Working on Recovery

Oh, how grateful I am for my blog.  My only adult interaction in days.

I’m sitting on my back porch, surrounded by bees and pine pollen, but so desperate for sunlight, I really don’t care.  I had a feeling that today was going to be rough when it started out with my son waking me up from the first, deep sleep I’ve had in awhile, informing that the cat just threw up in his room.  And not just in his room.  Under his bed.

Fun.

After seeing Mike stir around for a minute from his medicine-induced slumber, I decided it was time to start making him breakfast so that he could take his next round of pills.  I popped an English muffin in the toaster oven with ham and a slice of cheese on it while I cooked an egg to make him a breakfast sandwich.  When I started to get the muffin out, I noticed that the cheese had somehow stood up on its own and melted to the back of my toaster oven.

Yup.  Not the beginnings of a good day.

The last couple of days have been long and tough.  It’s easy to forget how never-ending days can be when things are going well, but it all comes rushing back when you’re in it again...kind of like child-birth.  You forget how painful it was, years later, and you start saying to yourself, “That really wasn’t so bad.  I can handle the work and the lack of sleep.”  And like an idiot you do it all over again and, a little too late, you start remembering how hard it really was.  

The days blur together into one weird, exhausting time-warp.  Setting my alarm at night every four hours to give Mike doses of medicine so that we can try and stay on top of the pain a little has not made for a whole lot of rest.  Sleeping on the couch in the living room (which, ironically, was the one that used to be in the nursery when I had the kids) so I can listen for him when he needs something, allows for some sleep in between, but not as much as I would get sleeping in the wonderful “cave” I made for myself in my own bedroom after my husband died.  No real time to sit and have a meal, between feeding the kids and feeding him, has left me feeling run down and crabby and wishing I could clone myself so that I could leave and get one of my magical pedicures.  And a haircut.  And maybe a new purse?

You all have been there.  It’s a vicious cycle.  No time to take care of yourself makes you feel terrible.  Until you feel so bad you just don’t care about taking care of yourself.

I know that I have it in me to do this all on my own, but I’m grateful to the very core of my being that I don’t have to.  Despite the fact that my own mom had foot surgery on Wednesday (the same day Mike had his), my parents just came over and scooped up my kids to take them swimming.  So this gives me a few hours to relax a little more than I have been, sit (which I haven’t been doing much of), and possibly eat something.

Most importantly, I’m getting a short break from jollying everyone along, pretending like this is just one big fun sleepover.

So, now I’m on my second large cup of strong, black tea and getting ready to switch to something harder, like Diet Dr. Pepper.  What I’m really wishing is that it was more socially appropriate to drink alcohol in the middle of the day.

I think I’m actually going crazy.  You know, my husband was in an accident and then we were told that he was injured, but was going to be fine.  And then a few hours later he had a stroke.  And then a few hours after that, his brain started to swell and the doctors told me there would be about a 5% chance he would make it through.

When I first got to the hospital after the accident and we were told he was going to be okay, I did what I’m sure many of you have experienced:  I didn’t think about how hard his recovery from a dislocated knee and broken ribs would be.  I just thought about what needed to happen to get him better.

And I was robbed of that chance.

I’ve been thinking so much about that time these last couple of days, wondering if this constant vigilance and care-taking is not just a part of what I need to do for Mike...it’s the chance to do what I thought I was going to do for my husband.  It would have been close to the same situation:  Same three kids (only now, thankfully, a little older and more independent), leg injury, same house. 

And I want to make sure I do it right.

There are even some moments when I wonder if my husband has put this situation before me so that I would know that I would have done it, that I could have done it, and stop wondering if I had it in me.

I know...it’s crazy, isn’t it???  And I haven’t even switched over to the wine yet.

There are times when I really have to remind myself that this is life.  This is it.  Life isn’t just made up of all of the wonderful, happy moments.  It throws things at you that, hopefully, make you appreciate the good moments when they happen.  I’m not always good in less-than-perfect situations...I’m the person who always expects life to be fun and full of great memories and I don’t like dealing with the other part.  I get impatient with the bad and want to get it over with as soon as possible and usually the “bad” never works with my schedule.  It’s hard for me to sit and wait for the good to roll around again.

But, as we all know...sometimes you just don’t have a choice but to wait.  You just have to keep reminding yourself that it will.

You May Not Be Dyin'...But We Widows Will Make You Think That You Are

So I’ve been sitting in the hospital all day, waiting for my boyfriend to come out of surgery.  This has, obviously, given me a lot of time to think.

Fortunately, I’ve had some good reading material.  Ellen Gerst, from Love After Loss:  Writing the Rest of Your Story, asked me to read her new book, Suddenly Single:  Help on Navigating the Stormy Seas of Loss, which has been a pleasure.  Fabulous ideas that have had me going, “Uh huh.  Uh huh.  Oooo...I’m going to try that one.” 

When I emailed Ellen, to let her know that I was so thankful to receive her book, she very sweetly said, “Are you sure you want to be reading a book about widowhood while you’re sitting in the hospital, waiting for someone to get out of surgery?”

To which I replied, “I might as well.  I’ll be thinking about it anyway.”

This is a tip for all of you un-widowed people out there:  If you should ever become sick or incapacitated...you may want to think twice before you ask a widow to come with you to the hospital.  It has nothing to do with the fact that we may not be able to handle it (although my own absence of a complete mental belly-flop today has made me realize that I’ve reached a new, more functioning stage of widowhood). 

It has more to do with how we make you feel.

I’ve been kind of laughing to myself this morning (okay...I guess if I’m laughing to myself in the surgery waiting room, the mental belly-flop could still be forthcoming) because in our preparation to get ready for today...I think I’ve really been sort of preparing for him not to come back.

It’s kind of weird.  I haven’t actually been thinking to myself, “He may not come back.”  Consciously I’m pretty positive that he will.  But all of my preparation the last few days is something I probably wouldn’t have done if I hadn’t entered the Widdahood at a time when I least expected it.

I’d like to think I’ve been sort of stealthy about it...but I’m sure I haven’t.  I mean, you can’t say to someone, “I know you’ll be fine!!  You’re going to sail right through this!  Now, give me the phone numbers of all of your family members and the passwords to every account you have.”

I think I’m just trying to improve upon the last time.  All you widdas will get this:  When your spouse died...weren’t there some things that you wish you could have done differently?  Things you wish you’d said?  Information you wish you had prepared better?  At least a better book to read in the waiting room?

Well...unfortunately the person we get the “next time around” is the beneficiary of all of the depressing knowledge that was bestowed upon us during our previous experience.  The result is that there is a little part of us that thinks the “next time around” is going to kick the bucket at any moment and, as with everything in life, we would like to do better when we have the second chance.  It’s like getting a second shot at the Olympics.  Only more depressing, insanity-inducing, and we don’t get a medal if we do well.

Yes.  It’s terrible to live with that feeling as a widow.  But I’m sure it’s down-right freaky for the other party.

I really did leave this morning with confidence that everything would be fine.  Which is a huge switch from how I used to be.  Just a few months ago, if someone told me they were going to have a cavity filled, I would have shoved a “Medical Power of Attorney” in front of them.

This guy has been around long enough to know how truly crazy I am.  And one of two things is happening:  Either he’s gotten to the point where it entertains him slightly or he’s still working on completing some required community service hours I don’t know about.  Either way...this whole experience has had to be a little unsettling for him.

I mean, any other guy who dates a girl who hasn’t gone through the widdahood experience probably would have shown up to surgery this morning, a little hungover from the “pre-tumor-removal-party” his smokin’ hot girlfriend threw him the night before, alcohol warnings be damned.  Instead, he “partied” with me, who made him make a list of every medication he’d taken in the last 2.3 years and forced him to start charting all of his “outflows,” just in case that might affect his chances of a successful operation. 

And I’m not the only one who has been affected by my widowhood.  When I walked into the surgery waiting area, who should I find waiting...but my entire family?  Now, these are the kind of people who would go to the hospital and wait with anyone who needed them...a friend, neighbor, family member.  My mom came armed with Phase 10 cards, my sister came with plenty of subjects for us to talk about, and my dad bought me lunch (because you’re never too old to sponge free food off of your parents). 

All I can think is that I’m kind of glad that they came after my boyfriend was already in surgery.  Because if he had seen us all here, faces pale and anxious...he would have thought he was dying for sure.

So now I’m up in his room, surgery done, watching him squirm with pain, and thankful for it.  Because, as a widow I know...

...it’s better to see squirming than not.

Excuses to Get Any Widow Out of Unwanted Memorial Day Events

Anyone else feel like Memorial Day is kind of the season opener for family events that you’re expected to go to...that you’d really rather skip?

I’ve determined that there are really two family seasons during the year:  Winter and Summer.  Winter...’cause we have to deal with Christmas, Hanukkah, and holidays that should make us feel grateful but really make us feel like we want to run over an innocent by-stander in the grocery store parking lot (we’re aiming for the turkey, but the person who’s holding it just gets in the way).  And summer because it’s a time for baseball games, picnics, and beer drinking with the neighbors in the driveway. 

None of those things are as much fun without a partner involved.

It seems like during these two seasons, the expectations of the people around us don’t help either.  If you lost your spouse in February, I’m guessing that most of your support system is about ready for you to come out of your widow shell and join them at the next family bar-b-que.  And bring a bag of chips while you’re at it.

Don’t worry...you’re not alone.  It was the same for all of the people who lost their spouses in last fall.  By the end of November their families were calling and asking if they could make the cornbread dressing for Thanksgiving. 

Since they hadn’t heard from you in awhile, they assumed you must be bored.

I see a lot of comments from newly widowed folks who are worried about offending their supporters by declining invitations to events that they really don’t want to go to.  I’m assuming it’s more of the newly widowed people because those of us who have been hanging out in the Widdahood for a long time...well...we could really give a crap.

Since I see you all worrying about this, I feel that it’s my duty to assist you in coming up with a list of possible excuses that you can use when faced with an event you would rather not go to.  I consider this list a public service and am therefore providing it free of charge.

10. My kid just threw up everywhere.  (Now...this one is a no-brainer.  It’s about time those kids came in handy.  And don’t make the mistake of saying that they have a cough or a sore throat...because those die-hard entertainers will just tell you to bring them along.  Nope.  There has to be something gross and uncontrollable coming out of your kid.)

9. My dog just threw up everywhere and the vet told me that I can’t leave him alone.  But I promise to come over and clean your carpets on Tuesday. (The only thing that could trump a puking child is a puking pet.  Letting your host know that your dog cannot be away from you while you figure out this mysterious illness is sure to win you a pass from the event.)

8. This is the anniversary of when my spouse and I ______ and I think I need to celebrate in my own way.  (Now, you can fill in the blank however you would like, but the more uncomfortable the event the better.  Here are some suggestions:  consummated our relationship, had our first “swinging” experience, ate chili cheese dogs at the fair and had duel adverse reactions.  C’mon.  You’ve become a walking conversation stopper since your spouse died.  Surely you can think of something that will stop them in their tracks.)

7. Since hamburgers were my spouse’s favorite food, I’ve decided that I can’t eat anything with a bun or anything that can possibly be put on a bun.  It’s just too painful for me.

6. My therapist told me that it’s not good for my mental health to be around lit charcoal (if anything that will keep them guessing about what in the hell is the matter with you).

5. I’m waiting for the Publisher’s Clearinghouse Sweepstakes to get here.  It’s amazing how I’ve burned through all of this life insurance!

4. To commemorate the day, I have decided to wear American flags placed on my body in strategic places.  Are there going to be children at your party?

3. I can’t wait!  Can I bring my bagpipes?  You wouldn’t believe how good I’ve gotten after just 2 lessons!!!

2. I would, but my grief support group is meeting that day.  Hey!  I have an idea!  Why don’t I bring them all with me? 

And the number one reason you can give for not partaking in the Memorial Day festivities you’ve been invited to....

BECAUSE I'M WIDOWED AND I DON'T WANNA!!!

Have a good weekend everyone.  Love ya.

For more blogs and articles from other widow(er) writers, join us at www.theWiddahood.com!  


© Catherine Tidd 2011