lundi, septembre 26, 2011

Tag...I'm "it." (And terrified)

He sat there in a chair, unable to move beyond it.

Now and then he would look at me, with eyes drained by hours of pain and lack of sleep.

"It's a bad day" he said. "It was a bad night."

I won't go into the symptoms, the many distresses this barbaric treatment brings with it.

The chemicals (she listed an alphabet stream of letters I can't recall) were hitting him early -- and hard, said the nurse. It was to be expected. It was what they hoped for --because it would kill his immune system, and allow a new one to take its place.

Imagine that. Give it a shot.

The kids joked around. Mr. C. messed with the bed, using the buttons to make it go up and down. But I know that they saw...and took it all in.

Love's a funny thing. We've become friends, this man I couldn't live with, the father of my heart is breaking for him.

I asked him whether he wanted to be part of the decisions about parenting we'd always made together. Weakly, he told me that it would be better if I made them myself.

Then, thanks to the powerful anti-nausea drug they gave him, he slept.

And here I am.

I've never done this before.

On the knife's edge.

Balancing like a ballet dancer, and so afraid of falling.

Only I can't --because who else would be here to catch everything that is, inevitably, going to crash through the air?

I cannot surrender.

For him.

For them.

For me.

For the sake of everyone depending on me. God give me grace. Please.

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