Call me if you need a ride

Rich forgot that he had told me last night that he would call me this morning when he got up. Around 10:30 I stopped my chores and called him. He sounded in exceptionally fine spirits.

He had news. His ICU nurse was setting him up for a Cortisone Stem Test. He explains they will inject “stuff” into him and two hours later they will draw blood. I want to know if he needs to be fasting and how is that going and ….

No, no fasting, he's eating and this test will give them the information they need. No fasting, no problem.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

I can feel the brain cells exploding in my head. But I can't explode on Rich, so all I can offer is.... “Wow, who stayed up all night to develop this brand new test? ... I must thank them.”

Thankfully my sarcasm is lost on Rich—he's happy and chirpy and making new best friends. I asked him three times to repeat it because I'm thinking he's confused, and what fabric of the universe was ripped open last night to get us from there to here? My head is spinning. He asks his nurse and I hear her faintly in the background and he repeats it to me. Really? Really. “Yeah,” he says, “they decided they can't do the tests they want because my blood sugar drops too low if I'm fasting. It was 38 yesterday and they couldn't rouse me.” Really? Really.... So now they're going to do THIS test and it should give them what they need.

He then asks me when I'm coming in to see him. I can FEEL my frontal lobe attempt light, non-sensical responses while the deeper part of my survival brain cells scramble for an excuse, any excuse not to have a close encounter with his health care professionals.

No worries, he is happily distracted by his efforts to charm his nurse. I just want OFF the phone because I feel like I need to throw up and I prefer some privacy for that.

Then he tells me, “no rush, the nurses are going to come in and help me get cleaned up.”

Shit. I forgot to muzzle Scrapper.

“What? Your arms are broke?” I tried to chuckle and present it all as a joke but I couldn't get the muzzle back on... “I think you can get washed up by yourself dear. The nurses are busy.”
He assures me that they offered, and Scrapper is yapping at my heels wanting to know if his golf buddies follow him into the woods when he needs to.... SHUT UP, Scrapper, and then Rich tells me what he'd like me to bring to him when I come in and I was PLEASANT.

We end the conversation with me telling him I'm washing the windows of the kitty spit, doing laundry, dishes and trying to catch up on all the things that have not gotten done since Wednesday night. “Love you.....” “Love you, too.”

Fuck, fuck Fuck, Fuck, Fuck. It's like my new mantra.

Does anyone catch my dilemma here????

I would love to go in and see my husband. I want to see him fluffed up and comfy in his ICU bed and hear the nurses tell me how amazing and wonderful he is. I do. Because....well.... it's just something I never get tired of. My dilemma is—I just don't think I can experience that level of Joy without throwing up on their shoes. Worse, what if one of his doctors comes in to bring me up to date on all the things they've endured because they refused to listen to me and how they are now going to fix the problem that I warned them about before it happened. No wait. More “worser”.... How will I placidly listen to them explain this brilliant 2 hour, non-fasting Cortisone Stem test that just became available TODAY? I fear I might tremble in the sight of their brilliance and wet myself.

Contemplating the past, present and future; factoring in my limited knowledge of quantum physics, parallel universes, multiple dimensions and “S= K log W”...... I feel strongly that it would be in everyone's best interest, least of all my own, if I removed myself from the gravitational pull of the work they are doing. Rich needs a break from me. I must not be a pebble in the doctors' shoes.

I think it best if I continue to clean and fluff the nest so it is ready when Rich flies away home.

It's a no brainer...if I fail to visit him, I'm a heartless bitch; if I visit him and fail to swallow I'm a nauseated heartless bitch; if I challenge, question or speak up, I'm a raging heartless bitch... No matter what course I take I am a heartless bitch. I choose asking forgiveness over asking permission.

I need to learn to embrace the empowerment of boundaries. They do not come into my space, I should not enter theirs. They bring their skill set to the healing of Rich and I bring mine. I don't need their respect, neither do I need their negativity.

I'm here, Rich. Feathering the nest and recharging my battery.

Call me if you need a ride.