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    Aditus
  • Aditus
  • Author
  • 09/11/2014
  • 674 Words
  • 1,696 Views
  • 29 Comments
Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
2014 - Fall - Scars Entry

In Sickness and in Health - 1. In Sickness and in Health

In Sickness and in Health

He sat beside her bed, holding her hand. She was thin, too thin. Her skin was yellow, as were the whites of her eyes, a telltale sign of liver failure. Sometimes she would fall asleep for several minutes, and then, when she woke, she had this faraway look, as if seeing something nobody else in the room could see.

She was forty years old and dying. According to her doctors it would happen in the next few days. Nothing could be done; the cancer had come back.

***

I hadn’t seen him for almost two years when I met him again at the post office a week ago. We hadn’t parted exactly on good terms back then. Sometimes I talk without thinking.

He was looking good. When he saw me he came right over, his hand outstretched to take mine in a firm grip, a smile on his face. I expected the usual ‘How are you?’ ‘I’m fine’ talk, a little awkward at first maybe because of the things that had happened between us. I never expected it to turn out like it did.

“I’m fine. Laura, however, is not. The cancer is back. They’re talking about chemotherapy, but it doesn’t look good. We’re getting a second opinion tomorrow.”

What do you say when you hear something like that?

I went for “Crap!”

He said something like, “Yes, that about sums it up perfectly.”

Later I thought I should probably have said something else, but at least it had come from my heart. So I didn’t feel too bad.

He was oddly calm, even smiled a lot during our short conversation. I could almost touch his agony, the resigned despair lingering in the background. He was carrying it with such an admirable determination and dignity it seemed almost unreal.

It wasn’t as if I hadn’t thought of them every now and then during the last two years, wondering how they were doing, if she was okay. I never called, though. I held onto the grudge. Maybe I had been a little embarrassed too. If there were something serious going on, they would call. Wouldn’t they?

Now that I knew, should I phone her? Should I visit?

I’d have panic attacks and insomnia for weeks if I were going to see her. I don’t do well so close to death, never have. And then I was kicking myself for even thinking about me and my condition.

The dreaded call came last Friday. They had to bring her to the hospital. She was treated with heavy doses of morphine and psychotherapeutic drugs. She had probably two or three days to live.

Just for my information.

After I’d hung up I thought about the call some more. Was it just for my information? Wasn’t it really to give me the chance to say goodbye? Was it a call for support in a grave situation? Would they even want me to be there?

I called back and asked. Something I should do more often. When in doubt just ask politely.

***

He cooked her favorite food and brought it to the hospital while he himself was only able to eat zwieback. He was calm and composed all the time, talking to her with a confident voice when she was awake.

What do you talk about with your dying wife?

He comforted visiting friends and family, he genuinely smiled when someone joked with her about the things she had done, made her smile too.

This weekend my friend and former colleague, Laura, died of liver failure caused by breast cancer. She passed with her husband holding her hand and stroking her hair.

He would rather celebrate her life than mourn her death.

***

Me, I will always admire his strength and his determination, especially as I know he wasn’t doing this for the first time in his life.

I see a core of steel and I fear what will happen when it shatters.

If it does, I guess then it’s our turn.

Thanks to Valkyrie for taking one last look.
Copyright © 2014 aditus; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
2014 - Fall - Scars Entry
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Former Member

I hate hospitals. I've had to visit too many of them when people were very ill – and only a few times when someone had a baby.

 

My father had a quintuple bypass and I saw him before and after the surgery – he looked so tiny dwarfed by all the machinery monitoring his condition. He recovered and did well for decades. Decades after my dad's operation, my mother was diagnosed with a brain tumor and spent a lot of time recovering from the surgery. She recovered, but was never really herself. She either fell and broke her hip or broke her hip and fell and went into a coma and died several hours later (my father, brothers and I were all there and I was holding her hand when she took her last breath). Then my father was diagnosed with cancer somewhere in his throat and had chemo and surgery to remove his larynx. They thought they'd gotten it all, but it came back.

 

There were several friends who were in the hospital I just could not visit (most before my parents' health problems). I felt bad I couldn't make myself go. And of course, they died without my having gone to see them. I have mixed feelings about not having gone with some regret.

 

A few years ago, I found out one of my best friends had a stroke and was in the hospital. I kept procrastinating and he finally got out of the hospital. I procrastinated visiting him at home, but eventually went to see him. Not having a car makes it easier for me to rationalize not visiting. But I still feel bad because we both enjoy my visits.

 

I'm a bad person. And I see a therapist once a week to have her ask me why I think that I'm bad and why I don't believe people when they tell me I'm a nice guy. (I just do what everybody is supposed to do, so I don't get any KarmaPoints™. But when I'm bad or angry, I lose KarmaPoints™! So I keep going further and further into the

Aditus
On 12/17/2016 10:00 AM, droughtquake said:

I hate hospitals. I've had to visit too many of them when people were very ill – and only a few times when someone had a baby.

 

My father had a quintuple bypass and I saw him before and after the surgery – he looked so tiny dwarfed by all the machinery monitoring his condition. He recovered and did well for decades. Decades after my dad's operation, my mother was diagnosed with a brain tumor and spent a lot of time recovering from the surgery. She recovered, but was never really herself. She either fell and broke her hip or broke her hip and fell and went into a coma and died several hours later (my father, brothers and I were all there and I was holding her hand when she took her last breath). Then my father was diagnosed with cancer somewhere in his throat and had chemo and surgery to remove his larynx. They thought they'd gotten it all, but it came back.

 

There were several friends who were in the hospital I just could not visit (most before my parents' health problems). I felt bad I couldn't make myself go. And of course, they died without my having gone to see them. I have mixed feelings about not having gone with some regret.

 

A few years ago, I found out one of my best friends had a stroke and was in the hospital. I kept procrastinating and he finally got out of the hospital. I procrastinated visiting him at home, but eventually went to see him. Not having a car makes it easier for me to rationalize not visiting. But I still feel bad because we both enjoy my visits.

 

I'm a bad person. And I see a therapist once a week to have her ask me why I think that I'm bad and why I don't believe people when they tell me I'm a nice guy. (I just do what everybody is supposed to do, so I don't get any KarmaPoints™. But when I'm bad or angry, I lose KarmaPoints™! So I keep going further and further into the

So, I too think you're a nice guy. With that out of the way, I hate hospitals too. I worked at one for over five years and was really glad when circumstances encouraged me to quit.

*hug*

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