Yes I am just coming to terms with the fact that November is here once again. Another year is coming to an end. I'm not really sure where this past year has gone. I am glad that I've survived for what is almost one more year. I'm not really looking forward to this coming year. Still too many uncertainties, especially with Nick's health.
With it being November, it means I have to start thinking and planning for Christmas. Since Keith's passing, I don't enjoy the thinking, planning or doing the stuff that comes with the holiday season. Of course, that's on the long range view.
In the short view, we are one week away from Nick's central IV line (aka port) removal and replacement surgery. That's the thing that is weighing heaviest on my heart right now. The last time Nick had the surgery to remove a port, he almost died. It was 15 years ago. There were some really rare complications. Everything turned out fine, but it was a very frightening ordeal. My paternal grandfather also passed away that very same day. There's a lot of untapped grief and pain that is coming to the surface with the latest developments.
I had convinced myself that I was okay with everything. I'm not okay. I'm afraid of what could happen next week. I'm afraid of the in between. By that I mean the time between whatever happens in surgery and the end of the ordeal. Everything hinges on what happens in surgery.
To add fuel to my nerves and anxiety: The surgeon wants Nick to have a special CT scan, called a veinogram, to look at all of the veins in Nick's neck and chest. This isn't something that has been done with Nick before. The past central IV lines that have been placed weren't this complicated before we even got started. I know that the surgeon wants to have a plan made prior to going into surgery. I feel pretty sure the need for a plan (or several) is two fold. One is likely because of the complications that happened the last time a line was removed. The other is there aren't very many places left to put a central IV line.
Those realizations bring on some weight of the enormity of exactly where Nick's physical health is at. I'm guilty, at least according to MLC, of not realizing the enormity of the burden I've carried for so long. Maybe I don't. Maye it's a self-preservation thing. Maybe it's my version of denial. I don't know. I just know that for the past few days, I've spent more time crying than I have in months and months. I know that the depression is no longer sleeping quietly. The post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is making itself known as well.
I feel like I have fallen back into a pattern of grieving that I thought I had left behind. I thought I had finally overcome and conquered that dark, sad place. I am picking up on the red flags of being in that place.
My MLC's are in close contact with me. They are all encouraging me to talk, talk, talk. Use my tools. Be kind and gentle with myself. Listen to my body. Destress as much and as often as I can.
I know that a part of my talk, talk, talking is going to need to be here and in my personal journal. I'm going to have to let it out before it becomes toxic.
So...be warned. I don't know what I'm going to be putting here for the next little while. I'm going to try to be as open as I can. I'm not the most open person by nature. This should be interesting...