in a similar yet altered direction. With much personal change the past two years topped with a transitional health experience, a deeper, more meaningful journey emerges. Gratefully, I awake each morning with the gift of someone’s donated blood products. Thankfully, a beautiful community of devoted family members and friends-like-family walk beside me. Our remarkable daughters remain keenly aware to the reality of their aging parents along with a personal need to better understand our family history and health experiences. And even as we continue walking the longest goodbye with my sweet daddy, a personal pilgrimage of change ventures forth, one where clouds shift directions from both sides now.