A little Care-Giver Venting...

People keep saying that this is as hard on me as it is on L*.

I appreciate the caring behind the statement. The fact that it ignites RAGE in me is, perhaps, a suggestion that I am not doing as well as I think I am.

Because, for example on Friday, they were cutting L* open and taking out parts of her body and looking for more cancer.

me, i was sitting in a waiting room for three and a half hours. No comparison, really.

Only how come even writing this makes me start to weep?

And how come the sound of my phone ringing makes me angry?

I don’t want to see or talk to my family or friends. Because that will make me cry, and I don’t want to cry.

(isolating, i think this is called.)

There was a point on Thursday, when there was talk of sending L* home the same day as her surgery. I know she’s always much more comfortable at home than in hospitals, but I think I started panicking, thinking, there’s no way I can do this.

And that fear still comes back, and I give myself a mental shake and say “you are doing this. You need to do this and you will. This is small in comparison to what L* is going through.”

I’ve been seeing a pretty good loquera (shrink) lately, but, ironically, she left town just before we found out L*’s surgery was scheduled. Today would ordinarily be my loquera day.

Yesterday I finally got some exercise: L* and I are working on giving me task-oriented exercise. Walk to the Mexican market. Walk to the clothing stores in the hood. Walk to the library. Walk to support group.

I’ve finally caught up on my sleep, and I think I’ve finally drunk enough water this morning.

CNN is showing scenes of fighting in Fallujah. It looks just like Las Cruces, New Mexico.

L* is going to take her shower and then, if she’s feeling up to it, we’re going to go vote.


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