It's you babe, cuz I'm a sucker

My husband has had 16 surgeries. Rhematoid Arthritis sucks. So does not responding to anesthesia or opioid based pain meds when you have had 16 surgeries. Needless to say I am the world's best "waiter".

I have refilled coffee pots, listened to scared spouses, directed fellow waiters to the best cafeteria nobody knows about, I even have taken over the volunteer desk during a 6 hour mega wait.

The 6 hour mega wait surgery was the worst. I chatted up the desk lady like I always do so she paid attention to Pete a little bit more than the other patients and to me a little bit
 more than the other waiters. Under her watchful care we all get information and that is an important link  because if something is gonna go wrong,  it will for us. Despite Murphy's law being our motto we were pretty chill for this surgery. Rods were placed in his mid-spine to keep it from touching his spinal cord which would paralyze him. Seems like an intense experience for most people but for us it was pretty routine. We had just gone through a 9 hour c-spine surgery where the genius Doogie Houser surgeon removed vertibrae, replacing them with bones from a selfless organ donor, and stabilizing the whole thing with titanium rods effectively saving Pete's life because breathing is very important. So this surgery, while serious, did not take on the same monumental fear that the c-spine surgery evoked. Proving, without a doubt, that everything is relative.

After the obligatory meet and greet with the surgeon back in the pre-op room, I waited with Pete. Anesthesia came in and this is where I dropped the ball. My routine is to disregard everything Pete tells me NOT to tell the anesthesiologist and go into a long novella about how he doesn't respond to pain meds; how he has woken up and remembered everything during surgery; how my daughter and one cousin have the same problem; and lastly, but most importantly, the actual doctor, not the assistant, needs to stay with him the whole time. You may not know this but your anesthesia team is MORE important than the surgeon. You are effectively dead unless they breath for you and keep the wall between this life and the next just thin enough for you to not feel the surgery but not so thin you cross over. But in big hospitals one anesthesia doctor supervises many surgeries while his underlings sit with the patient. In other words, the picture you have on TV of the masked blue crowd surrounding a person on a flat, very narrow bed, consists of a surgeon, several physician's assistants, a very skilled nursing team and an anesthesiologist's ASSISTANT. Which is fine for most people but not for Pete.

After a while it's our turn and the hustle bustle begins after sitting for more than an hour doing nothing because we got there when they told us to and we are not slackers who show up late to our own surgery. This is why we all have to be at surgeries so early by the way, just in case we are that slacker. The whole world turns into an urgency quickly. Unlike the army where you hurry up and wait, in surgery you wait then hurry up.  Five different people are asking you questions like what your name is, your birthday, what are you having done and who is doing it. Then as they unlock the wheels and start to wheel him away they say, while moving, "Any questions?"

Which is when I usually stop the whole parade and start asking questions. But this time Pete gave me the stink eye. So, I told him I loved him and meekly waved as they rolled the love of my life away, thinking, "Why the hell didn't I say something."

I return to my spot in the waiting room with his number. I walk to the screen that tells all the waiters what is going on with their loved ones. It says, "in theatre" or "OR" or "holding", or "recovery wait" or "recovery". It reminds me of looking at the boards at airports that tells you your flight is on time or delayed. You look for your patient's number and scan over to see what is happening to them. These lines of info are color coded so you can kind of keep track easier but with us the waiting is so long, I just sit and watch people come and go. Most waiters leave to go eat or go to the gift shop. I rarely do and if I have to I come right back because I want my energy as close to him as possible. I want the lady I chatted up to see me, so if something happens she doesn't have to walk around the room saying, "Family of Peter? Family of Peter D?"

So there I wait. Watching people come and go. The Jones family was so happy their grandfather did well. The Andersons cried and everyone looked scared. The lady and I exchange knowing glances. It happens. But it's always sad.

I check the screen. Recovery. Oh good. It won't be long now. The doctor comes out and tells me all went well. I am relieved, the lady smiles. I allow myself to get a coffee.

As I am waiting for her to tell me, "Mrs. D, you can go back now." I see the Smith family come and go. The Sanchez family needs an interpreter and after one is found is relieved. Their mom is doing well. High school Spanish works for me in  the understanding department but I can't speak three words. I check the screen, still recovery. The lady needs to leave for a minute. I ask if she wants me to man the desk. She is grateful. Her name is Lisa. When she comes back I tell her nothing happened and ask, " It's been abnormally long. Can..." Before I get the question out she is going to check on Pete. It takes a long time for her to return and she tells me he is having trouble waking but I can go wait in his room.

I go to his room. The nurses are too nice to me. Too attentive. "Do you want a cup of coffee? What can we get you?"

My husband, I think. But I tell them, "Nothing, I'm good."

I wait. No TV. No conversations to hear. Nothing. I wait. I think about life without Pete. We have been together since we we were 20. It is a picture I cannot even start to create in my mind. After an hour, a stretcher with him on it, not awake, bursts through the door. His nurse, a guy with a heavy Australian accent, brings me into the hall.

 "What the hell happened?"

I hear a canned speech with an Australian accent about how well he did, blah blah blah. I wait, I give him the pissed off mom face and say " This ain't our first rodeo. Recovery doesn't take 3 hours."

So it turns out the assistant to the Anesthesiologist kept giving him morphine because, "He's a big guy" and they had a hard time waking him up. In my head I am so pissed at myself for not doing my novella that I cannot even speak. He mistakenly interprets this as anger at him and looks at his feet. I say nothing.

I just need to be with Pete. So I go back into the room. Pete opens his  eyes when I say I love him and says, "What's a crash cart?" And falls back asleep.

Later I hear the whole story from a nurse who isn't supposed to tell me and I search out the Australian nurse who saved my husband's life. I just say, "Thank you." with tears in my eyes and hug him much longer than one would hug a stranger. But this was a stranger who saved a life. My life, because he, Peter, is my life.

We had been having a rocky time just before this and I wondered if I allowed myself to step back from advocacy because of anger. But I don't think so.

I have always had this internal test about my relationships; friends, family,  jobs.  I ask, "Would my life be better with him/her/it or without him/her/it?"

I had never asked that question about Pete until that day and only because of my inaction did I ask myself.

It was a stupid study in self deprication to even ask, a way to sooth my own feelings of guilt for abandoning my soulmate because of ego. In my soul I know the answer to THAT  question.  When it comes to a person who is the other half of you the answer is always "with him."

So, "it's you babe and if I tried to run then it would be useless" as the song goes.

And today, even though it's a simple surgery in our world, and even though he interrupted me when I started my novella for the anesthesia team, and even though they started wheeling him out, I stood in their way and made sure they knew who YOU were. That you are Peter, my husband of almost 40 years and that you almost died once because I didn't speak up, and that now I will always speak up.

They all waited and listened and the anesthesia Doctor squeezed my hand.

And so I wait with a calm heart knowing  the geniuses know him and will lovingly fix him as best they can.

Cuz it's you, babe.

A soul

There are things in life where you have to take a stand or you lose a piece of your soul. You may suffer personally doing what is right but in the end your soul will be in tact and in the end, at the end of your life, YOU are there only person in your grave.
Think about what your line in the sand is and stand your ground. This is not to say that you need to be stuck in quick sand but that you will think long and hard about traveling away from that line and if you do decide to move know that it was for a specific circumstance and your line still stands.

Death taught me to learn not to care, so I can care so much more

My mom died in 2000 I was a mess and so I started meditating. It opened so many doors and allowed me to free myself from the soulsucking of guilt. Now I am responsible for my actions but they do not stick to me, to my soul.

I don't care anymore... which is NOT to say I am not caring, quite the opposite, but that other's opinions of me do not influence what I KNOW to be the right thing to do or feel.

I don't care what you think of me. Not apathy, but tolerance for your opinion without your opinion becoming a part of me.

I stopped caring about yesterday or tomorrow and I try to face today moment by moment as best I can. It has given me a freedom that has brought me so much I can't put it into words.

Ugly doesn't bother me any more. Ugly is just a word. Ugly things that people don't want to face are right up my alley now.

Pain doesn't bother me. It is temporary and not a part of my soul. When others are in pain I don't care. Because I don't care I am better able to care for that person in a meaningful and loving way.

I am no longer in love. I love or I live you. This is far more powerful than being "in love" with you. I am not overcome with emotion. I do not put my needs before yours causing me to repress feelings or hold a grudge. Instead I LIVE you. I try to be in the moment with you and share your breath, existing with you so you have the strength to be alone.

I am alone! And that is just fine. I am powerful. I don't need anyone to hold me or love me to be myself. I am blessed to be loved and needed and that I have people to hold me but I don't NEED it.

I don't need anyone or anything. Which has made me feel how lucky I am to have love and people. I am so very blessed.

My mother's death was the best thing that ever happened to me. It made me look at me. She's is with me always. So I don't miss her.

I am sane now because I take life as it is, or try to, in each moment. There is peace in the sanity you get because you don't care. It makes you able to care so much more.