Tuesday, 11 October 2011

You were supposed to be coming home...

Pressing frantically at the button calling the lift to take me up to the 4th floor where you lie, my hands tremble. Externally and internally I am finding it hard to keep a grip on a positive attitude today, my strength is waning today. But I take deep breaths as I walk down the corridor, to sit with you and wait for the results of your scan. Today I feel as though there will be some kind of definitive answer to your ‘state’ and am desperately fighting the negative thoughts gnawing away at my resolve to be positive. My haste to get to you, my racing heart, pounding head from the infernal pain I feel are coursing through my body. I see you, I am by your side again at last. I cuddle your head and whisper ‘how you feeling, baby?’ I know the answer, you’re head hurts, your pale face and sweating body answer me.

The waiting is the worst part, the feeling of being in limbo, not knowing what really is normal, not normal, what to expect. Everything concerns me, demands all my abilitites to not scream out my frustration.

The Dr comes in, at her half smiling pursed lips, my heart blocks my throat. It’s not the news we were hoping for, expecting. I am not bringing you home, not yet. The scan showed ‘no change’ it’s not worse, so that’s good, but why has it not even diminished a bit? Some positive sign given? Why?

This last week, I have relived my whole lifetime it seems, it has taken that much time, eternities this week has lasted. I wait till she leaves, caress your head and lean into you tears rolling onto the cold hard hospital sheets. Hoping to rid myself of some of the pressure of this pain I am in. You start to feel worse, I panic, run and call a nurse, who says he just needs to sleep, this is the best healing for the brain. She gives you morphine, a tranquiliser and paracetamol and I pass the next 3 hours mopping your brow, holding your head where it hurts and trying to comfort you, trying to help you sleep. Finally, we both fall asleep.

The Dr explains they will try and get you up and about  a bit and ‘see how you go’. Then Thursday they’ll reassess. More waiting. More sleepless nights, more kilos dropping off me. I am eating, at least trying to stomach things every now and again. Keeping my strength up mentally and physically, but today I am spent. If you show signs of improvement, you can go home under constant surveillance, but at least you’d be here. But I would be too worried, I think, to be the one trying to asses if you’re normal, if it’s normal, I think you need longer in there. You cope for a little while every now and again, and this lifts me. Then you reach a point where you need to shut down, and the pain, the sweats kick in. I am there again, hurting, feeling useless, trying to comfort you to not much avail.

I am struggling today, if truth be known. I’ve broken down several times. I have not been able to have much of a grip on myself, my emotions, I was just so hoping the scan result would have been good.

I am struggling. The smile which dared to creep back to my lips the other day has been torn away once more, and I again, am in limbo, waiting, waiting, hopelessly waiting. I know once again the darkness of distress.

I want to be able to think ‘it’s all going to be alright’ and believe this. I just wanted the results to be good. They’re not bad, they tell me, but the ‘at least it’s stable’ is of little comfort to my breaking heart.

I try to disregard my anxiety, you’re no worse, after all, but this is so long, so lonely. I push  all thoughts out as I watch you and hold your pale clammy head, an exhausted Alex smiles up at me. Trying to be strong, it’s just that he needs rest he assures me. But I have never seen you like this. So charismatic, so dynamic, so determined and strong in your relationship with God, your role you play amazingly and self-sacrificially to being Father to our kids and to me as your wife. I struggle the time I am with him to not let the terror grip me; battling alone the doubts my mind catapults at my heart,

God give me strength, God give him your strength and peace.

You are not coming home yet; I will not be sleeping in your arms. I’m struggling today honey. It’s late, the Dr has given me something to help me sleep, and your mum and dad are here to help out, make me eat, watch the kids now.

I’m sorry to be this way today, it’s kinda hitting home a bit, and I am tired. I don’t want sleeping pills, I just need your strong arms wrapped around me, as we sleep every night, and as we have done since our first date.

I miss you, Alex, I miss you too much, it hurts so much and I am so lonely despite people surrounding us with love and support. Because it’s you I want, you I need.

Tomorrow is a new day. I have lots of things I have to tackle in the morning, but I will be in at lunchtime, and stay as long as I can.

Although being here, the fact of not being next to you is of little importance, I, me, my soul, spirit and heart are with you, for eternity.

I love you x

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