You know, one second you're trucking along in life, sending your sometimes boyfriend (for lack of anything better or more technical to call him) a text bitching at him for not texting you back, and then his response is "sorry. I had a heart attack". After the obvious responses of "What??" and "Are you serious? This isn't a funny little joke." and the return of "Yes. I'll call when I can", your mind pretty much checks out on anything else.
He's not a great texter, he constantly misspells and fat-fingers things, so there was a small part of me thinking he was referring to his mother or father because he's only 32 years old and is incredibly athletic and very in shape. He doesn't eat a ton of fat, he doesn't drink a ton of alcohol, he plays tennis and soccer and does yoga, he just ran a marathon, he lives a very carefree lifestyle, he's been a little ball of sporty, healthy energy his whole life, he couldn't possibly have meant him. So I call. And I call again. Because now I'm in full panic mode that someone I love has actually just had a heart attack at 32 years old and I have no idea what real condition he's in because if it were me, even if I were being rushed into surgery at that very moment, I'd be all "It's cool, I'm fine, call in a bit" so my mind is just fucking racing now.
He assures me that he's fine several times over text and he'll call when he can and then also reminds me "Believe it or not, this isn't about you", which felt like being verbally slapped across the face, so I attempt to pull it together and stay calm, but that just turns into me saying I'm about to drive to Detroit at that very moment. He says not to. (Now, note to self, I should remember what this medicine tastes like, because it's some of my own. Denying someone their urge to care for you and you to acknowledge that caring is about the cruelest of moves. And I know it well. It's something I practice when someone hurts me or potentially could hurt me or I'm having very prideful moments.) I know I have to listen to him and just stay put because even in my most caring moments, my energy is manic and I buzz with it and I know he doesn't need that right now. I know he's very scared and very worried about what this means and how to handle it.
I am really trying to hold it together and I know it's selfish to want to force my way into a hospital room, so I'm just here. Staring at a white screen. Writing a fucking blog because I don't know what else to do with my time or how to think about anything else but my own feelings. People breezing in and out of my office and static of their words buzzing around my head, but I am unable to focus on anything else but his face in my head and the thought of him on anesthesia and heart monitors stuck to his skin and people in the hospital making too much noise for him to sleep and him thinking about having physical limitations or not being able to do anything and everything he wants. Normally I'd hate that he does that, but now I'd literally give him money to go to the strip club as long as he can do it whenever he wants. I just want to tickle his back or get him water or switch his laundry from the washer to the dryer because he doesn't feel like going to the basement. If he lets me visit and the doctors are all "Well, he needs half your heart now, maybe all of your blood. Probably a kidney." I'd just sign the waiver and ask how quickly they can get it out of me and into him because the thought of someone so full of life that I care about so much needing anything (and apparently, not needing) from me rips me apart. Take it. Take it all. Don't deny me the cross I love to bear. Ride or die.
No comments:
Post a Comment