Not A Fan of Hospitals

Since you’re not still here, this week really put things in perspective for me.

Got all my test results back… really nothing to worry about.  The heart news has been 10 years in the making—I consider my anxiety to be debilitating and it’s a weight off my shoulders to know that I’m at least on the radar with a personal care physician again.

And then I think back to last January, when you had just started chemo.  We thought you had pneumonia in November and by January you were getting chemo and radiation.  It wasn’t a quick trip to the doctor for you to get medicine and tests—you got stuck with a much bigger problem and a worst case scenario.  I had two weeks of testing and diagnoses, you had 8 months of tests and treatments and hail mary’s…

So where do I stand in this?  Probably a mix between lucky and still young enough to be healthy-ish.  Ashamed, because I haven’t kept up with a cardiologist since I was diagnosed 10 years ago.  Guilty, because I kinda got off scott-free in comparison to your journey.  Sad, because I still just miss you so much and you were at the top of the list to call with the test results.  I feel a little bit in limbo because it feels almost like a nightmare that should have ended by now.  Sort-of like this was something we had to endure for a while but we’re just waiting for you to come back from a long vacation or something…

I know we’re all learning to cope a little bit more each day, and I’m grateful for the people who surround me and our family.  We’re lucky for what we had with you and we’re lucky for what we’ve still got.  We’re lucky to get the signs we get from you, and the peace of knowing you’re watching over us.

I know you’re in a better place, and I know you’re doing great and you’re healthy now, but I would give anything to give you a great big hug if you were still here.

Wasn't Expecting A Pep Talk

I would have called you yesterday to tell you that the doctor’s office scheduled me for all kinds of tests.  They want to do an echo to make sure my heart condition isn’t getting worse and a brain MRI to make sure my migraines aren’t worrisome.  You would have told me the same thing mom and dad both told me: that it’s good to take precautions and you’re sure everything will be fine but there’s no way to know until you do the tests.  And then we would have hung up, me pretending to be brave about it and you knowing that I was faking.  I think you always knew when I was just putting on a face, I’m sure most people I’m surrounded by have me figured out in that sense… but it’s nice to pretend all the same because it makes me feel like I’m being strong.

I wasn’t going to write this entry, because it felt like a lot of complaining and being anxious about nothing.  So I started it yesterday and then put it in the junkbox and decided to deal with it on my own.  Last night I think you knew I needed you. 

When I saw you in a dream, I wasn’t expecting it at all.

There you were: gorgeous, healthy, smiling, wearing your Team Ar shirt.  It was just you and me-- like I had made an appointment to sit down and chat with you.  We sat on a big couch facing each other and I poured out my heart and explained that I miss you so much and I’m sorry that I wasn’t a better daughter and companion to you while you were so sick.  I told you I was sorry for not doing a great job down here after you left us.  Every statement I made, you followed with big eye contact and a smile and your voice said a few words.  Very short sentences.  “I’m with you”, “You’re like me”, “Its okay”, “Don’t be sorry”, “You’re doing great”. All I wanted to do was lay down on the couch on your lap, and I could tell you wanted to hug me too, but I was grateful for our conversation at least.  You were so happy and smiley and peaceful and downright beautiful.  I woke up crying because it felt so real.  I was so disappointed to wake up and have our contact be so brief.

I’m choosing to believe that it really was a visit from you.  It was relieving to tell you all the things I wanted to say but haven’t been able to tell you.  And then you made sure I knew you understood and did everything you could to help me feel reassured that you’re okay and you’re not really gone from my life.  You made sure I knew you thought we were all doing a great job and you still love us and you miss us too.  Even with your short sentences, it was so vivid and so comforting.  I could feel you telling me to keep taking care of everyone and that everything really was okay and you were happy and healthy.

I felt guilty crying over it this morning, because it was the best gift I could have gotten from you at this point—to see you and hear you and talk to you.  It just really hit hard how much I miss getting to do that on a regular basis. 

Anyway, thanks for talking to me – I needed it.  And that’s what you would have done if you were still here.