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The dark days of worry

And then everything turned itself upside down.

Late last night, my dad was rushed to the trauma unit and then to surgical ICU. He appears to have post-op pneumonia, which is fairly common but not great. I visited him this afternoon and he’s okay… But in an ICU unit, with all of the paraphernalia that comes with that.

Last night I hardly slept. I know that worrying is like a rocking chair – it keeps you busy but it doesn’t get you anywhere. But I was waiting for the call to tell me to rush up the road to the hospital, startled awake every time I thought I heard something. When I got off the phone with the nurses last night, I howled like I haven’t howled since the dark days of grief.

Today dawned, and I am exhausted and strung out and so full of cortisol that my insulin isn’t working properly (I’ve been down this road before.)

But I also recognize that there is – surprise! – absolutely nothing I can do except take it moment by moment. It has been a day of moment by moment, distraction by distraction. Breathe in for 4, hold for 4, out for 6, hold for 2. Repeat.

It is so hard not to go straight into panic mode. Not to replay how this feels like history repeating itself, the beginning of a dark path to a dark place. But I recognize that everything will (probably) be fine.

This afternoon – on the way home from visiting my dad at the hospital – a rainbow. If that isn’t a sign of hope from the heavens (hi mom!), I don’t know what is…

Hope feels like fresh air. I’m taking deep breaths of it.

Published inGrief

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