There is something about giving your absolute all to something or someone. The right investments yield good returns. The wrong investments … well, they can empty  you. After a while you wake up and realize that you’ve given so much of yourself that you have lost who you really are. 

In baseball, it’s three strikes, you’re out. I’m starting to believe this is also true in love. Which would mean I’ve already exhausted my love strikes. I’ve had three great loves in my life; each swing and miss left me more damaged than the last. But that final swing put me on the bench. 

I mean, don’t get me wrong; I’m living. There are just some days I wonder, where is the rest of me? It almost feels like along with those lost loves, I also lost some unrecoverable parts of me.  

After Christopher, I moved on, immersed myself totally in winning at other areas of life. I relocated to a new state, landed an amazing position as an evening news producer for one of Austin’s leading networks, purchased a home, made some awesome friends and traveled every chance I got. I started my own company, published a book and started my own business. 

For the most part, I have been living a pretty healthy and balanced life. Except in the romance department. Don’t get me wrong, there have been a few dates here and there, but no real romance. And I’m ok with that.  I spent all of my 20s and part of my 30s turning myself inside out for the sake of others, so I feel like I owe it to myself to go hard for my own happiness and not compromise it just for the sake of being with someone. 

But there is no way I could have predicted I’d be in a hospital bed trying to wake up from a coma. 

A few days ago, I was working on an event set up – a huge fundraising event for one of my nonprofit clients.  As is typically the case with me when I have a big event coming up, I had not slept in days. For some reason, I was a little more frantic over this project than normal. It may have had something to do with my distractingly handsome client. Apparently, I passed out from exhaustion, hit my head, and now here I am, laying here in a coma.  

Before you guys get concerned, I’m ok.  I know this, but I’m not sure if everyone else does. I’m not even sure why I haven’t woken up yet. It’s been three days of lying here seemingly asleep in a bland hospital room. Thankfully, my bestie made sure I have on very cute sleepwear, my hair is combed and I have just a touch of makeup.  Note to self: I need to do something special for my homegirl whenever I wake up. 

Every day the doctors come in and tell my friends and family they have no idea when I’ll wake up or why I’m even unconscious in the first place.  My brother is attempting to intimidate my poor doctor into “fixing” me, my mother’s been praying almost nonstop. My friends come in to read to me and play all my favorite music and keep me updated on everything happening in our town worth knowing. And even though they have no idea that I can actually hear everything, I feel blessed to be so loved. 

By the time we got to day three, the level of concern grew in everyone’s tone. I tried so hard to open my eyes, move my fingers – hell, even wigging a toe, but nothing. 

Oh God, they all must think I’m dying. 

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