When It Rains

It Pours

Birds!

The month started with birds. And you know me and birds, Bitches—something always happens when they show up. First, a hummingbird slammed into our glass doors. Tiny thing, clinging to the pane, chest heaving like it had run a marathon. After what felt like forever, it steadied itself and flew off. Minutes later, a falcon—yes, an actual falcon—swooped into our house, made a U-turn, and disappeared. Majestic, eerie, and way too on the nose. We laughed it off. We shouldn’t have.

Because what followed? Four ER visits in three weeks—while I was hosting the biggest event of the year for my business unit.

The annual showcase is our razzle-dazzle moment for headquarters—a three-day marathon where we prove our budget is worth every penny. We prep for months, rehearse every detail, and still live in chaos until the last executive leaves. And this year, right in the middle of it, my 90-year-old mom started to unravel.

ER trip number one: sudden neck pain, an MRI, pain meds, and a shrug. ER trip number two: a rash that turned out to be shingles. She bounced back, just in time to throw her back out pushing a trunk.

ER trip number three: X-rays, no fracture, just rest. I thought we were in the clear, so I went ahead with a pre-planned long weekend up north to see my grandson—a small reward I’d promised myself after the three-day showcase marathon. But even that brief break didn’t last. Mid-visit, my brother texted: ER trip number four, new X-rays, a supposed fracture. I rolled my eyes—he’s always a bit on the dramatic side—and rushed home, only to have her primary doctor reverse it days later—no break, just a severe muscle pull. One MRI, two X-rays, two misdiagnoses, and me—worried, exhausted, juggling post-showcase 1:1s with my local CEO.

Corporate Hell Loves a Smile

I was still showing up in corporate hell every day, smiling through executive meet-and-greets, while checking my phone under the table for ER updates. Who would help her to the bathroom? What if she fell? I finally called a friend, who found me a unicorn—a personal chef certified in shiatsu who also works at a Japanese senior care facility. Now she cooks for all of us twice a week, and it feels like she swooped in straight from that falcon’s flight path.

But the real surprise wasn’t the unicorn chef—it was the people you never expect to notice. Our stoic gardener asked my husband if my mom was okay; he’d worried when her rose garden went untended. A woman at the grocery store pulled my son aside, relieved to hear grandma was healing. These weren’t grand gestures. They were better. They were quiet proof that someone was paying attention. And in a month that felt like one long emergency, that simple human kindness was the thing that stopped me in my tracks.

Looking back, the birds weren’t sending a message; they were a warning shot. The hummingbird was my mom—tiny, fragile, stunned but hanging on. The falcon? Definitely the unicorn chef—swooping in, making everything better in one graceful turn.

This month, Bitches, it fucking poured. But we made it through. And if you’re in the middle of your own shit storm, notice who’s watching out for you—it might not be who you expect, but it counts more than you think. And don’t forget, it’s ok to ask for help. Sometimes that’s how the falcon finds its way to your door.