Two years – seems a long time – but also seems like yesterday. The film is running in my head, pictures and emotions.
At first it is unbelievable yet the rising fear in the chest says otherwise. How can everything change in a few seconds. A diagnosis pronounced almost casually and with it a lot of unknowns arrive. What exactly does it mean Leukaemia, Covid, infection, abscess, what are the consequences? How are we going to cope, how am I going to cope, how can all of this be processed efficiently and quickly to quell the threat?
I see you laying there, white on white. I am pretending to be ok but hope someone would come and fill in the blanks. You too pretend that you are ok, obviously in shock and so we chat about everything else. The cattle are due to calve, the dogs will be fed a little later today, I found a good car spot, I don’t want to leave but I’ll have to go home.
People in the emergency department are milling around quickly, attending to the most urgent need for everyone on a bed. A lot of decisions are made virtually on the run. I want someone to attend to us and I want them to ignore us at the same time. More information would be soothing but being ignored means it wasn’t that urgent, right?
My insides are churning, how can I get to my go-to coping mechanism of being super strong? I can’t look to you for support, you are only just holding on yourself. What did I do last time I was in this situation? Yes, I have been there before, suddenly on my own. Last time I was a lot younger, there was a chaplain supporting me, helping me to accept that at that moment, I couldn’t rely on you holding me up. This time, no such thing, an almost impersonal environment of a yet unfamiliar danger. Eerily I know what is coming.
“I’ll be fine” you said and I so want to believe that. “I’ll call you when I know some more” you said and I feel anxious. Everything has been going so well for us lately, we are close again after difficult months and now this. Love and compassion fill my chest, my whole being yet I feel much too weak to be able to give you what you might be needing right now.
I tear myself away and stumble out of emergency into the ‘real’ world. Where is my car, how can I drive, please don’t let me get a fine for driving on autopilot. Life is a bitch but I have to get home to do my chores. I do drive on autopilot, can’t remember how I got home but somehow I did. Cattle are fed, sheep are content, dogs are happy to see me and I can somehow settle into a familiar routine.
You just rang, you are on the medical ward in room 19. I can hear that some of the reality has crept in. You have COVID but you are also in pain from the lump on your neck. This is not going to go away in a matter of days. LEUKAEMIA, now we are talking reality.
Finally I have found my go-to way of coping and YouTube becomes my friend. I am trying to learn all about Leukaemia in an older person. I am taken back to my very younger days in Switzerland. A colleague of mine was battling that unknown disease. All I remember was that he was about the same colour of off-white as you and that he died not long after. Here is the threat again, dying…
I found a way to make video calls and it is such a relief to see you. We chat briefly about the threat until it is too uncomfortable. I try to gauge where you are at so I can be of help to you. This time it’s not problems that separate us but it is real life. You are fighting for your life and I am fighting for mine. Same fight different boat.
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