Dear friends. I’m thinking of a second book, and I’m doing some free writing whenever it comes to me and here are two pieces written after I waved goodbye to Chuck in the car headed for the Keys with Perry and Heather:
There is going to come a time when the patient suddenly "pops" and tells you to "get off his case," "give him some space," "quit grilling him," "_____" you will fill in the blank when he says it to you. You have heard of the straw that broke the camel’s back; well, you’ll be the one to catch it when you ask too many times, "how are you feeling?" "What would you like to drink, milk or water?" "Do you feel dizzy?" He’s at the point where he wants to run, drive, go back to work, cook, "______" you fill in the blank when you hear it because you will know it when you hear it. You will know when you have to let go. He doesn’t really know it when he says it that it hurts. He doesn’t realize what you have done for him. All he knows is you are his full time keeper; watching, listening, doling out pills, making appointments, screening phone calls, and, as is the case in my husband’s recovery, messing up the check book.
He doesn’t understand that you almost lost your mind too with worry and fear and with sleep deprivation. He can’t thank you for your worry, your fear, your prayers, and your patience. He doesn’t understand that you’ve given all and almost lost everything. He doesn’t know his own fear (he being the fearless one and the protector); he is grieving the loss of skills that he hasn’t even identified yet. He doesn’t know that he’s drained and that he needs space to heal, reflect, and to reconnect with his new self.
After Chuck said to stop grilling him, and after one more sleepless night for both of us, I was driving Chuck to a 9AM PT and I was actively wondering who is more impaired and should not be driving, him or me? His brain on 1000mg Kepra is probably working better than mine on weak coffee with milk. I’m trying to cut back on morning caffeine so I can nap. To no avail. I can’t nap and I’m still having trouble falling asleep at all. I call this condition, "the fruit of the beast."
Our PT place is loaded with people Chuck knows. Friday at PT, I watched Chuck as he bounced on a trampoline talking to an old associate. For those from the law firm, remember Dr. Fogarty an accident reconstruction expert? He and Chuck were both rehabbing and they were talking about old cases. Chuck once drove a truck on the Keys highway with lug nuts unscrewed to see if the tire would come off. Dr Fogarty sat in the cab with Chuck waiting to see what speed the truck might have been traveling when the tire came off. Dr Fogarty was also in on the great caper to see how soon they would see a giant boulder in the middle of a berm in Plantation that a guy drove into claiming he couldn’t see it. What fearless young men they used to be. I sat there musing and watching two somewhat stiff older men exchanging lively "remember whens" and I realized, "he’s coming back." After relating his brain injury "event," Chuck told Fogarty, "I just have a little rotator cuff injury." Chuck also chatted with an FHP trooper who is rehabbing too. Chuck updated him on a death of the troopers’ friend that occurred while Chuck was in rehab. I wasn’t sure Chuck would remember that, but he does. They exchanged old fond memories as if this were an exercise class; two paunchy men being iced down for injuries after rehab.
I think he’s back. We have an appointment with a specialist for the rotator cuff injury and then an appointment with the neurologist where I will start campaigning to reduce the seizure medication. He’s certainly ready. This weekend will tell the tale: I pushed Chuck out of the nest last night with Perry driving and Heather and the kids in the back seat, Chuck headed for a weekend in the Keys without me. He called from Duck Key and they were all singing and laughing. I could hear the tiredness in his voice. I pray he slept. I pray he remembers to take his pills that I assembled in two daily pill containers (morning and evening) and I handed him into the hands of God, our Blessed mother, and the angels. Extra angels please. For just a little while more. Love Susie
ps: Draft piece: From Grieving to Recovery:
Today I will take two ribbons and hang them on a cork board. I choose red and pink ribbons. These ribbons hang on the cork board and they remind me to see color today. I will see the colors red and pink. Tomorrow is another day, and yesterday is past. Today I will see red and pink. I won’t try to do more. Choose two colors. Red, pink, orange, blue, green, yellow, black, brown. It doesn’t have to be ribbons. Rip colors out of magazine ads you find in doctors’ waiting rooms. Tack those two colors up and look for them. See the color today. That’s all. That’s enough for one day.
