Tonight's picture was taken on Mattie's first trip to Los Angeles, when he was 11 months old. We took him to The Huntington Library Gardens, in San Marino (near Pasadena). As you can see, Mattie was in his favorite form of transportation, the backpack on Peter's back. Mattie was simply fascinated by the bamboo, and while he was investigating it, I snapped a picture of both he and Peter because somehow they both seemed engrossed in admiring different scenes from the garden.
Poem of the day: The Raw Pain of Grief By Lana Golembeski
Wham! Bam!
Grief comes tearing around the corner
Blindsides you
You can’t even see it coming!
Life is back to an even keel
As best as it can be.
And then grief rears its ugly head
It just takes a single moment
For it to find you
And hit you hard in your gut
Spinning you back to square one.
The tears flow uncontrollably
And you feel like you just got the news for the first time.
The pain racks your entire body,
And the anger fills your entire soul.
And you scream WHY??
But you know there are no answers.
No one is listening.
The emptiness of that black hole surrounds you
And it sucks you down into the pits of despair.
Again.
Why can’t grief just let you go?
Why can’t you have your child back?
Nothing could feel more wrong
And there is no way to fix it.
Mattie died 20 weeks ago today. It seems to me that I just wrote about Mattie's passing last Tuesday, and here we are again, marking yet another week without his presence. The feelings this produces within me is summed up perfectly in the last line of tonight's poem...."and there is no way to fix it." Indeed, there is NO way to fix grief, it is a process of adjustment that can take a lifetime to cope with from my perspective. In our fast paced society, where we want issues and problems resolved instantly, when grief comes knocking at the door, it presents a challenge. A challenge because for Peter and I who are grieving, the world has stopped moving, and our feelings and thoughts are intense and skewed. Never the less, while falling in this pit of despair, the rest of society is evolving, moving on, and on some level expects us to do the same. So a natural disconnect arises between us and the world, and it can be hard to face this reality.
I started off my day at the doctor's office having a cystoscopy. For those of you who are lucky enough never to have had this procedure, what basically happens is a thin (the doctors say it is "thin," but it actually looks and feels quite intimidating), lighted instrument called a cystoscope is inserted into your bladder. This procedure was done without sedation. My lifetime friend, Karen, suggested that the doctor try having a cystoscopy herself without sedation and see how she actually likes it! Karen made me laugh, because she is right. It is actually quite painful, and I continue to be in pain tonight. I think any time I have such experiences, I reflect on what Mattie went through, and honestly wonder how on earth he managed what he did, and in turn wasn't deathly afraid to enter the hospital with each admission.
I had the procedure done at the same hospital that Ann's mom is being treated at, so after this 20 minute nightmare, I went over to visit Mary. Mary was up in her chair today, and had both physical and occupational therapy. The therapists got their workout today with Mary, but Mary was also working hard. Mary responds quite well to positive feedback and encouragers, so I am her cheering squad, when she does her therapy. This is a role I learned to play quite well over the last two years. After watching two sets of physical therapists work with Mary, I realize how lucky Mattie was to have Anna (his physical therapist at Georgetown). Anna is an amazing, warm, and sensitive individual, who not only normalized things for us, but found unique and creative ways to stimulate and challenge Mattie. This is not a skill set that every therapist comes to a session with, and now having experienced Anna, my benchmark for physical therapists is set quite high.
Ironically this evening, Mary was revisited by a psychiatrist. The same psychiatrist who I interrogated the day before. When the psychiatrist came into Mary's room, she did not introduce herself as a psychiatrist, but within minutes of her questioning, I knew who she was. She was trying to assess whether Mary has depression. Goodness gracious, after all Mary has been through, if she wasn't depressed, then to me something would be wrong with her. Any case, after asking her all sorts of questions, the doctor was about to leave the room. But I stopped her. I explained to her that I was listening to her questions, and that I was a mental health professional. I asked her whether she considered Mary's neurological disease when making her assessment. I asked her how she distinguished Mary's disease progression from true clinical depression. She did not like that question, and gave me a pat answer. In addition, I suggested that Mary would only be in the hospital for a few days, and if she started psychotropic medications, she would be unable to manage them because of the temporary nature of Mary's stay. Any case, tonight as she revisited Mary's room, guess what? Answers to both of my questions were revealed. She changed her mind and agreed that Mary's flat affect was directly related to her neurologic condition, and she also realizes adding medications that can't be managed and followed isn't appropriate. I sat back and felt like my mission was accomplished. I got to this doctor yesterday! In fact, as I was in the hallway tonight making a phone call, this psychiatrist came up to me and thanked me for my insights. All I can say is I may have had skills going into Mattie's treatment, but caring for Mattie enabled me to think and advocate concisely and passionately. I mention this whole interaction because not much brings me happiness these days, but hearing that something I did helped provide better care for someone else..... well that still impacts and inspires me. While the psychiatrist was talking to Mary, she happened to say, that she realizes there is "NO MAGIC PILL" to help one recover from losing a son. I almost fell off my chair, because I have been feeling that way for the longest time! It was nice to actually hear a medical professional admit this.
I would like to end tonight's posting with a message from my friend, Charlie. Charlie wrote, "We do reflect our surroundings. It is not something most of us do consciously but you can see it when people leave a busy, noisy, city street and walk into a quiet tree lined, grassy area; they seem to breathe slower and deeper and relax. That's one reason visualization works so well for some people; they can "see" and "feel" their calm place in their minds. Lying in bed, in a hospital gown, tells a person that he/she is powerless, ill and in need of assistance. Just getting a patient up and into a chair makes all the difference sometimes. You can see the change in level of alertness on someone's face. What all hospitals need is a gathering spot for non contagious patients where they can interact with others and get the social interaction we all crave. I hope that today's procedure goes well for you. I will keep you in my thoughts and prayers."
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