It’s
been over a month since my last post.
Maybe you’ve wondered where I’ve been.
Have you ever heard the expression “hitting rock bottom”? That’s where I’ve been—Rock Bottom--and I got
there before I even knew I was headed that way.
Late May and early June used to be a time filled with
happiness. Bunny and I celebrated our
anniversary was on May 31st, and my grandmother’s birthday was on
June 2nd. We grew up right
next door to my grandparents, and my grandmother was very much a second mother
to us. My mother’s birthday was on June
6th. When Trinity came
along, her birthday was smack in the middle of my grandmother’s and mother’s,
on June 4th. So every other
day for about a week, our family had reason to rejoice.
When my grandmother died nine years ago, we still
remembered her birthday. It wasn’t a
terribly sad day, though, because she had lived a long, healthy life. But this
year, as the end of May inched closer, I grew increasingly anxious about my
first anniversary without Bunny. The
fact that my computer crashed in late May didn’t help. Then, on May 30th, I suddenly came down with
the worst sore throat of my life, along with spiking a fever.
From my symptoms, I was pretty sure that I had strep
throat. The doctor confirmed it, and put
me on Penicillin. For my entire life,
I’ve never been allergic to any medications, so I figured I’d be good as new in
a few days. The best part was, the
Penicillin was free—it’s one of the meds that Publix dispenses without cost.
Score!
After about three days on the antibiotics, I noticed a
rash on my arms and legs. At first, I
thought it was my eczema flaring up—I’d been taking a lot of super-hot baths
when the fever was raging, and hot water is one of the things that triggers an
outbreak for me. Pretty soon, I noticed
the rash in places my eczema usually doesn’t go. Only two possibilities now—either it was the
Penicillin or the strep, itself. Either
way, it wasn’t good. Naturally, it was
Saturday, and my doctor’s office was closed.
I stopped taking the medicine, called when the office opened again, and
got switched to a non-Penicillin drug.
Up to that point, I felt like I’d been progressing really
well (computer issues aside), especially given my recent victory at the Cochon
de Lait. One of my friends had even
remarked about what a fortress of strength I was, given all the chaos of the
last six months. Despite the occasional
mini-meltdowns, I believed it—I was strong, and I would get stronger every day. Then came late May, and the start of the
once-happy occasions that would now be hollow.
The fortress started developing cracks.
On
May 31st, I was swaddled in flannel pajamas and quilts, fighting off
chills and fever. On my grandmother’s
birthday, I was covered in a rash, suddenly allergic to a drug I’d taken
without incidence my whole life. As
silly as it sounds, that reaction was the final insult—the straw that broke the
camel’s back. My loved ones were unexpectedly
dying off, my emotions were unpredictable, certain people in my life were
flaking on me at random, and now my body—the one constant that I could depend
upon—was betraying me.
I
spiraled down into a well of depression, crying for no reason, by turns unable
to eat or stuffing myself with food for comfort, and generally feeling alone
and bereft. I’d try to bolster myself by
thinking of all the blessings I have, and then I’d feel guilty for being such a
whiny baby because so many people have much bigger problems than I do. Nights were the worst. I’ve always loved to sleep, but I’ve also
always had a difficult time falling asleep.
I envy people who can fall asleep as soon as their heads hit the
pillows—Bunny and my sister Julie being two of the worst offenders. I
couldn’t stop my brain from conjuring up images of my lost loved ones.
And
the dreams! I’ve always dreamed very
vividly, in full color, and the dreams I started having in early June were no
different—quite realistic, in fact. At
the start of these dreams, Bunny was still alive, and I was both surprised and happy
to see him. Then he would unexpectedly
die--often right in front of me--as I desperately tried to save him but
couldn’t. Every night, these dreams
came, and I’d awaken in the middle of the nights, my face wet with
tears. In the old days, when I had a bad
dream, Bunny—never waking from his own slumber--would pat me gently while I got
my bearings. His not being there for this
series of nightmares made me miss him even more than I already did. After awakening so abruptly, I'd be unable to go back to sleep.
Slowly, I started inching my way out of the hole I’d
fallen into. One thing that kicked me
into high gear was getting a very long letter from one of my oldest
friends. Hearing from her made me
realize that I’m not the only person in the world whose life has unexpectedly
turned upside down, and that I didn’t want to waste another minute feeling
sorry for myself. I started getting out
more, seeing old friends and making new ones.
Spending time with my granddaughters also boosted my spirits.
Prayer, of course, was another thing that soothed my raw
emotions. In addition, I started reading one of
Joyce Meyer’s books that I’d gotten for Bunny about two years ago, to give him
inspiration to fight. He never cracked
it open, but I’ve read it twice now.
I
also started doing physical labor along with my normal desk job. I’d bought an investment property in early
May, and I threw myself into redecorating it so that I can get it rented out. I do love to paint!! Being there calms me like no other place on
earth. It’s right on the water, and I
can just sit and watch the boats come and go and marvel at the beauty of
nature.
I
don’t know that any one thing helped more than another, but by mid-June, I was
feeling more like my old self than I had in the previous month. Death is just a part of life, and sometimes it
seems unfair about when or how, but we all have to go sometime. I just hope I’m around for a long time to
come—I’ve got a lot to do.
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