Holidays and Hospitals

The 4th of July Holiday Weekend passed. Before the weekend it hit me hard that this was the 5th year anniversary of Robert's initial surgery. The beginning of the journey that ended with his death 2+ years later. And the trend of "celebrating" Holidays in the Hospital was just then beginning.

After the 4th there was Labor Day and Thanksgiving where I had my turkey dinner with stuffing, mashed potatoes, string beans, and apple pie in the hospital cafeteria. Soon followed by Christmas in that first year. I vaguely remember we got to be home for New Year's, but soon thereafter were back in. There was always something that ended with an emergency room/department/pavilion visit on a holiday.

The next year really wasn't any better. Started with my birthday and moved on through the list of holidays a second time around. And I wonder why I don't relish the holidays. This year I was planning on lots and lots of horse time during the 4th of July Holiday Weekend. Maybe sitting poolside and working to even out my rider's tan. Quiet time spent not remembering.

Not to be. A good friend and old riding buddy told me she was going in for surgery the week before the 4th. The news from that surgery was not good. Cancer. Recovering from surgery she is now facing chemo. Of course I went to see her. During the 4th of July Holiday Weekend. Spent an afternoon in the ICU sitting and visiting.

Looking at all the wires and monitors and equipment and nurses. And bells and interruptions and poking and gathering of information and giving of injections. The memories of all our times in the hospital came flooding back. And of being his advocate against the medical establishment. Standing up for him when he could not.

It was frighteningly familiar. And strange. I felt detached. And found myself discussing with my friend all sorts of medical and patient things. Sigh. Of course it took a few days for this all to filter into my consciousness. In other words it took a few days to it to really hit me. Until one night I find myself sitting in bed with tears streaming down my face. Just when I think its safe to go outside I find it is not.

Learning to be on my own

After my husband of 42 years died I have had to learn how to be on my own. On my very own. Something that I  had never really done as we got married when we were so young and in College. Slowly I have learned to be comfortable with being my own company. Finding what it is to be truly alone—and that it is not about being lonely.

It was this embracing of being on my own that has lead to all sorts of changes. As I have mentioned before when someone calls to invite to dinner my response is when? and where? I have the ability to flexible with my plans. And as in the previous post, take two plus weeks and travel with horse and cat without discussing or accommodating anyone else. It is all about me and what I want to do. And while part of me says at what a high cost, another part is embracing this new "me".

Now after the last 2-1/2 years of living on my very own—I have moved in with a friend, another widow. I am learning how to live with a person again. To see someone at breakfast. To have conversations easily. To talk about plans for the day. To discuss what to have for dinner when we are both "home". Someone to cook for, someone who cooks for me, someone to cook with!

It is all surprisingly easy. I share my friend's house. Have my own rooms. Share communal rooms. We both come and go as we please, having our own friends and activities. But also check in with each other.

And I am still on my own, I just now have a friend to share my day with.