Reflection

Part 1:

As I reflect on the past week, I have come to one conclusion.  I had stopped eating most likely because of depression over the loss of Truett.  My eating basically stopped on Truett's birthday, December 4th.  I couldn't fathom the smell of food.  I couldn't fathom the sight of food posted on facebook.  I would reflexively gag at the looks and smells of food.  Therefore, I had the solution:  stop eating.  Even though I tried to continue my "normal life" of taking myself to breakfast or lunch, I found I would only eat 1/4 of a piece of toast or order a sandwich for only my mother.  I had waitresses tell me,  "You're not looking good.  You've got to eat."  I just stared at them blankly and couldn't express how I was feeling, simply because I didn't know anymore how I felt.  I just knew I couldn't tolerate food anymore.

Well, I learned a monumental lesson that week. On December 7, I couldn't hold my head up because of the dizziness I felt.  I thought I was going to faint on the floor, so I would grope myself to the bedroom and plop down on the bed and take nap after nap.  My friend, Gary sat on the porch with me on December 7 and said, "Mrs. George.  You look terrible.  You look like a zombie."  Sure enough, I looked in the mirror and I didn't recognize my own face.  The eyes were lifeless.  My face was grey.  But, I brushed it off, of course.

On December 8, Gary had a day off of work so I called him and asked if he would take me to the store and the post office.  He agreed.  I walked into the post office and thought,  "I'm going to pass out right here in the lobby, so I broke line and put my head down on the counter.  I didn't think I could raise my head up; but eventually, I managed to buy my stamps and stumble out to the car.  Gary was then kind enough to shop in the Dollar Store for me as I sat in the car wondering what was happening to me.  He took me home where I immediately fell into bed at 11:00 A.M.  I left Mom a note:  "Mom, I'm laying down."  By 11:15 A.M. Mom was not up and I had called Gary.  "Will you take me to the ER?"  He said, "Of course."  So I scratched through Mom's note and rewrote:  "Mom, I've gone to the ER."  And that's the last I saw of Mom for five days.

At the ER I stumbled to the desk and gave them my ID.  "Do you need a wheelchair?" the lady asked.  "No,"  I answered.  Stubborn me.  But, within a matter of seconds after almost buckling to my knees, I told her I did need a wheelchair.  At the ER my blood pressure was 74 and I was totally dehydrated.  Needless, to say, I spent hours at the ER with the staff pumping potassium and other essential nutrients back into my body.  Gary eventually went home and I was rushed to Shands Hospital where I spent the next five days.

Part 2:

Here is where I must applaud my daughter, Merry Jennifer.  My daughter was by my side almost the entire time at Shands Hospital.  The team of doctors tried their best to find out what was wrong with me.  I had CAT scans, an endoscopy, and a colonoscopy.  I tried to keep my humor throughout the whole ordeal.  When the anesthesiologist said if I had trouble breathing during the endoscopy, they would put a tube in my mouth to help me breathe.  "You mean you won't give me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation?"  He just laughed.

Merry Jennifer held my hands.  She would hug me. She brought me peanut butter and crackers, knowing I was about to drink that God awful Golightly drink right before my colonoscopy. Merry Jennifer arranged for someone to watch Mom while I was gone; and she told me at one point,  "Mother,  you have to get well.  You are all that I have left."  And I cried. 

But, I made it through all the tests.  Yes, I did. And I learned a valuable lesson.  I HAVE TO EAT!

I'm not sure the doctors really know what my problem was, but I am changing my outlook on life.  I AM going to start enjoying my life; and it won't be hidden in depression.

Last thing:  When Merry Jennifer and I stopped at CVS on the way home from the hospital, I paid my bill.  Then I told the cashier,  "I want one of those little Christmas trees free."  The cashier looked at me and smiled.  "Seriously,"  I told the cashier.  "I want one of those Christmas trees free.  I've been in the hospital a week and I could have died."  And this amazing cashier asked,  "Which one?"  And I pointed out the one with the red balls, which she immediately picked up, ripped the tag off, and gave to me.  "Thank you,"  I said. 

When I arrived home I gave the Christmas tree to Mom.  "Merry Christmas, Mom!"  It is so nice to be home with Mom and Roger and Punky and Maggie and Lily.  I never want to go through that ordeal again.

EAT!  EAT!  EAT!

Thank you, Merry Jennifer for all you did for me.  I love you!

 

Comments

[Deb Castle]

Thanks for being so perfectly imperfect. I love how you are able to share what you have learned about yourself. I learn about myself through you.

[Amber]

Merry, you don't know me, but I'm a friend of Merry Jennifer's. Your blog post could have been written by my grandmother ten years ago. We watched our vibrant Nanny fade away - she could not pull herself out of the loss of my grandfather, who had been her husband since she was 18 years old. She was 70 when he died. I like to think I understand why she couldn't do it - a love like that doesn't come around often.

But I have to tell you, your own words of conviction have filled me with joy. I am happy to see you choosing yourself, choosing your mom and your grandkids and Merry Jennifer. I don't claim to know anything about what Truett would have wanted for you, having not known him. But having met Merry Jennifer several times, and knowing what a lovely human she is, I like to think that I can be sure he'd want you to feel joy. And eck out as much love and life as you can until you join him again.

I will be thinking of you often, and wishing you all the happiness you can handle - and then some.