here's the good news.
today, kevin came back testing negative for opiates.
here's the bad news.
too many employees at cedars-sinai were sick today and couldn't show up for kevin's presentation...grrrr....as my husband so eloquently articulated on facebook today, "i bet henriette is a lot sicker than any of them"...
another week may not seem like a long time to any of you; probably passes within the blink of an eye. busy with jobs and family and hobbies and travel. but in my world, time has become my albatross. a figurative weight anchoring me to the most mundane life imaginable.
bed. couch. bed. couch. its a daily dance i negotiate; craving even the briefest exhilaration change brings.
so i'll dance for another week. dance for a surgery date. dance for my life.
but everything looks good, save kevin's slightly abnormal ekg; but, ah, how false positives irritatingly reign. so how can i not adore a man who defines medicine as an art; not restricted by the "rules" of science, meant to be broken. textbooks constantly abridged and the evolving art of medicine discovered, not dictated.
[all hail dr. dauer. you must never leave me. ever.]
i miss my life.
i miss eating what i want. i miss exercising. i miss traveling. i miss hanging with friends. i miss me.
images that fill me with a searing melancholy.
it's an understated dichotomy, to be certain. at cedars i feel safe, protected, cared for. but, i incessantly squash a panic wishing me miles away. desperate to escape this land of illness and confinement.
bring on: the crash of the american real estate market. the plunging of kevin's business. and my diagnosis of renal failure in february of '08.
i don't really believe in these superstitions; but one can dream...
when kevin is finally "presented" to the transplant board next thursday, they should assign a surgery date. in 2 to 6 weeks. minimum.
you float in limbo; the chronically ill. from a distance, everything seems so attainable, but when attempted, your ego collapses souffle-like. flattened into humiliation.
and i'm angry.
angry that most of my days are spent on my back, with a heated pillow soothing cramps of nausea. never satiated. paralyzing.
it was my favorite thing to order in paris.
not only because it would roll off my tongue on a sexy, slippery slope; but because french cuisine was beyond sublime.
now i enjoy tomato and white bread sandwiches.
broccoli, asparagus, squash
dairy (yogurt, cheese, milk, cream, sour cream)
brown bread, rice, pasta
[and the beat goes on]
but unfounded hope ignites twisted desperation in all of us. so as a pseudo-gag i threw a ceramic hen into kevin's stocking christmas morning.
[maybe l. was on to something...]
but those hens are fake. figments in a world of fantasy. unsubstantiated.
this hen is real. weak. yes. sick. definitely.
but unlucky? nope.
never a day in my life.