It's the decisions that haunt me. After 4 months (or 30 years) of holding Sam's life in the palm of my hand, I'm worn out. Today is the third day in a row that he didn't need oxygen during the day. Progress or blip? Ask me tomorrow.
Today I can't make up my mind about anything. Brush my teeth, get dressed, take pills, make tea? What should I do first? Every decision seems like a life and death decision and I'm tired of making life and death decisions. Sam woke up and then I knew what to do, feed him, give him meds, dress him, change him, give him treatments, entertain him.
But I when I went to the kitchen to get another Ensure, I found myself doubled over and crying. Whenever I wasn't needed to take care of Sam today, I'd put on Sesame Street and go to the bedroom and cry. I still couldn't decide anything. So by the time Charley came home I was wearing underwear, a tee-shirt and pajama bottoms. I had made tea, but had only eaten stuff around the house that didn't need cooking. (string cheese, cuties, tea and cookies)
I turned Sam over to him and went back to bed for more sobbing.
I often fall apart once the crisis is over. Maybe that's what this is. How do I tell? Charley suggested I go for a walk, but that means deciding where I want to go. I can't deal with that either. I went to the basement and found a pair of pants.
"Clinical depression or recovery?" Charley asks when I come upstairs. I don't know the answer. "Go outside," he commands.
It feels better outside in the sunshine. It really does. I see neighbors, I see green. The sun is setting in my eyes. I form a plan. I will go someplace, drink tea and knit. I pass several restaurants because it doesn't feel like I've walked far enough.
A new nail salon has opened up since the last time I left the house. 15% off Grand Opening Special. Ok. Manicure and pedicure. Still a lot of decisions, but I make them without too much difficulty.
Round or square?
Toe nails bare or colored?
I make the decisions. I sit in the chair and it massages my back. The man cleans my feet, and massages my legs. I go for bare toenails. I knit while he works on my feet. It gets easier.
Then I went into Mr. Gee's for a salad. More tough decisions. With chicken or plain? For here or to go? The place is filled with police officers. This is reassuring. Probably no one will die if I make the wrong choice - that's what police are for, right? Large Greek Salad WITH chicken to go. AND an iced tea. Large. Heh. I can do this.
A day of sobbing, and an hour outside with a manicure and some progress on my knitting. I make a decision: This is Recovery. I need to collapse for a bit before I can go on. But I will go on.