Like fog

A warm, bright morning, a soft breeze floating in through the windows wide open for once, lots of twittering birds.  It’s supposed to get into the 80s today, the Indian summer we usually get mid-September arriving late this year.

I’ve been out on errands, trying to dispel the dark mood I woke with. A lot of drama yesterday, starting with a pre-dawn trip to the emergency room because my husband was having weird feelings in his chest. He’d had a dream that he was in the hospital having chest pain, had gone to the nurses’ station to tell them, and no one was there…then woke up with heaviness in his chest. We take these things seriously, as he had triple coronary artery bypasses a few years ago, and so did the ER docs.

Our granddaughter was in tow–she’d been spending the night–so I couldn’t stay with him, but managed to get hold of one of our sons who’s an ER nurse in another hospital. He came right over and stayed with my husband all day, interpreted what was going on, joked him out of anxiety, and was altogether wonderful.  I went off with my granddaughter, feeling wooden and numb, all eye, trying not to unnerve her, wanting to be with my husband, catastrophizing about all that could happen, flashing back to the nightmarish scenario of the triple bypass, ignoring what I needed to do to take care of myself and ending up in pain with sky-high blood pressure.

Mid-afternoon, they let him go, with the proviso that he return for more tests today. That’s where he is now. And I am sitting here with a mug of coffee, remembering how I used to come home from visiting him at the hospital and drink myself into a stupor.  It stuns me I could’ve done that. They might’ve called anytime to tell me he’d gone into cardiac arrest. How can we just turn off that sense of what’s right, like flipping a switch?  Daytime, I was a mature, responsible, caring person.  Nighttime, my bottle of wine was the love of my life.

On the other hand, I’m not exactly enjoying feeling the way I’m feeling now.  I’ve meditated and done my exercises and gone for a walk, and now I’m sitting by the phone waiting to hear whether they’re admitting him for more surgery or sending him home with a clean bill of health.  Creepy, creeping anxiety, like the fog that insinuates itself into a sun-filled San Francisco day.

 

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8 Responses to Like fog

  1. cleo says:

    I do hope things are better today. I know that anxiety and waiting, waiting, waiting that goes with hospitals and tests. Thinking of you and wishing and hoping all well.

  2. csmissy says:

    Susan, my heart, hopes and prayers are with you today and I will wait for your update. Thursday will be the four year anniversary of DH massive heart attack and so I do fully understand your nightmare, anxiety and fear.

    I so wish there were words that would help. Know that many of us are waiting with you and are wrapping our arms around you and holding you up. If you need to talk please email me: csward1958@gmail.com.

    • sswl says:

      Thank you thank you, Missy. As you’ll see by today’s post, things look much better.
      Have you blogged at all about when your husband had his heart attack? I’d be interested in reading it.

  3. Imogen says:

    Susan, you are in my thoughts and i pray the outcome is a positive one. Please look after yourself too. Big bearhug to you from me xoxo

  4. Margit says:

    Susan, hello
    your question “How can we just turn off that
    sense of what’s right, like flipping a switch? ” jumped out at me, and since this is a recovery blog, i thought it would be alright to say that it strikes me as more complicated. we don’t just turn off…as if we were entirely in charge. it’s the never-ending concept, i think, of thinking that we “should” have all the choice and control to “just” turn off our sense and knowledge of what’s right like a switch….when it seems so clear to me now that the ridiculous-sounding “shrug; it’s the alcoholism” is closer to the truth.
    and yes, it stuns me, too. over and over. seems impossible it could have been so….
    wishing you better todays,
    and lifting fog.
    Margit

  5. sswl says:

    Hi Margit, lovely to see you here!
    You’re right of course, not much volition involved. Mr. Gallo or one of his more expensive buddies was flipping that switch.
    Thanks for the better todays–must’ve worked!
    Susan

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