Sugar and Spice

It appears that Susan may be having mini strokes that are causing her body to fail her in little ways, making things we all take for granted more difficult for her each day. In fact, she probably had another one this week, making coordination a daily task. It is difficult to watch and even a bit scary. This whole human frailty thing is evidenced right before our eyes. All is not lost though, to be sure. No, not here.

Susan clings to one thing that is so a part of her that I cannot imagine her ever loosing it. It is her fight! In fact, I think that fight feeds her energy force and twinkles back at the world through her eyes. Her adrenalin picks up speed and her face flashes with determination to dominate! To rule! To be the boss! Yesterday I was the springboard for her fight. As she bossed and pushed and argued every step of the way, I caught flashbacks of her dealings with her husband long ago. They co-dependently seemed to thrive on that kind of drama during their last few years together. But not me; I want none of it. That pumped up spirit only drains my life force; I thrive on gentler energies.

So basically she had a great day that wore me out physically and emotionally. Maybe it was the early apponintment time that we were trying to meet that I can blame for the whole day. Nevertheless, I had no choice in the early time of her hospital appointment. It was scheduled by Susan’s doctor and I was only notified as to when they would fit her in for the MRI scan. If she didn’t need the scan, I might have cancelled the whole thing. I certainly entertained the thought when Susan refused to put on the clothes I had laid out for her. She wanted her coffee first. I knew that she had neither concept of time nor the understanding of the importance of getting to an appointment on time. Driving all the way across the city only to be turned away because of tardiness was not something I wanted to do.

Susan didn’t care, she only wanted coffee. “The stupid shit doctor shouldn’t make my appointment this early. Tell them I will make it later on when I feel like it.” I knew better than to let her come to the breakfast table before she dressed, otherwise she would want to sit and chat and look into the back yard and refuse to hurry. She defiantly made attempt after attempt to sneak into the kitchen to get coffee. All she needed to do was slip on the outfit I had matched up for her. Over and over I gave her clear instructions as she yelled back into the otherwise sleepy house, “Just bring my coffee here! Bring it here!”

She wasn’t going to boss me, I determined. I wasn’t going to boss her, she determined. So she sat in front of her ornately engraved makeup vanity making her eyebrows darker and wider than I had ever seen them. Next, she rolled the ruby red lipstick over her lips and surrounding areas, managing to only dot her chin and teeth this time. Again, she emerged from her bedroom looking like Mademoiselle and acting like Cruella De Vil, “I will have my coffee NOW. I won’t get dressed until I have it.” That was when I made up my mind that if she had to go to the doctor in her nightgown I didn’t care. She was going and we would leave on time.

Eventually I resorted to dressing her myself. She ate her oatmeal and disinterestedly drank only a portion of her cup of coffee before we took off. Susan could hardly walk without falling and I held her hand and arm as we made our way into offices, down halls and eventually into the MRI room where I again undressed her and redressed her before the blood work and IV saga began. Her veins are harder to find these days and all the pricks and holes and collapsed veins began draining Susan of her fight. She lay weak in her chair waiting for the blood expert to make her attempt at pin-cushioning Susan’s arms and hands.

I have gotten too familiar with the stress and pain hospitals can bring to a family, and strangely perhaps, have developed my own sort of coping skills. They kicked in. I began joking with Susan as I held her arm and rubbed her shoulders. I knelt by her chair where we were face to face and tossed words her way to lighten her heart. Words to make us both forget our load. And I began to sing a melody that wouldn’t leave my mind as I looked at her for a response. I told her we must dance and sing as I hummed and moved some more. Not too soon, she was humming the tune as if she recognized it too. We kept on, the two of us alone in this cold sterile room-waiting- but finally in harmony. It took more coaxing than usual, but she began moving her shoulders...up and down… up and down…up and down. That was what I wanted, I needed, to know that she still could dance with me, that she still would. Now we are just waiting again, for results, for symptoms, for healing, for whatever comes next in this life of ours- hers- mine.