Monday, July 17, 2006

Pushing Away

Dear Jan

It's almost a week since the last time I wrote in your blog. We have been so absorbed with the unpacking, that the days just fly. Time is going so fast! It is five months ago since you were rushed to one hospital and then to another. 158 days since your immediate family, some close friends, and I, were anxiously waiting past midnight in the CCU for news about your operation. The memories are becoming like one of those sepia-coloured old movies, however, the details are as fresh as ever. I still remember the strange feelings I had. Those feelings felt, like wearing an oversized heavy coat in a warm day. I still remember the nervous walking up and down the corridor and the quiet company of Linda and Joy. I still remember their comforting words and prayers in a tough time. In our wedding vows I had promised to love you even in tight circumstances, but I never imagined that this was going to come so soon. That night, I was confused, tossed around in a tidal wave of emotions, desperately trying to keep my balance, life felt totally out of control. Little made sense. There was a big battle being fought in the OR by the medical staff to keep you alive. Inside of me I was fighting another battle with my own emotions and the myriads of questions that cascaded into my head. At five months, all that commotion seems foreign to me, as if this terrible illness would have happened to someone else. This is probably the way our minds and hearts heal, by taking distance, keeping things in perspective, and giving it time. Now I can see that old sepia-coloured movie and calmly reflect on what all that meant.

But, this is only how my feelings have come to some calm. There are no more Why? questions demanding answers from God and friends. Instead, there is a quiet understanding of the measure and value of life; of the temporal nature of pain; and, most important, of the eternal consequences this type of event has beyond our bodies, in our characters.

Nevertheless, the last few days are sharp reminders that all this is only my point of view on having an aneurysm and dealing with its consequences. While my feelings have settled, you are still fighting minute by minute the devastating consequences of this disease. Last night at church you reminded all of this fact.

You are brave and have a strong will to get well, but the day to day limitations you face as a consequence of the disease are overwhelming. Yes, time and time again, I see how easily you become overwhelmed. It is the limitation in expressing your ideas, it is the limitation in understanding all what is said to you, it is the limited movement on your right side, and probably above all, the constant pain and over-sensitivity of your right side. Often you say: “it’s just not there” It is hard to imagine how it feels not to be able to feel or to see one half of my body! To the physicality of the aphasia, I add the many hours you spend in silence. You need your friends, their calls, their visits, and yet, when they call or visit, you cut short the interactions. It must be painful to need company, but at the same time, because of the problems in communication or the generalized throbing in your body, to push them away.

Is it that you are struggling with depression? Is it that you are working out your own feelings about what has happened to you? Is it that you are struggling with reconstructing a new self-image that would include your current limitations? I don’t know. All I can do is to offer you my love and support, even though often I am also pushed away.

I hope our friends loyally continue to pray for you.

-Fede

1 comment:

FC said...

You must have seen somewhere else in your life the power of prayer. Thanks for this support Martha. The love and prayers of a friend are like fresh water in the middle of the desert...
FC