I guess life is really just one big recovery

Feeling my way and finding balance

I am slowly feeling stronger but there are ups and downs. I continue to be astounded by the way the sepsis devastated my strength. Somebody wrote me a note and they referenced the months that I’d been sick and I was shocked to read months in the plural, but it has indeed been over three months. I’m struggling a bit with expectations, both my own and those of others. I think I’m also struggling with the grief of the last few years.

I sometimes jokingly say that the world went to hell when David Olney died but it many ways it really did. He died just weeks after Ernie’s cancer had reared its ugly head once again and was starting chemo complete with ER visits and hospital stays.

Then David was suddenly gone in January of 2020.

and then Nick Rudd in May 2020

Eileen Kelly in April, 2022

Ceal Allen in June 2022

Jim Eyre in September 2022

Peter Cooper in December 2022

Mark Gerking in June 2023

Jeff Evans in August 2023

Mark Rubel in March 2024

and finally, Mary Sack just last month.

These were all people I truly, truly loved. They were part of my life. Some I saw often, some I saw rarely, but they were part of me, part of my interior. And these losses still weigh on me. I know that as you get older the odds of losing loved ones goes up but this just feels like so much. So very much. Or maybe it’s that I’m just not as strong. I also grieve the loss of my mobility and hell, I even said goodbye to my uterus somewhere in that stretch of time.

Being sad and weak makes me teary at the drop of a hat. We saw Vasireddy yesterday. I told him I’d been in the hospital with sepsis and his eyes got huge. Later as I followed him to the infusion suite I couldn’t keep up with him even though he was walking slowly. I apologized for being so slow and he was so kind and gentle when he said, “Well, of course, you’ve just been through something huge.” Pod Four was oddly crowded and there were no seats for Ernie that also had a chair nearby for me, and I was wobbly and hurting. I lose all communication skills at times like that so poor Ernie was confused by my muttering. I said it was fine, I’d just sit in my walker. I sat down and just wanted to weep although I couldn’t have told you why. Ernie looked for another chair but there was nothing he could get to easily. I told him it was fine. Suddenly a man who was there with another patient appeared with a chair for me. It was so kind. There’s such a weird combination of shared intimacy and anonymity in these situations. I picked up my phone and saw a message from a friend who offered to do something really generous. I quickly switched to an English Regency romance novel as otherwise I would have sat and wept.

My eyes leaked all evening long. It was a really long week, albeit with some absolute moments of joy. The first night Tal was here I got up in the night to use the bathroom and I was so happy to see her toothbrush on the sink that I almost ran to get my phone to take a picture. I restrained myself. And although we didn’t do our usual call out for folks to join us on the Fourth, we did have a few friends come by for a potluck and to watch our neighborhood fireworks. It felt so good to see folks…real actual human friends!!

And these two…

I will keep looking for the moments of joy, like seeing Tal’s toothbrush, or my beloved friends, to balance the sadness. We’re all looking for some kind of balance, right?

Onward.

Love,
Cynthia