segments

"We're all terminal," he tells me. For a moment I think it's an incredibly callous thing to say to someone in my position, but the moment passes. There is a comfort in someone, anyone, being honest and direct about these things. We are so rarely honest or direct about these things. It is good to hear the truth, even when the truth isn't new or surprising. 

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We still don't know why this happened to Sam. They have new tests, they say, since the last time this happened. They're running tests on his Factor VIII, which sounds like something out of a Resident Evil movie (but isn't). At first, I wasn't really sure that it mattered why this had happened; if we knew how to stop it from happening again (a life on Coumadin) then I was willing to let go of any why and just get into our old/ new/ current how.

I brought our older dog to the veterinarian's office today. Nothing big, just some shots, the annual inspection. While we were there, a dog that had been through a routine operation that morning died in the middle of the waiting room floor. Most likely a blood clot, a vet tech said. The tech was crying. A blood clot had travelled to the dog's heart, or her lungs, she thought. It seemed to go on forever, but it was only a minute or so. It looked like a seizure, and then she died.

I watched the dog dying and wondered exactly what the difference between this dog and my husband was- outside of all the obvious answers. That, I suppose, is why the why of all this suddenly matters to me. I need someone to tell me that my husband isn't going to surprise us all by dropping dead from another clot, somewhere different, somewhere worse. I need a doctor to prove to me that they are so all over this thing that they even know why it happened, just like you see on TV.

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This isn't going to stop happening. This is our life. Even if it all goes as well as it can possibly go, it changes things, and it changes some things forever. I can spend some small amount of time grieving for the life we had in mind, but then we get back to mantra # 1: we only get so many days. I don't want to waste too much time on things that don't matter. I could be here now, in the life we have, and that is a lot more productive and worthwhile than fussing over the life we had planned.

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I am suddenly hyper- aware of all of our things. I want to have so much less. A summer purge. I know it is tied to all of this, but I don't begin to know how.

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This entry seems like disjointed bits and pieces, but it isn't. I know it isn't.

Comments

[Donnell]

1.

I send happy thoughts your way daily. I hope that they help.

[kate]

2.

Oh baby, hang in there! Things will get better. I'm sorry i won't get to give you a hug in person, but here is a big one coming to you across the internet. Much, much love for all of you!

[mel]

3.

I think the purging of things has a lot to do with shifting focus to the things which really matter. If there's less in general to think about or distract us, it's easier to make the most of what matters maybe. I don't think it's a disjointed group of thoughts at all.

Thinking about you all.

[Kat]

4.

I have been thinking of you and your family and wish you all the best. Your strength is inspirational to me and I appreciate the way you axpress your thoughts in words. Thank you for sharing your journey.