Saturday, February 14, 2009

February 13, 2009

Take a break, they say.

Take care of yourself, they tell me.

Get away, refuel, leave for a bit. 

“It’s like they tell you on the airplane Kim.  Put the mask on yourself FIRST then assist others.”

Ya, well what if my mask is this tangled knotted mass?  The pressures dropping, I’m running out of air and trying to untangle the damn thing. 

Who the hell is gonna help untangle the mask?  I am the “other” they talk about after you assist yourself.  I am running out of fucking air and people are telling me to put on the mask?  Can they not see I can’t!

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I didn’t see Art today. 

I just couldn’t.  I am beyond.

Crying with every thought of my day.

I look like I’m stoned.

I feel like I’ve been stoned with little pebbles.  Lots and lots of little pebbles.

Pallas was home with a stomach bug.

Ezra lost his mind last night with the nanny. (Thanks to my family for helping!)

The nanny thinks I need to spend more time with the kids.  She’s right.

So I didn’t go.  I made the energy needle move to the kids, away from Art. 

Then I learn that they were preparing to move him back to ICU.  Really low blood pressure and neutrapenic fevers (with chills) do not a good combination make.

And I’m mad. I already got one of those calls “We’ve moved him to ICU, you should come to the hospital” before.  I remember spending all my energy on NOT thinking the worse.  Only to get there in time to witness the almost worst. 

I’m mad cause the guilt of not being there to help Art, advocate, protect and worry courses though my rule oriented mind. 

Am I *supposed* to visit Art ever day? 

Am I *supposed* to supply all the energy, drive and love?

Am I am *supposed* to be OK with the lack of physical contact.  I am not talking sex.  I’m talking the simple act of his hand stroking my cheek, the feel of his heavy hand on my rear end, the joy of being fully enveloped in his 6’6” arm span. 

I am so lonely for that. 

I need that physical reassurance from him.  I need to feel his touch.  And when I ask, the effort he exerts to oblige takes most of the pleasure away.

I just can’t sit in that room for 3- 4 hours a day every day. It becomes mentally excruciating.  It is the little pebbles.

Sleep and physical deprivation. They use those as forms of torture right? 

They work to.  I know. 

 ---

Thank you CR for showing up on my door step with two bottles of wine and the willingness to talk, eat and giggle till midnight.  Thank you for untangling my mask.

Thank you MP for calling this morning just to talk and making me laugh!  Thank you for making sure the air was still flowing.


2 comments:

  1. kim,
    the dim sum is waiting.
    it's calling our names....
    those quiet women with the carts full of god-knows-what
    are passing by our table....
    tomorrow?
    thursday?

    ReplyDelete
  2. Anonymous12:41 PM

    I know, kim, I know. the mask of the heroic care-taker; the mask of the heroic mom; the mask of getting by; and the mask of letting it all out, but have the untouchable, unspeakable, unexcrementable feelings and words really been released? (hey, is that a word?).

    We wish we could be there and do more than post comments, send prayers and text. You are living our greatest, unspoken fear. And will continue to live it; it won't end. Like a said before, i don't want to send clichés; it's no better than fishfood in the tank that the creatures don't eat.

    Be Sloopy, and hang on. And if I could be there, i'd be distracting your kids with mine.

    ginnae

    ReplyDelete