I'm trying to rectify that now, working hard when I work but taking breaks, too, which means that my shoulders get a break. The neck pain was getting pretty bad again, and I'm considering getting some trigger point injections, but it only made sense that the tension was getting to me. I would work all day, starting at 0800 and ending (with any luck) around 1700. After that, though, I would barely have time for dinner. Often, Sean would cook for us both. Then I would sit down at my desk for class or for a meeting with a class project team, or, if I were lucky, it was an "off" night and I could just curl up in the chair with a textbook and my notes. Seeing a pattern here?
I dropped my classes for the semester. All of it was getting to be too much, particularly since I hadn't gone a month without an infection since October (dealing with one now that seems to have laughed at the Cipro the doctor prescribed ... I'll be seeing her again tomorrow). Now the doctor wants to try inter-stim therapy. The "trial" assessment involves implanting a couple of wires into my back to stimulate the nerves that should be telling my bladder what to do. If during the trial period I show an improvement, then I will have the long-term implant installed. It's like a pacemaker and is made by the same company, in fact. If all this works, I could start to have a little freedom again and a lot fewer infections. Not having to fret about the ridiculous pace of the classes while dealing with health problems gives me the ability to try this device.
Another thing that I am going to get around to doing, finally, is continuing to work on the memoir. It's important to me, and it's going to be important to other bereaved parents who feel alone and disconnected.
I'm getting my priorities straight, in other words. I'm not carving out a hole in the wall and hiding behind my work anymore. I'm doing the things that I need to do -- take care of my health and do what I was meant to do (write). I have some people that I love who are counting on me to be around for awhile. It doesn't make sense to keep working and running when life should be all about the enjoyment of those we're blessed with.
Today is 23 months since Stephanie died. Almost two years. I've already had one meltdown today, and I suspect more might come. I keep wondering if she knew how very much I loved her. Maybe I'll always ask myself that question. Maybe I'll always wonder. But I try to hang onto the fact that she came to me in a dream when she died, before I even heard the news. She wanted to say goodbye to me and soothe me somehow.
I'm not sure, some days, how to put one foot in front of the other, but it somehow happens, on auto-pilot or reflex. I find myself getting through the day. Some days are just bitterly void of her. Today I wish for one more day, for one more hug, for one more laugh. I hope she gives that to me in a dream at least.
Peace - D