Third Date at the Emergency Room

on safety, on vulnerability

“Are you sure you still want him to come over for this date? Do you feel safe with him?”

---

Inches from my face, Liv’s eyes held me with concern. I was confused. We were sitting down on the floor of my sunroom in my home I had lived in for less than a month. Aside from location, I had told my realtor I would not compromise on having a sunroom; a staple of maintaining some semblance of stability in my precarious mental health during Chicago winters. A space stretch to a morning with a leisurely coffee and drink up a novel. A space to sit with my thoughts, cradling them with understanding and patience. A space I was very much still learning. So I studied the knolls of the hardwood beneath me. Endless ripples of chocolate brown varying in tightness subtly melting into the honeyed brown of the wood. Each plank, its own universe of chaos and calm. 

My eyes followed the stream of ripples til it landed on my legs haphazardly stretched out in front of me dusted in potting soil. Next to them, a pothos splayed out on its side. Its vines outstretched out in shock. My confusion transformed into panic. I turned to Liv and asked, “what happened?”

I had been interviewing Liv for an upcoming piece I was writing about her play she had written and performed in. Before the interview, I informed her that I had pulled my back the day before while lifting a beautiful yet awkwardly bulky fiddle leaf fig tree out of my car. I stole a glance at it standing tall in my sunroom as Liv explained that shortly after I got up from the chair I was sitting in during the interview, I passed out. I assumed it had something to do with forgetting to eat and drink during my busy work day compounded by the intense pain in my back. Which at that moment, I realized had intensified from the fall. Even the most miniscule move sent a shock of pain to my lower back. Liv slowly helped me up. After what felt like an eternity, we finally made it to my couch only feet away from the sunroom’s knolls. As I was laid out in a crumbled puddle of ache, I remembered, “Wait, I have a guy coming over for a date like right now.”

The beautiful fiddle leaf fig tree being transported in my car to my home.

Liv’s compassion was difficult to allow in. From holding me in her arms, helping me walk to my couch, calling my date and filling him in on the situation at hand, ordering me food to eat and regain some strength – it felt like an impossible amount of kindness I would never be able to repay. Mentally, I was making note of each act of kindness and what would be an appropriate gesture to express my gratitude. While I was rounding out my list, I looked over my shoulder and watched her open the door for my date. 

Immediately, we laughed at how absurd this situation was as he cautiously sat down next to me equipped with a fruit punch Gatorade and crackers. Once Liv knew I was in safe hands, she headed out and our third date commenced. Seeing I was in far too much pain to do much else, I was grateful that past me had planned this very chill, very relaxed movie date on my couch. With his arm carefully wrapped around me, he continuously checked in to make sure the way my body leaned into his was not exacerbating the injury in my lower back. I kept smiling and saying I was ok. And for a while, I really was ok. I trusted my body to lean into his, a body that naturally curved into mine while steadily, safely holding me upright. 

We settled on a trashy reality show, my go-to genre of television. As we reeled into a dating show where people talked about commitment and marriage with silly, naive intensity, my body kept erupting into laughter at their absurdity. And with each laugh, a sharp bolt of pain seared at my spine. With each muscle spasm, my body sunk further into his. Each time, without fail, he held my body tightly unwilling to allow me to bear the torment on my own. As the spasms came and went, he continued checked in and asking how he could help. How he could alleviate this pain that I was trying my best to mask with jokes and a brave face. But soon enough, I realized this was more serious than I had initially chalked it up to be. 

Naturally, like on any other date, I called my dad. I knew it was probably time to go to the hospital, but I definitely couldn’t drive. My dad asked if someone else could drive me, a friend or a neighbor. I mentioned I was with someone. So he asked to talk to them. Naturally, like on any other date, he talks to my dad on the phone. Once we realized I simply could not move without being in insurmountable pain, my dad asks him to call me an ambulance and for his phone number so he ccould keep my dad updated during this ridiculous but scary ordeal. Repeatedly, I tell my date that he does not need to come to the hospital with me. This was not what he had signed up for. Repeatedly, he tells me he isn’t going to let me go through this alone. 

The paramedic getting ready to lift my body off the couch to the ambulance.

The muscle spasms continued at the ER into the early hours of the morning while the doctor tried a concoction of drugs to ease the pain. Nothing was working. It was strange feeling my body move erratically on its own while I simultaneously could not will it to do the smallest thing of sitting up nevermind stand or walk. I felt powerless and began to internally spiral over if I would ever regain control over my body again. But on the outside, I put up a lighthearted facade. I cracked jokes with every medical professional I came into contact with telling them all about how we are on a third date. I leaned into the silliness of the situation to put off the very real fears I was desperately trying to avoid. 

My dating history in the past few years was bleak. A spell of horrendous first dates, a situationship or two brimmed with devastation only a situationship could conjure, and some perfectly good moments with men where I, unfortunately and simply, felt nothing towards had marked my mid to late twenties. But now, I found myself laid up in an ER bed looking at a sweet man adorned in sleepy eyes talk to me about his own wild dating stories distracting me from the worst pain of my life. I felt my mind exhale.

I mean, it was romantic as hell. How could it not be? On our second date, we had established our relationship would be casual due to all the things we were attempting to juggle. We both recently came out of situations with heavy emotions and jumping into something serious wasn’t something we were ready for. And here we were – him sitting bedside with me at the ER holding my hand and instinctively tightening his grip as each muscle spasm made its relentless crusade through my body. All the while, he sent updates to my parents and was now talking to my best friend, Molly. After an especially long, trying day at work, she came to the hospital and sat bedside next to my date. I listened in on their conversation grateful for the allowance of simply being and knowing that my body was buoyed by the deep compassion in the room. 

It was refreshing to see a man who was romantically interested in me treat me like a human – with care and respect that is not hinged on any expectations. To know that sure he liked me enough to want to go on this date with me. But he was here at the ER with me because on a human level, there was love. It is one thing for a person to talk about their politics on a macro scale. To loudly shout their stances, what communities need support, how our politicians and systems were designed to fail us. To repost infographics on social media and rightfully so express collective anger and grief at the injustices that devastate our world. But it is another thing to live with those convictions in the personal. To live out those convictions with action. To see people as humans deserving of sincerity and not grow distant due to inconveniences and moments mired with discomfort. 

By 3:30am, I convinced my date to head home to get some sleep. He kissed me goodbye, and for a moment, I could not imagine feeling more wanted by another person. His tenderness ushered out any notion of sterility around us. The fluorescent lights were set to fire ablaze and emberred  out into a soft orange glow that surged into me. It almost felt strange to have this amount of kindness imparted on me by someone I barely know. To be able to be vulnerable around him and honest about finding comfort in him during a difficult moment. But as the early morning hours fast forwarded into the next day, and I was admitted into the main hospital, it was clear this kindness was always in abundance.

The minute visiting hours resumed, my community held me. Emily brushed my teeth and sat with me while I napped. Mary, my neighbor of a few short weeks, brought me my medication, deodorant, and clothes from home. Shalini took the hour train ride to the hospital just to bring me comforts only she would know of. Unable to stay awake, she let me rest and took notes on her phone of everything my medical team was saying. Updates on medication and test results. Suggestions on what to buy upon discharge. All neatly organized and shared in real time with my worried parents. My dad flew in from Massachusetts within hours and my heart could not handle the neverending love only a father can hold. I allowed myself to be his little girl for the weekend. Alex offered to pick me up from the hospital whenever I would be discharged. To stop by with Israa with food and love and reassurance that I would be ok.  My cousins, Sai and Kirthana, who were in town to visit me were gentle and understanding with a very modified weekend itinerary. They swapped a bike ride along the lake with doing dishes and taking out the trash, never expressing a breath of frustration. 

The abundance of love and help is still not easy for me to accept. There are still overwhelming moments I feel indebted to my people who never expect anything in return. Moments I do not feel worthy enough to be on the receiving end of. But I am willing to try.

In the past few years, I have learned safety is a non-negotiable for me in all of my relationships – familial, professional, platonic, romantic, and the inbetweens. And with time, I am understanding better what safety looks like in action. To be in relation to someone is to trust them. And I can only do that if I feel safety deeply embedded in our foundation. And in turn, I can be my most authentic self. I can be vulnerable. I can not just accept help but also ask can for it. I can let go of my mental lists of restitution. Rather, I can sit still. I can be overcome with gratitude. Let that be enough for the moment and trust that my love for them is clear.

Slowly, I settle my body into the same chair I had sat in when I interviewed Liv. Hold a mug of coffee and watch bikers commute to their jobs outside my window. Listen to the birds sing praise. A delicate devotional unknotting my thoughts for a moment of clarity. I look at the fiddle leaf fig tree. Admiring its magnificence, I send it a prayer of gratitude. For you and for myself. I slow down and savor the sun and knolls alike. The whirlwind rush of getting to know someone. How special it feels to feel delirious when thinking about him. How I want to send him pictures of the sunrise and all the silly little thoughts in my head. So I do.