I'll Hold That For You

I've been pondering lately how most people love a victor's tale. And, if not, how they then are quick to root for the underdog. If you think about it, more often than not, what catches the attention of most is a story of triumph: of challenges faced, odds defied, and struggles overcome. 

It’s true—some people genuinely love a good tragedy. No judgment there. After all, many of the greatest works in literature are tragic at their core—think Romeo and Juliet or Macbeth. If tragedy didn’t strike a deep, strangely satisfying chord in us, Shakespeare’s works would never have endured with such popularity.

But what we really want is a neat and tidy ending. We crave stories that, while compelling, follow a predictable pattern and end tied up with a bow. We want an engaging exposition, a captivating rise in tension, an electrifying climax, and a clear, fulfilling resolution.

In short, we want to be entertained!

Also, we're uncomfortable sitting in discomfort, even when—especially when—it's not our own.

So, how then do we do we deal with those whose stories don't follow a traditional narrative arc with that desirable rise and resolution? What do we do those whose stories refuse to tie up in a neat, tidy bow, that linger in the uneasy space between conflict and resolution?  Not yet a triumphant tale of victory, but not quite a tragedy either. How do we support those still waiting for their happy ending?

I was told I was going to be listed for a heart transplant sometime around April 30th, 2022, and officially placed on the heart transplant waiting list on June 14th of that same year. I was initially listed as a status 6, the lowest active level of listing, meaning my wait could realistically last anywhere from one day to one year with the likelihood being closer to one year. I was ready to wait. And my expectation was to learn patience in the process.

But our expectations all too frequently fall short of reality. 

All told, I waited for a total of 18 months—to the day—for my heart transplant miracle. And while I certainly learned a great deal a patience, I learned so much more. For starters, I learned that the transplant–what seemed like the very climax of my story–was really just the beginning of another chapter of my story. I also learned that for most of us this journey is an oddly lonely adventure, one stitched together with dramatic highs and lows. Lab results swing like a pendulum, emotions follow close behind, and we find ourselves oscillating between the cold suspense of waiting for test results and the rush of relief when an appointment brings good news. There are heart-pounding moments in the cath lab, yes, but also long stretches of quiet, slow page turning in waiting-room chairs.

But there is rarely a truly satisfying resolution. This story goes on and on—not in the grand, sweeping way of an epic, but simply as an overly long narrative. 

I was talking with a new friend, Alison at Bonus Days magazine , someone writing chapters in her own epic journey, and she recently said something to me that really resonated. We were commiserating about the ups and downs of living life post heart transplant and I apologized for unloading a few frustrations when she said, "That's okay. I'll hold that for you."

I'll hold that for you. What a lovely sentiment. 

What I felt in that moment was validation. She took a seat next to me in the waiting room and agreed to turn the next page of this overly long, not-all-that-epic tale I'm writing. She's agreed to stand by this unlikely heroine while I'm living my main-character moment. 

In this space, where not every book is written with a victorious conclusion or a tragic-yet-inspiring denouement, perhaps the part of the story that matters most is not the thrilling accounts of victory or the dramatic scenes of defeat, but the subtle, life-changing character development that takes place between the lines.