Saturday, August 12, 2006 - morning

I feel like I may be trying to wean myself off of the blog a bit these days. Trying to do more and think less, I suppose. We'll see how long that lasts.

Last night was wonderful. Kevin and Beth came over and Cara stopped by on her way to the shore (and ended up staying the night). We talked and ate and drank and reminisced about Mike. I asked if they would be willing to watch footage of Mike and Baxter and Me that I have never watched. It was wonderful and sad. Most of the footage was filmed by Mike, but you can hear his voice throughout. It was so wonderful to hear the Mike-isms that I used to hear all the time.


While I was in the shower yesterday morning (with Bax parked in front of Blue's Clues - our foolproof system), I looked at Mike's shaving mirror that's attached to the wall and realized he would never use it, or his razor, ever again. This horrible feeling washed over me, and out of nowhere - I threw up... right there in the shower.


I have had a pretty "together few days here." Busily organizing and getting ready for what I am envisioning as a new chapter. But, you can never predict what is going to set me off. I'm sure many of you are experiencing that same phenomenon. It feels so out of control. Yesterday i went to Home Depot for air filters for the furnace and to Bed, Bath, and Beyond for random stuff. In both stores I felt like I could barely breathe. Especially in the kitchenware section of BB&B. No reason to poke around there anymore.


I had a dream about Mike - the only dream I have had about him since his death. In it, kevin and I were exploring this old abandoned neighborhood and came across a very sick but surprisingly alive michael living in a shell of a building. Mike was incoherent and not that shocked to see us. he was incontinent, delusional, and no STM. It was horrible. We were back on the f*cking roller coaster and I didn't know if we should bring him home, to jefferson, or magee.

When I woke up, I felt a clear sense of relief at the realization that he really was dead. And while it feels odd and crass to be feeling anything other than sorrow at the thought of his death - that's how I felt. I do wonder if that dream were Mike's way of helping me accept his death. All this looking backwards to remember who he really was is erasing his illness - as it was designed to do. But, the catch 22 here is that without the illness, Mike's passing is just an unacceptable outcome. But that tumor was never going to be cured. He was always going to be ill. And this dream reminded me of the horror that was the past 5 months.


Finally, an anecdote that I haven't yet shared on the blog:

On the morning of Mike's death, Dr. Andrews and I stood beside Michael's bed about 30 minutes after he had passed. We patted his legs through the blanket and both cried. Finally Andrews broke the silence when he looked to me and cautiously said,

"I know it's a terrible time to talk about this... but if you want a full autopsy, that's something we're going to need to know from you now."

I turned to Dr. Andrews and said, completely straight-faced, "You think he was murdered?"

Somewhere, Mike was laughing. Andrews? not so much.


Kim B said...

he cried? really? how did you feel about that? i'm always hesitant to become too emotional around patients/families because i have this feeling that i have to keep my shit together, that i wouldn't want to be perceived as needing to be consoled, taken care of, etc. when what they're going through is a billion times worse.

yes, i'm still lurking. there is an amazing gift in this blog for many people who face the issues you are dealing with. i hope in return that those of us who don't know you in person have some kind of supportive energy that we give back.

keep on keepin' on.

The Brain said...

I appreciated that he cried, actually. He knew mike well and had seen him from the time when he was 100% himself through the disastrous effects of the SFT. Given how closely we worked together and how complicated Mike's case was, I would have found it weird had he not cried or been otherwise emotional.