Saturday, October 30, 2010

D Day Plus 220: (October 14, 2010): Alone in the Inspiration Room


First thing I did was call in to work. It was short and to the point. I didn’t have the energy for my normal yammering and storytelling. Last night, I’d bounced between the bed and the floor and every place in between. All the while being serenaded by a snoring symphony courtesy of Dad. Needless to say, I didn't sleep much. Once I even woke up choking on bile, which was gross. That was no stranger to you. In fact, it happened to you a lot – especially when the cancer went on a rant.  

Between the bile and bouncing, I got a taste of what you knew too well – Sleepless in Sterling. It was nothing about a crazy love story with Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks. It was all about the crazy things to do for relief so you can SLEEP – arranging the pillows to body contours, taking drugs for a moticum of relief, firing up the heating pad to help with the pain, walking in circles to help move things along, sleeping on the bathroom floor, or soaking in the tub again and again when nothing else worked.   

When you were SLEEPLESS, I would have done anything to take it away. Anything! In fact, it's been the single thing that still haunted me. Your frantic search for relief, while the peanut gallery stood by helplessly. I wasn't sure what it was like or what you were going through. But, I was starting to have a pretty good idea. I do know, you never left me last night – not even for a minute. 

I cowered like the letter C, walking in slow motion, to our Inspiration Room. I thought of you cowering like the letter C, too. You did it a lot. I always wanted to straighten your back because it looked like it hurt. But I didn’t say anything. You couldn’t help it.  Neither could I.  

Dad asked if he needed to stay home, but I shooed him to work. “I’ll be fine. I just need to get things moving.” I said with my naughty nine year old bathroom humor smile. “Just fix me up with Miralax and let 'er rip.”   

Actually, the thought of going downstairs and fixing Miralax myself almost gave me a panic attack – navigating the stairs, measuring Miralax, drinking it downstairs, then walking all the way upstairs and getting re-situated on the recliner. How could I do all that now? The thought of it put me into a tail spin.  

Dutiful Dad delivered the goods and made sure I drank every last drop. By the third gulp, a thunderstorm of flashbacks of you bombarded my brain again.  It was all the times you had to drink Miralax and the wavelength of pain and relief your rode.  Each image was synthesized with the other. There were layers of you and Miralax in Sterling, in Hospitals, and Houston Hotel Rooms.  It was so vivid and real.   

Dad asked, “You okay Amenal?”  I played it off and said something about hating to drink the last drop of anything and checking for my iPoD, cell phone, and the remote. I also said something about not wanting my computer because it would be too hard to check the mail.   

Dad kissed my forehead and said, “Rest.” He added, “Call if you need anything.”  

I got caught up with some of the shows I liked but stopped watching last year when everything with your stupid cancer went to hell.  First it was Grey’s Anatomy.  Then it was Private Practice.  I got distracted every so often by other distractions like an unwelcome solicitor and check-up calls from Aunt Janiene, Dad, or Morgan.   

I noticed that I always tried to sound better than I felt during the check-up call.  I’m sure you did that too. Even with me. I told you not to. But then again – we are what we are – kindred spirits. We didn’t want anyone to worry about anything – especially us.   

I faded in and out of sleep for the rest of the day. Food was the last thing on my mind.  I thought about the upside of being sick - losing a couple of pounds. My belly was getting just wee bit pudgy no matter how much I Zumbad or P90xd. I didn't ever dare say it out loud, because then Dad would go on about me getting too skinny. And that I was crazy. But, I was only trying to find something positive about feeling so awful. Maybe a couple of days without food would do the trick. A flat belly could be an upside.  

Another upside was getting the chance to reconnect with you without the fear, loss, or forced okayedness. I was on a journey of discovery – not about you – about me.  You were only along for the ride.
 

2 comments:

  1. NANCY, I MARVEL AT YOU ABILITY TO SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS AND YOUR WRITING REVEALS THE RAW TRUTH ABOUT LIFE AND LOSS AND PAIN. YOU,JEFF, MORGAN AND YOUR DEAR GREG ARE ALWAYS IN MY PRAYERS. NOT A DAY GOES BY THAT I AM NOT REMINDED OF YOUR SON AND OF HOW SHORT AND PRECIOUS LIFE IS. WE WILL ALWAYS FEEL LIKE HE IS PART OF OUR FAMILY FOREVER. PEACE..BIZ Mary

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  2. Thanks for the kind words and encouragement. Greg has forever changed all those that he touched. He loved you and your family very much. Biz, Nancy

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