Wake Up Call

Dear Lorenzo,

It's Friday, 6:27 a.m. and instead of washing the dishes, instead of rushing to the elliptical, instead of fucking around on Facebook or starting my 288th lesson on Duolingo, I'm up this early (on purpose!) so that I can talk to you.

On Monday, I worked a half day before logging off and going to St. Francis to have my first appointment with my new neurologist. The appointment started much like every other doctor's appointment I've had since I was diagnosed with MS twenty one years ago. I filled out some I-promise-not-to-sue-you-for-sharing-my-medical-information paperwork, I had my vitals taken and answered some medical history questions with the nurse, and when she finished I finally got to sit down and speak with the neurologist. After reviewing my most recent MRI, instead of launching into the "When were you first diagnosed with MS" question that I was expecting, Dr. Jalil surprised me by starting out with, "Why are you taking Fluoxetine?" instead.

I don't think anyone has ever asked me that question before.

Startled, I stammered out the truth. I told him about the accident, about how well you were doing while you were at St Francis and how I never, not for one minute, thought that you were going to die. I told him about both Amira and Nita being there when you were hit and how we aren't sure if Amira saw and repressed the memory or if she truly didn't see anything at all. I told him about not being able to get off of the couch for a year; how I did the bare minimum, exerting myself to parent Amira only. And when I was finished telling him my story of grief, I began to tell him the story of US; how we met, how we fell in love, how you worked your ass off to become a firefighter so that you could support us and I would be able to stay home with Amira. And after I told him everything, after he expressed his condolences, he looked at me and said, "Of course you're on antidepressants, you had PTSD. And now you work and take care of your daughter? You're a very strong woman."

Lorenzo, of all the words I've ever used to describe myself, strong has never been one of them but...

Maybe it should be.

Because Dr. Jalil was right, I am strong. Maybe it's time I stop defining myself by the year I spent on our couch and instead start to define myself by the fact that I got up again. 

Because I did, Babe, I fell into depression HARD but...

I got back up again.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Dear Mom

Dear Mom, I suppose that the act of writing this letter means I'm starting to accept that you're gone. I don't know how I'm supposed to live without my mother. You didn't prepare me for this. I've spent my entire life worrying about you in some form or fashion. Worrying about what you'd think of whatever rash decision I was certain to be on the precipice of making. Worrying about your ever-worsening health. Worrying about whether or not you'd notice the weight I'd either lost or gained since we'd seen each other last.  (Spoiler Alert: You always noticed. Carefully worded reprimands if I'd gained, exuberant congratulations for a loss, unfortunately it's taken me years to rid myself of the habit of worrying about my weight before a trip home. But one good thing has come from this experience. I've made damn sure that my daughter knows I will ALWAYS welcome her home with open arms, and will never, EVER comment, or give a flying fuck, abou...
Read more

Goodbye (For Real This Time)

Dear Mum, I was so busy mourning you that I didn't have time to fully acknowledge the loss of my relationship with Cap.  It's finally hitting me now. I can accept the fact that he doesn't want me anymore and I have with as much grace as I can. I asked him to fall back in August 2024 and he has done so. But I still hear from him almost daily. Mostly through text messages on a group chat he created with me and Fareeda.  This is how he keeps in touch. It's how he holds on. I usually don't reply to his political rantings and unfunny reels but he knows that I read them. And we Marco Polo about once a week.  All neutral topics. The kids, our jobs, how much we loathe Trump.  No mention of us. Who we were. What we lost. Who we have to pretend to be now in order to remain in each other's lives. He doesn't want to have those conversations. He doesn't do difficult which means he obviously can't be in a relationship. At least not with me. So though I'm mour...
Read more

Untitled

I don't have a mother anymore and yet...  Somehow, I'm still expected to live my life. Normally. Like a full-fledged, rational human being except... I'm not. Grief isn't rational. I wake up every morning with the same sense of loss, with the deepest HOLLOW I've ever experienced. I have Amira, of course and I truly thank God every day for that miracle. I have Amira and Fareeda and Jewel but...  Both of my parents are gone now. I don't have a mother anymore. I don't have my mother. There are no more doctors to call, no more prescriptions to fill, no new medications to try because my mother is gone. Resting in peace at last. But... I haven't gotten there yet. To the peaceful part. Most of the time, what I feel is loss.  It's most acute, most palpable when I'm in Cambridge. I've been back only once since my mother died and hope not to return anytime soon.  I went "home" to Cambridge for Little Desi's 30th birthday party but I staye...
Read more