A third stint to Altru in less then a week completed our mellow weekend. I knew everything was going to be okay. After all, he was in good hands. But I couldn’t help having an overwhelming amount of emotions flood through me on more than one occasion. It became real when they poked and prodded. Withdrew vial after vial of blood and hooked him up to the hospital staple – an IV.
Clearly I’m not as strong as I thought I was. It was routine. The doctors have years of experience, don’t they? Hey, they probably do this to everyone complaining of the same symptoms so why did I get the feeling of him dying? Why did I jump to conclusions? Why did I get images of going home alone? I saw myself giving him one last kiss and held on to him tight. I relived the fights and arguments, how pity they were. I imagined going on without moving on. All these stupid irrational fears ran through me so quickly.
Sitting at home now with him sleeping peacefully, better; I know it was silly. I know I internally overracted. Maybe it’s because he’s so solid. He doesn’t ever complain about being sick. He’s as stubborn as they come so when he needs to go to the hospital it’s real. I think back to when my dad had some kind of infection a few years ago or worse, when he was hospitalized for a heart condition when I was little; what did my mom go through? The seriousness of that. The unknown factors and what if thoughts, it had to have been torture.