11 March 2010

A week in hospital

There are moments of simple clarity where my mantra works a dream and I look out into a world almost at peace. Where – albeit vaguely – I can see myself living confidently through the coming weeks and months slowly but surely recovering. Where I can see myself learning to cope with my new life even if recovery does not materialise as straightforwardly as I want. Where I can see myself discovering new strength in coping with a changed life scenario, with chronic illness, disability and loss, loss of income, activity, energy and mobility.

But then again comes the dark hour or hours, the black dog, the old crone, the witch, the heavy cloud, the curtain of despair…folding, washing over me, cornering me, crushing me until I feel that all of that little bit of spirit and resolve has gone out of me.

Most of last night my heart was racing and rattling again. But my heart has been checked from almost every angle and appears healthy. One more test tomorrow. Yesterday’s gastroscopy confirmed the suspected gastritis, hardly avoidable with the drugs. There must be a way to get at least that under control.

One thing this hospital stay has taught me: There are people who are struggling and coping with so much more. So maybe one day I will learn this also.

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