Dear Alex, The Operation.
17th September 2013
Dear Alex,
Standing by you, holding your hand as the drip goes in and you drift off to sleep as the anaesthetic enters your body. My body gives way, I faint, and have to be taken on a stretcher to the recovery room for and hour.
It is a busy room, people being wheeled and and out, being brought round from their operations, names being called. I feel a fraud and insist I am fine, apologising over and over. I wait back up in your hospital room for a while, then realise that with a four hour wait, I may as well go and see my friend. I just doze on her sofa, as she covers me with blankets, feeds me honey on toast and rooibos tea. I am looked after and puffy eyed, have never felt so drained, scared and tired.
The call comes and with heart in my mouth, I hear you are fine, the operation was a success, you are now to be monitored so your body does not reject the implant, the piece of bone that has been made up and replaced the bone which was removed in your first emergency operation almost 2 years ago to the day. As I walk in the room to see you, my legs give way again, I am so overcome. You lie there with drips, a tube to drain the blood from where they have opened up the old scar and replaced the bone. It is reminiscent of the eeriness that surrounded visiting you when you were in a coma. I put the faint feelings down to the fact I have a great deal of memories buried deep which arise as I see you so vulnerable, so peaceful.
I am not writing much at all, I am, honestly, emotionally and physically exhausted, I have never found any part on this path harder.
I spend the days, then the nights and evenings trying to settle you, reassure, going over the same questions, same demands. Finally, if I am lucky you sleep around 1am. But only to be up and awake at 4am. Fortunately my in laws have been around for the last week to help. You respond so well to them at times, and it is a comfort knowing I am not alone 'dealing' with you.
So I plough on, not knowing the end result, praying this operation performs a miracle. That in regulating and normalising the brain fluid around the brain, the body and brain will be functioning on a more even keel.
I wish you knew, I wish I felt loved by you, you are so trapped in your world, there is no thought for me and how your demands wear me down. That you say 'I love you' over and over, but it is just something you say, not something I see you feeling. I need you to be able to think of me. I want you to consider me.
Oh baby, please try.
I know none of this is your fault, I know how much you need me and my constant reassurance, but I am spent.
I need a bit of you...Just a thought every so often, because you do not understand that at 4 am, when you wake the kids, when I have to get up and try and calm you, reassure you after not sleeping, you have no idea how hard this is for me...
I am here for you, I need you more tan anything to be there for me too.
See you in the morning, I hope you rest well tonight.
me xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Dear Alex,
Standing by you, holding your hand as the drip goes in and you drift off to sleep as the anaesthetic enters your body. My body gives way, I faint, and have to be taken on a stretcher to the recovery room for and hour.
It is a busy room, people being wheeled and and out, being brought round from their operations, names being called. I feel a fraud and insist I am fine, apologising over and over. I wait back up in your hospital room for a while, then realise that with a four hour wait, I may as well go and see my friend. I just doze on her sofa, as she covers me with blankets, feeds me honey on toast and rooibos tea. I am looked after and puffy eyed, have never felt so drained, scared and tired.
The call comes and with heart in my mouth, I hear you are fine, the operation was a success, you are now to be monitored so your body does not reject the implant, the piece of bone that has been made up and replaced the bone which was removed in your first emergency operation almost 2 years ago to the day. As I walk in the room to see you, my legs give way again, I am so overcome. You lie there with drips, a tube to drain the blood from where they have opened up the old scar and replaced the bone. It is reminiscent of the eeriness that surrounded visiting you when you were in a coma. I put the faint feelings down to the fact I have a great deal of memories buried deep which arise as I see you so vulnerable, so peaceful.
I am not writing much at all, I am, honestly, emotionally and physically exhausted, I have never found any part on this path harder.
I spend the days, then the nights and evenings trying to settle you, reassure, going over the same questions, same demands. Finally, if I am lucky you sleep around 1am. But only to be up and awake at 4am. Fortunately my in laws have been around for the last week to help. You respond so well to them at times, and it is a comfort knowing I am not alone 'dealing' with you.
So I plough on, not knowing the end result, praying this operation performs a miracle. That in regulating and normalising the brain fluid around the brain, the body and brain will be functioning on a more even keel.
I wish you knew, I wish I felt loved by you, you are so trapped in your world, there is no thought for me and how your demands wear me down. That you say 'I love you' over and over, but it is just something you say, not something I see you feeling. I need you to be able to think of me. I want you to consider me.
Oh baby, please try.
I know none of this is your fault, I know how much you need me and my constant reassurance, but I am spent.
I need a bit of you...Just a thought every so often, because you do not understand that at 4 am, when you wake the kids, when I have to get up and try and calm you, reassure you after not sleeping, you have no idea how hard this is for me...
I am here for you, I need you more tan anything to be there for me too.
See you in the morning, I hope you rest well tonight.
me xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
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