Time to stop the spin.
I've been having some real ups and downs lately and I'd like for this wobbly way of feeling to end. I've been reliving or at least, vividly remembering portions of my life out of the blue. Maybe this increase in self awareness is due to meditation or use of the AV entrainment I've been doing lately. Maybe it's some form of PTSD or its equivalent.
I've had some extended times when I've thought about or relived the time when I was getting sick a few years ago in vivid detail. I remember gradually getting weaker as time passed. Having less and less energy and balance, gradually becoming less steady and more dependent on a cane. Being dizzy when I stood. Making adjustments to a failing body. The other night as I lay in bed, I remembered the nights in the hospital, the confusion which became a standard part of my life, blooming at night, as I wait for 4 AM and the technician from the lab to come and draw blood. I hated the nights but also looked forward to the 2 AM to 4 AM interval as it was my only chance to sleep.
I used to hate waking up and looking around, trying to get oriented again. I felt so far from everything. I remember thinking I was in a storeroom down some corridor on an unused floor of the hospital. I was there to receive chemotherapy for some cancer. That was going to become my world. Unable to eat or drink, letting the huge rack of IV solutions on the pole next to my bed supply everything I needed for life. Food, water, comfort, company, everything. It was a workable arrangement. One that seemed to be in place for the rest of my life.
I worried about everything and nothing. I tried to keep my spirits up and stay friendly. It seemed, after all, like the end of my life. I reached for a reason for everything and my mind worked overtime on the stories of how I got there and what my goal was. Looking back, I was so confused. I remember being convinced that the reason my GI system had shut down was because I had stopped taking omeprazole when I was being admitted to the hospital. I was absolutely sure that was my post-operative problem.
Most of all, I kept waiting for the next complication to strike, wondering if it was going to be the one that knocked me over. An MI or PE, maybe a CVA. Something was coming my way when the Big Wheel stopped and there was nothing I could do about it but be positive and pleasant and friendly so that when it happened and I died, everyone would remember me kindly.
I thought about the time leading up to me going to the hospital. The two or three month period leading up to it. A real death spiral. I struggled hard to convince everyone that I was ready to leave the hospital and go home, but the truth was, I wasn't ready. There was the possibility of me going to a Skilled Nursing Facility for a while and in retrospect, that would have been best, at least for a few days.
Getting out and going home was another nightmare. It was just me and the kids for a couple weeks and I was scared the whole time. The kids wanted things to be back to normal and I didn't blame them, and so I pretended. But it was bad and I was scared. The following two or three months gradually improved but slowly. Like a dream, weak and dizzy. Struggling from one place to the next. Still expecting to die. Alone.
I suppose that's one of the reasons I'm thinking about this now. The long periods alone and not feeling well. Still not knowing how to ask for help. Getting weaker as the time passed. I remember having tunnel vision as I walked down the Safeway aisles trying to buy food to take home. Going to the meetings and nearly passing out at the beginnings and the endings when we would stand. My ears ringing and my vision dimming and I bowed my head and pretended to say the prayer. Instead I would be mumbling while I focused on taking breaths and bearing down to raise my blood pressure.
There were lots of little memories that went with that period. I was very aware while being confused. I tried to believe that my brain was getting better all the time, but it wasn't and that was scary.
Enough now. I want these thoughts to end. I'm sure that was what the end will feeling like most likely. But I don't want to focus on that now. The end is not near right now I want to live while I'm alive. I'm not focusing on the right things. I know that and I know that I must change.
So that's what brings me to the blog. Write it down, be shed of it, cheap therapy.
More later,
I used to hate waking up and looking around, trying to get oriented again. I felt so far from everything. I remember thinking I was in a storeroom down some corridor on an unused floor of the hospital. I was there to receive chemotherapy for some cancer. That was going to become my world. Unable to eat or drink, letting the huge rack of IV solutions on the pole next to my bed supply everything I needed for life. Food, water, comfort, company, everything. It was a workable arrangement. One that seemed to be in place for the rest of my life.
I worried about everything and nothing. I tried to keep my spirits up and stay friendly. It seemed, after all, like the end of my life. I reached for a reason for everything and my mind worked overtime on the stories of how I got there and what my goal was. Looking back, I was so confused. I remember being convinced that the reason my GI system had shut down was because I had stopped taking omeprazole when I was being admitted to the hospital. I was absolutely sure that was my post-operative problem.
Most of all, I kept waiting for the next complication to strike, wondering if it was going to be the one that knocked me over. An MI or PE, maybe a CVA. Something was coming my way when the Big Wheel stopped and there was nothing I could do about it but be positive and pleasant and friendly so that when it happened and I died, everyone would remember me kindly.
I thought about the time leading up to me going to the hospital. The two or three month period leading up to it. A real death spiral. I struggled hard to convince everyone that I was ready to leave the hospital and go home, but the truth was, I wasn't ready. There was the possibility of me going to a Skilled Nursing Facility for a while and in retrospect, that would have been best, at least for a few days.
Getting out and going home was another nightmare. It was just me and the kids for a couple weeks and I was scared the whole time. The kids wanted things to be back to normal and I didn't blame them, and so I pretended. But it was bad and I was scared. The following two or three months gradually improved but slowly. Like a dream, weak and dizzy. Struggling from one place to the next. Still expecting to die. Alone.
I suppose that's one of the reasons I'm thinking about this now. The long periods alone and not feeling well. Still not knowing how to ask for help. Getting weaker as the time passed. I remember having tunnel vision as I walked down the Safeway aisles trying to buy food to take home. Going to the meetings and nearly passing out at the beginnings and the endings when we would stand. My ears ringing and my vision dimming and I bowed my head and pretended to say the prayer. Instead I would be mumbling while I focused on taking breaths and bearing down to raise my blood pressure.
There were lots of little memories that went with that period. I was very aware while being confused. I tried to believe that my brain was getting better all the time, but it wasn't and that was scary.
Enough now. I want these thoughts to end. I'm sure that was what the end will feeling like most likely. But I don't want to focus on that now. The end is not near right now I want to live while I'm alive. I'm not focusing on the right things. I know that and I know that I must change.
So that's what brings me to the blog. Write it down, be shed of it, cheap therapy.
More later,
Comments
Post a Comment