We can't jump the track. We're like cars on a cable. Life's
like an hourglass, glued to the table. No one can find the rewind
button now. So craddle your head in your hands... and breathe.
Dan was wheeled back to the OR 15 minutes ago. I am sitting in the waiting room. Waiting. What happens now? The doctor will come talk to me when surgery is done. About an hour I'm told. Then when he's in recovery they will take me back to wait with him. And when he's pseudo-awake they will load him into my car and I am supposed to take it from there. What do they do with someone who doesn't have a family? I feel barely qualified to care for him.... and yet I am responsible for making sure he is comfortable, bathed, fed. Shouldn't we have a professional for that? Someone who knows what they're doing? I know now what new parents must feel like when they leave the hospital after delivery.... and they hand you your newborn and send you on your way. Overwhelmed. Sleep deprived. Exhausted... emotionally as well as physically.
There'a a light at each end of this tunnel, you shout, cause you're just as far in as you'll ever be out. And these mistakes you've made, you'll just make them again. If you'd only try turning around.
Waiting in pre-op Dan asks if it's OK to get on the trainer next week. No, baby, I have to tell him, the doctor said 2 weeks. His face falls. Disappointed. Well, I'll ask him again after surgery to make sure, I say. There's my other role. Drill sargeant. Suddenly, I have taken on the job of keeping him quiet and resting until it's safe to return to activity. That's the toughest job of all. He makes jokes when I give him a sponge bath. He thanks me for helping him get dressed and shave. But when I tell him he can't get on the trainer, he just sulks... angry... hurt... disappointed.
Two AM and I'm still awake writing this song. If I get it all down on paper it's no longer inside of me, threatening the life it belongs to.
Soon this will all be over. It will be a distant memory. One that keeps us on edge everytime we get on the bike. One that makes us appreciate every chance we get to swim, bike, run or race without incident. And on October 10, even though his training was derailed, he will be even more excited about racing on the Big Island... and I will be even more proud when he crosses the finish line. No matter the time.
2 comments:
Mary,
As painful and frustraiting as this may be, I hope you realize how special it is that you and Dan have each other. As much as you say, time passes us by, there will be another race tomorrow (Kona or not). All you have is this time with Dan, relish it. You are two of the luckiest people on God's green earth to be able to share your love together in a tough time like this. What a gift...
Matt
Thanks for the reminder, Matt. We are very lucky. As the doctors have said over and over, he could be dead or paralyzed. I'm happy to be able to care for him and help him back to health.
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