Tonight's picture was taken in May of 2004. Peter and I took Mattie to the reflecting pool right by the Lincoln Memorial. During the spring months, we always found ducks and ducklings in the reflection pool. Mattie loved these sightings, and would always say.... "there is a mama duck and her baby, just like you and me." We loved watching the ducklings together and as you can see in this picture the ducks brought him great joy and laughter.
When I look at the shadow of this picture, I can see that I had my right hand attached to Mattie's pants, just in case he was planning on jumping into the water. Peter and I always would think ahead in situations to try to avoid accidents and to protect Mattie. It is most ironic that despite our best efforts there are things, such as cancer, that wake us up to the reality that we were never really in control.
Quote of the day: After the separation of death one can eventually swallow back one's grief, but the separation of the living is an endless, unappeasable anxiety. ~ Tu Fu
I can speak to the power of the blog, since I have received some wonderful emails in the last day or so regarding Peter's illness and how to help his symptoms. I truly appreciate those of you reaching out to me, and offering your support. Peter worked from home again today. Working from home can have a slacking off kind of connotation. However, frankly I am not sure how Peter has been able to work at all this week, given his dizziness, nystagmus, and now headache. Literally you might as well transport his office to our home this week, because basically our first floor has turned into Voxiva (the company that Peter's works for). Peter spends hours on conference calls all over the world, and tries to manage people in the process. While I was getting ready this morning, I could hear him on one conference call in particular. Even when Peter is giving negative feedback to people, he does it in a professional and dispassionate manner. He is the polar opposite of me. After the call was over, I told him I admired how he handled the situation, because I would have absolutely lost it on the phone.
I know what Peter does at work, but I haven't had to see him AT WORK in a while. So for me, this week was very revealing, and it gives me insights into the stresses he is under, on top of the major stress of grief in our lives. Having been a professional who researched stress and its effects on the body and emotions, I can't help but wonder how stress is impacting Peter's current physical state. Peter will be seeing an ear, nose, and throat doctor tomorrow, so I hope to have some more definitive answers.
This morning, I headed back to the hospital, for an eye exam. This wasn't a pressing issue in my book, but it was for my internist, so I went. The opthomologist's assistant was absolutely lovely. She asked what my occupation is, and so I told her. She commented on how challenging it must be to listen to people's problems all day long. So I responded and told her, I would much rather do that, than be in the current situation I am in, which is grieving over the loss of Mattie. It turns out that this woman lost her brother to cancer when he was only 40 years old. Ten years later, she tells me she still hasn't gotten over this profound loss. She says her friends think she is crazy, that she needs counseling, and that she should move on with her life. ALL my favorite words! Especially the MOVING ON one! So we chatted about this, exchanged stories, and we both came to the conclusion that life will never be the same for us. We are no longer future planners, we live in the moment, and also understand that life is beyond our control. Before she dilated my eyes and left the room, she gave me a big hug. I told her we relate to each other because we are in a special club, the grief by cancer club.
I haven't had my eyes dilated in a long time, and it wasn't a feeling I particularly cared for. This feeling lasted for hours, and fortunately for me it wasn't sunny today, so I was able to drive home. I worked on all sorts of things at home and then later this afternoon I got a phone call from our doctor's office. They prepared a blood work report for us to take to the ear, nose, and throat doctor tomorrow. So again, I jumped back into the car and visited the hospital.
When I got home, my cell phone rang again. I could see it was a different hospital number calling me. Dr. Shad's nurse manager contacted me to find out how I was doing and how Peter was. She told me that she felt Peter's symptoms could be the sign of a basilar migraine, and she connected me with the head of the Headache Clinic at Georgetown University Hospital. I thanked Jan for her time, and her response to me was, "this is what we do for family." Mattie is no longer alive, but he has connected us to amazing people, who go above and beyond their job descriptions. Interacting with people like this restores my confidence in the world. There are many of Mattie's doctors (Aziza, Dr. Bob, and Kristen) following Peter's case from the side lines, so I know I am not medically alone.
Keep us in your thoughts tomorrow. We have one last day to figure out what is wrong with Peter before he potentially embarks on a long trip to Africa for two weeks.
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