Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Luck, Resilience



Because 4 weeks under an incompetent specialist, deaf to our story, were enough to land you in an emergency room at the hospital, but not enough to get you killed.  I'm lucky.

Because, despite prejudice and the illusion of knowledge from those who opened you, and cut you, and studied you, and questioned you, and disbelieved you, you were able to leave hospital with, yes, a wound to painfully and slowly heal and scar, but also with the opportunity to heal, live, and enjoy life.  I'm lucky.

Because you're mature, and strong, and were ready to face the worst and a possible beginning of the end, calmly, and looked me in the eye and told me how much you loved me, and how this had been one of the best years of your life, and there was no doubt in your eyes or in my heart.  I'm lucky.

Because though horrible and seemingly endless nights would bring forth fears of gloom and destruction that clawed at my certainty, my reason, my peace... at dawn, and at seeing you smile at silly things I'd do, and at seeing you eat with healthy appetite, I'd feel joy, and regain peace, and retain confidence, and feel ready to face the future, whichever it would be.  We're resilient.

Because though doctors' mouths would spew forth what sounded like curse after curse... lymphoma, gangrene, tuberculosis, meat-eating disease, death, unusual illnesses... almost as if they wanted for it to be something terrible but easy on their mind instead of something simple yet beyond their cultural limits, we were able see through the thick chaos of the possible to glimpse the safety of the probable.  We're resilient.

But most important of all, because today you're here, home, with me, retaking life; because the improbable didn't materialise to take you away forever; because I can hear you chuckle while you watch a funny Japanese documentary, because I can look into your eyes and see clear love, and trust, and peace.  Because I still have my one and only "you".  I'm lucky.  Damn lucky.


*My husband was admitted to hospital for emergency surgery to address a neck abscess which, due to lack of adequate treatment by our specialist, could have killed him or lead to irreparable damage.   Four days after surgery, my husband left hospital, having none of the nightmarish possibilities the doctors offered as explanations.  In the end, it seems we were right, luckily right, all along: a simple neck injury, from a passionate Butoh workshop, that got infected.   But, like they say, all's well that ends well.