Just a Note

We were in the ER again last night. Mark was having pain in his chest and down his left arm. The doc on call was going to send him to OHSU, but the specialist up there said that they already know he doesn't have any kind of blockage, per se, that it's just his polycythemia causing the problems, most likely. He suggested giving him fluids, which did help dilute his blood enough to make it easier for Mark's heart to pump it. After about 10 hours, he was able to come home.

I drove him the hospital, but I didn't have anyone to pick up Alex from school so I drove back home. Alex responded to the news that I was going back to the hospital by coming completely unglued. He wanted me to help him with his Egg Drop for field day. Even though I promised to help him when I got home, he screamed and sobbed. I looked over once, and he was crouched behind the couch, holding onto the arm, as if he was hiding from something, or bracing himself against a potential attack from some unseen source. The worst of it is ... I yelled back. "You're being ridiculous! Stop is RIGHT NOW! I can't be everywhere at once. I will help you LATER!"

Well, I did help him. When they still hadn't decided what to do with Mark by 7 p.m., I came back home and helped Alex install his "suspension system" inside his fried onion container, pad it with newspaper, and seal the whole thing with loads of packing tape. Then I put the boys to bed and settled in to wait. If Mark was going to be moved up to OHSU, I didn't want to make a third trip into Newberg. I would just see him in the morning. But if he was going to come home, I would have to go get him. Or so I thought. When Jason (who had the day off) called and volunteered to drive in and pick him up for me, I could have just bowed down and kissed his feet. I was asleep by the time Mark got home.

I talked with his nurse, Andrea, at the hospital for quite a while. I told her that I'm just having such a hard time lately with so much being unknown, that I just want somebody to be able to give me some idea of what's ahead. And ... nobody knows. She said (well, a rough paraphrase), "You know, I used to be so nervous when I started working with him a few years ago. He'd come in and his oxygen saturations would be in the seventies and I think, 'This is one sick guy!' But you were always so calm, just smiling and doing your embroidery ... I wonder if maybe the reality of how sick he really is has just finally caught up with you." Yeah, maybe it has.

I think the hardest part for me is just not knowing how to "be." I don't want to think constantly about death and parting, but I feel like I'm always gripping the bar in the tramway, never able to completely enjoy the ride for fear of losing my balance and being tossed to the ground ... And yet, he could be around for years. I don't want him or the kids or myself to miss out on life because I was so afraid of being caught off guard by his dying. I don't even know if I'm making any sense today. One thing I know for certain though is this: whoever invented that saying "Live every day as if it were your last" obviously didn't have any idea what that is like.