Where have I been?

In the past few weeks, I have retreated into myself, letting the mist of quiet sadness drape over me.  I was only finding solace in finding more things to worry me. I was neglectful to my writing, but now, I’m starting to shake off the haze of sorrow. I’m able to apply the rule write what you know. Here I sit, putting down on the electronic page what I have been experiencing.

My husband’s health issues have caused this downward shift in my disposition. It started out innocently enough—a few months back, he was having soreness in his right elbow. Then over the course of weeks, the dull ache graduated to searing agony that had spread throughout his whole right arm, shoulder and back of his head.  Some mornings, he woke up with his right arm twitching uncontrollably. Also, he would be prone to dizzy spells.

Seeing someone you love in pain and not being able to do anything about it is torture, pure and simple. His groans would twist my stomach into knots.  My tears were always in quick supply, but I tried to hide them from him.  He was dealing with enough without having to worry about me.

The other thing that had me suspended in tender hooks was not knowing what was causing his extreme discomfort. Logically, I knew I was not an expert on the matter, but my imagination filled my mind with guesses—Parkinson’s disease? A stroke? A brain tumor? This horrendous dialogue was endless.

A trip to the ER finally confirmed what has been ailing him—the MRI showed herniated discs in his neck. Unfortunately, they are degenerating. They were not caused by an injury, but genetics.

On the way home, he stated he was relieved that we finally knew what was going on—it’s not a devious mystery anymore and now we can treat it. He was in an extreme positive frame of mind. In response, I started to cry. He put his left pain free arm around me and gingerly held me close. I found this ironic—here he was, a man just coming back from the emergency room and now he was the strong one.

Then he said something that finally got me out of my misery: “As long as we work together, we can beat anything.” I was so wrapped up in worry and fear in his condition that I was carrying too much of the burdens on myself. I had forgotten we were a team.

My positive energy is slowly coming back, which is in direct proportion to his pain level subsiding. Also, I’m looking through a clearer prism rather than the murky one of agitation. I can see our family putting these words into practice—our son is helping out more around the house and showing concern, my step-son is visiting us more and doing the yard work. Even the dogs are showing they are furry care givers—instinctively they know to be around him and stabilize him when he’s having a dizzy spell.   

As a friend of mine observed, we are all in a biorhythm-- the trick is to remember when we are in the low point of the grid, we are also riding the wave to the high point.