I am tired.
Please understand, by “tired,” I mean more than “bone tired;” I am whole body, mind, and soul tired. Exhausted beyond what is comprehensible to someone on the outside. The last three days have been ruthless. While M‘s body is recovering and being good to him, mine is sprinting downhill. Waking up Saturday, I found myself in a fog of despair; inexplicable depression in overdrive. I cried most of the morning. This, in turn, made me feel worse because M was having to console me for sadness that came from I don’t know where. I’m supposed to be caring for him. I did not want to bring his mood down. To his credit, he did not seem to be distorted by my issues. He’s seen me like this before. My eyes burned for the rest of the day…likely from the combination of tears and exhaustion.
Sunday wasn’t much better. I clomped around in a major funk for most of the day. It felt more like my insides were at war with themselves. Emotions, logic, desires all battling for what I should be doing and how I should be acting. Should I have to compose myself to a socially acceptable level? Am I allowed to be slouchy, make-up-less, and grouchy? Should I still expect people to want to do me favors? Is it OK for me to not be able to pinpoint why I feel the way I feel? Can I go outside and just scream at the top of my lungs? Would I even have the energy to do that? I just knew I was going crazy. My thoughts spun and my desire to be out of this place left me with the urge to curl into a blanket and sleep away the long hours. Is that how someone feels before he loses his mind? A complete and utter loss of control?
Now, today…I have slept the day away. My body’s heaviness has kept me from doing much of anything. I’m sure this is all compounded because of my yet-to-be-diagnosed thyroid issue, but that doesn’t help me feel better right now. With the exceptions of going just up the road to get a Subway sandwich and reading a bit of Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott, I have literally napped all day. After Dr. Hutchins and the crew came in this morning and told us we wouldn’t be going home until tomorrow, everything in me sank. I realize it’s just one more day…but those hours are so very precious.
The report the crew gave us was actually good: his platelets are up and not needing a transfusion of any kind over the last few days is huge. His other counts are rising well. He looks good and he feels well. This in itself is stupendous.
So why am I still like this? I think my problem now is the same as it always is; I am a planner. I’m trying to wrap my mind around what is to come when I know darn well that I can’t. There’s no way for us to know what’s coming. We think the worst and longest part of this little ride is behind us, but that doesn’t mean that what’s ahead is going to be easy. It’s as if we are trying to catch our breaths in the lull as our little cart ascends another hill. While slower for the moment, the ride moves on. We can’t see what comes after we crest, we just know it’s going to be a rush. And we have no other choice but to let it be.
So tomorrow, after another month of hospital time, we make the trek home. Clothes will be washed, real food will be eaten, sleep will be had, and, hopefully, a few hugs will be exchanged. Perhaps we will get a full 24 hours on CR 620. Then, on Wednesday, rather than attending an Independence cookout, we fly to St. Louis to sleep in another hotel room. Thursday brings a bright and early transplant consultation. Maybe, we will get to come home Thursday too…maybe they will give us good news. Maybe there will be a hundred possible donors. Maybe we will get to spend a week or two at home. Maybe.
While you are eating your burgers and lighting your sparklers to celebrate independence, have an extra for us. We will be free to celebrate with you again soon. I will be writing happier tales…soon.