It’s time. After more than 15 months I have to go back to losing George. I have to re-live bringing him to the emergency room – leaving him sitting on the end of the “bed” in the ER exam room – to go home and walk Kita – and coming back to find him being intubated – not to survive – not to be alive again.
I have to master this experience – not turn away over and over – not break down over and over.
The PTSD is owning me – not letting me live in the present – not letting me love without qualification or expectation. The PTSD is getting in my way. It is clouding my thinking. It is making other people treat me differently – I hate that.
I have to make peace with not remembering the last things we said to each other – that wasn’t important – it’s not important – but it owns me. I have to make peace with going home to walk Kita. I have to make peace with only remembering some of the two plus days between when George was intubated and when we let him go. He was already gone. I have to be able to type this brief version of the story without breaking down. I have to be able to stare it down – literally – without turning away. I always turn away.
I think I have accepted that George is dead. Now I have to accept losing him.
I brought George to the ER. He was quickly diagnosed with bilateral diffuse pneumonia and immediately put on antibiotics, fluids and breathing treatments. He was sitting on the end of the bed in the Tufts ER, texting and complaining about how awful he felt. Kita needed to be walked. the nurse suggested that I go home before they moved George to a room – they would figure out the room while I walked Kita. When I came back they were trying to intubate George – and I held his foot – I think he was moving – I think I said soothing things – the situation quickly escalated to an emergency and I was made to leave him. That was really the end of the story.
I brought George to the ER…I left him sitting…I never heard him or felt him touch me again.
I will keep at this until I have control over when I go back to this unimaginable scenario and when I don’t. Right now I don’t have that control. The PTSD owns me and sends me back when I don’t want to go – for now.