Atomictumor

Actually, I think a post has been written titled this in the past.

I’m still in my stoic phase, and it was helped by an application of porter at lunch and a minute ago. No, I’m not drinking my pain away, this would be about a normal Sunday for me. Wish I could have it with the lady, but we’ve talked enough about that, eh?

She’s in the same boat. BP kept in acceptable levels by the pumps. Fluids in all the wrong places. Pulse down to 110 still. Temp good. All these tiny, tiny signs of hope that I cling to like a shipwreck survivor to a piece of wood.

I feel like I’m developing relationships with the nursing staff. The ER nurse from the very beginning of all this came up to visit her today, and that was touching. I noticed the other day in the paper that she’s the MMC’r of the month. She deserves it.

It has to be something for them. Harber, one of the nurses there today that was there when GAC was admitted, and when she was wheeled in for her futile exploratory surgery, told me while we were chatting that GAC is a month younger. It must be something for them, used to dealing with the old, or the run down, to see a 29 year old girl, in the peak of her life, stuck down to death’s door by this.

Ahh, BJ. GAC.

I ran out of things to tell her at the 3 PM visit. I can’t have a tender moment with her without running my mouth, telling her how much I love her, and what she means to me, and blah blah blah. But I ran out of things today. I stood there, and stroked her sweet head (I’ve always loved touching her forehead), in silence. No tears, the stoicism in full swing. No emotions at all now. I can speak about her, about her work in the house, the things that mean something to her, the things we shared. About the life insurance we have for her, what would happen if she left me. Plans we have.

Yesterday I would have wanted to say “plans we had”. Thats the difference between today and yesterday, I guess.

I look forward to breaking down again tonight, and now that Pigpen is back in his own bed, I’ll be able to do it without fear of waking him up. It feels good to sob. I promised myself, at 1 AM last night, that I’d write that story about our meeting, or some meaningful story about us tonight during that time. I wanted to do it then, but I needed to sleep. Got about 4 hours, all told.

I don’t know what to write now. I feel like now that I have your attention, I have to say something that will change things. Maybe if I let this all out, and share this grief, and more importantly this hope, that maybe something will change.

BJ, my sweet girl, I think you’re coming back. I have so much hope, but the fear of tonight is coming on.

Jeez, I love you. I love you so much, my little one.

Edit:

Read this.  I don’t have words for it.  I know many of you are writing your feelings, and I haven’t had time to read them all, but I will.  Thanks.

This entry was posted on Sunday, November 5th, 2006 at 5:07 pm and is filed under Pain. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.