Sussing out emotions

I find myself sharing less and less. The newness of the hospital has worn off. The ups and downs of news has made me shy to share an update. It seems as if we've fallen into a foxhole. We eat our rations, and are on alert for news this battle is over, and weary of taking hits. So we sit. Quietly.

I woke with a big 'ol lump in my throat. Yesterday was hard, on so many levels.

Dominic is full of questions regarding the transplant. Sometimes the answers are useful, sometimes they are less than useful. He asked our irregular doctor about 9 out of 10 match bone marrow transplants. (Which is the best Dom is looking at currently.) The doctor said he has only ever performed 2 transplants which were 9/10 match. One lived. One died. Squeezed Dom's ankles for Edema and was out the door.

What we later found out is that the patient who died had died of congestive heart failure pretty unrelated to treatment....but we got to stew on the 50/50 chances for a while. We were both amused and horrified by this doctor's candor.

Last night, an older patient, across the hall from us, who'd been screaming in anger all day was being taken on a walk. Whatever he's going through has hit him so badly, he needs a walker and he is not in his right mind. I was wondering if they had him out walking past 10:30 pm to avoid running into people. Also, I think his nurse must be a saint. He saw me turn the corner in the hall, and all of a sudden  starts aiming straight for me. Which is on some level humorous, because the wheels of the racks holding fluids sound like baby walkers. All day, people up and down the hall way, and I keep expecting a baby to come wheeling through our door. I didn't know how to respond to this man heading straight for me somewhat like a wobbly toddler. He'd been screaming accusations and obscenities all day. His face was also an odd mixture of triumphant toddler and lost old man and innocence. He walked right up to me, full of wonder, and asked if he knew me.  A tear streaming down his face. I will probably never forget him. I wanted to walk with him and make him feel better, but protocol, and my lack of miraculous powers dictated I say sorry we did not know each other.
I returned to our dark room and let it all out.

But I realized something as I lay here early this morning, feeling the coils of this thin mattress poking me from below, and still grateful I'm on a mattress and not sliding off the couch.

I realized my grief is not the end, it's just the now.

Early on, we cried over the unknown. Then we cried over the losses we were facing. Loss of jobs, loss of freedoms, loss of false security in our health. Then I began to get this ominous feeling when I'd cry. I'd associate my crying with  something very bad about to happen. I'd twist my crying over what is a very difficult situation into the worst possible scenario.

Because something very bad is already happening. I don't need to borrow any trouble. I can cry because this is the bad thing. I don't need to imagine anything worse, because this all by itself is difficult. There's a sort of relief in identifying this.

I know this seems so elementary. Like duh, of course you can cry over this. But it's funny how we can allow our minds to start making associations. It's funny how the unknown can produce all manner of drama. It's funny how I can't just have a good cry because someone was rude to me without worrying that my crying is an indication the worst is about to happen.

I've always been someone who cries. Ugly cries. Why wouldn't I cry in this situation? Why wouldn't I be thin-skinned and emotional?

No one ever promised life would be easy. In fact we're pretty much promised it won't be.

As I just discussed with Dom, we're re-framing. This is what's required of us. We're not trading anything. We're not bargaining. We're not singled out to be victims. This is what's required of us. And there can be tears along the way. It's okay to grieve the journey, and always understand the journey is not the destination. We will get there when we get there.