Bombshell

Driving down the road, refrained by the traffic of a red sox game. The sounds of surrounding strangers infuriate me. Their frank flirting, drunk dancing in the streets make me hate them. Why? Is it anger? Jealousy? I’m resentful that I can’t be irresponsible, reckless, insincere. I'm envious at their indifference.

The whole day is gone. Nothing happened but it’s over before it even began. Waiting under half lit fluorescent lights, this feeling is all too familiar. That saying is all familiar. But change is not what I need right now. I need familiarity, a common thread to get me through. Even if that common thread is the familiar floor of a hospital that Steve spent 6 months in less than 2 years ago. If he needs to be in a hospital I would rather him be on the medical floor of a hospital where all the nurses know his name. Know my name.

Steve spent another 6 days in the hospital with excruciating groin and back pain. They initially thought it was kidney stones but no kidney stones were found. His pancreatic levels were elevated so they are assuming he had pancreatitis again. No CT was done because he had one last week and they don’t want to over-radiate him. Now they tell us. They sent him home to rest, eat a bland diet. Give his pancreas a chance for respite. The doctors have no logical reason as to why the head of his pancreas is now causing Steve pain. Time will have to tell.

He’s home, 10 lbs lighter, a little sore but unscathed nonetheless.

Me? I’m three months pregnant.

Facing the realization that I might forever have a sick husband and now a baby. It’s not necessarily a stressful situation but rather, life. No time to take my ball and go home. Besides where’s the fun in that? It seems the hypothetical “battle” has been won but the war has just begun. We really are the Newlywed Death Fighters. 

The parking attendant practiced his saxophone

As I walked in the rain at 2:30 on a Wednesday morning I heard a deep sound. It seemed like I was walking towards it. Or it was walking towards me. I stopped to pay for my parking at the hospital garage and saw that the parking attendant was practicing his saxophone. I stood there for a brief moment before he knew I was watching and listened to the sad and soulful harmony. The rain fell on my face mixing with my tears. It was like I was listening to the live concert of my personal heartache.

Last week Steve was readmitted to the hospital with pancreatitis. He hasn’t had a flare up in 6 months. I should’ve known, things were going too good. It wasn’t a severe flare up and his levels were normal the following day but still. Doctors don’t know what caused it and said we could expect a brief hospitalization every few months for the rest of his life. When I asked his doctor what caused it up he said, “The fact that we barely saved his life a year and a half ago.”

Since Steve was diagnosed over 2 years ago I find myself constantly bracing for the worst. I expect to be hit by a monstrous wave of tumult even during my happiest moments. My brain doesn’t wait for happiness to register it bypasses it and focuses on when it will be taken away. It’s no way to live but I’m shell shocked. It’s like living in the ripple effect from the storm. So when Steve has a fare up, severe or not it causes a manic panic throughout my entire system.  I’m again reminded of the deep fear for what will be the rest of my life.

When Steve was first admitted a friend of his from high school reached out to me. Her husband had suffered from pancreatitis and her 3 year old son was diagnosed with brain cancer the same week as Steve. She offered tremendous support and warm words of advice and optimism. Last Sunday her son passed away. He was 5 years old. Every day for the past 2 years she lived a real life nightmare.  The strength she shows in this time of terror is insurmountable. The pain she feels is incomprehensible. I don’t know if she will ever completely recover and I don’t blame her.

Realistically do you ever recover? How do you continue to live without the fear of despair knocking on your door?  Being optimistic seems unrealistic. Blackness and despair takes hold and struggles to let go.

Sometimes I wonder which is better. To live in fear or blindness? Would my life be easier if I didn’t know? If I didn’t have the realization that this, everything could be taken away at any moment? If I could just blindly travel through my days would life be more enjoyable?  But that’s life. You exist because of your experiences. If you live blindly then you never truly experience, never feel wholeheartedly. 

I need to harness my experiences, call them my own and let them teach me. The only way to truly exist is to change, to take what you've seen and use it. And to keep practicing your saxophone in a parking garage.