R has been sleeping a lot. His face looks like a little child's. Trusting, at peace. He can sleep for hours at an end and right through the night. Not a line of worry on his face. Strange for a someone who has just been diagnosed with Hodgkin's disease. Or maybe it just his way of coping with the news. Staying awake is scary even terrifying. For the past days he has had his share of advice, counsel, shared experiences all given in good spirit and faith but I guess all the images muddle in his brain and become incoherent and confused. So Morpheus's arms is a safe and secure option. His time out till he can process things better.
I asked my good doc why he has happening. His answer was that for the past year or so we had been drifting through shades shades of grey (not the mommy porn kind:) ). What he meant was that as the diagnosis had not been confirmed anything was possible: the good, the bad and the ugly. And like all humans we hoped, prayed and petitioned one and all. In the back of our minds was the dreaded word C, but every investigations done pushed it away But now we have a diagnostic and whether we like it or not, the road map lies ahead and a new C word has taken over all our fears: Chemo. No more shades of grey to comfort you just black and white and either very scary.
Each one of us is dealing with it in her or his way, and R has taken the withdrawal way: sleep your fears away, and when you are awake the switch on the idiot box so that its drone becomes your new lullaby. For the rest meekly follow the leader. Get up and dressed,walk down the stairs, get in the car and allow your self to be driven to whatever horror awaits you, scared to death but hiding it by remaining in your 'etat second', - the trance you have have chosen to keep the nightmares away. So sleep sweet child. I will not awake you.
For me the story is different. Morpheus has decided to desert me. I lie awake in the night thoughts crowding my mind. I spend the day reading as much as I can on this new C companion that has taken over my life. Adrenaline pumps at an accelerated rate. The over 400 pages of the Emperor of all Maladies have to be finished. Diet charts worked out. The and anger and tears now take the shape of febrile and almost delirious words that fill an empty screen. Some to be shared no, others to await their moment.
There is no long term any more. The good doc told me not to expect any changes before 3 months. 90 days. 2160 hours. Days that will coalesce into one big day of seeing my loved one destroyed as C destroys before it condescends to make you better. There is no other way. The side effects are terrible. I cannot imagine how C will first ravage and already devastated body. I know I will have to conjure all the tricks in my repertoire to keep a brave face and find the words to soothe, the games to fill time that will get truly Bergsonian, and appear almost still. In between I will have to find ways of shedding frozen tears, releasing suffocating anger and above all the strength not to say ENOUGH!
It is all black and white now. No more shades of grey!
I asked my good doc why he has happening. His answer was that for the past year or so we had been drifting through shades shades of grey (not the mommy porn kind:) ). What he meant was that as the diagnosis had not been confirmed anything was possible: the good, the bad and the ugly. And like all humans we hoped, prayed and petitioned one and all. In the back of our minds was the dreaded word C, but every investigations done pushed it away But now we have a diagnostic and whether we like it or not, the road map lies ahead and a new C word has taken over all our fears: Chemo. No more shades of grey to comfort you just black and white and either very scary.
Each one of us is dealing with it in her or his way, and R has taken the withdrawal way: sleep your fears away, and when you are awake the switch on the idiot box so that its drone becomes your new lullaby. For the rest meekly follow the leader. Get up and dressed,walk down the stairs, get in the car and allow your self to be driven to whatever horror awaits you, scared to death but hiding it by remaining in your 'etat second', - the trance you have have chosen to keep the nightmares away. So sleep sweet child. I will not awake you.
For me the story is different. Morpheus has decided to desert me. I lie awake in the night thoughts crowding my mind. I spend the day reading as much as I can on this new C companion that has taken over my life. Adrenaline pumps at an accelerated rate. The over 400 pages of the Emperor of all Maladies have to be finished. Diet charts worked out. The and anger and tears now take the shape of febrile and almost delirious words that fill an empty screen. Some to be shared no, others to await their moment.
There is no long term any more. The good doc told me not to expect any changes before 3 months. 90 days. 2160 hours. Days that will coalesce into one big day of seeing my loved one destroyed as C destroys before it condescends to make you better. There is no other way. The side effects are terrible. I cannot imagine how C will first ravage and already devastated body. I know I will have to conjure all the tricks in my repertoire to keep a brave face and find the words to soothe, the games to fill time that will get truly Bergsonian, and appear almost still. In between I will have to find ways of shedding frozen tears, releasing suffocating anger and above all the strength not to say ENOUGH!
It is all black and white now. No more shades of grey!
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