Moving on…

Three and a half years of our lives have been about sickness. A disease that changes everything, derails plans and makes you completely re-shuffle your priorities. In some ways i have to admit I’m a typical male, i see a problem and want to fix it, shine it up and move on. But with disease you don’t have that option. So i immersed myself in it, staying by her side every step of the way, asking questions, learning meds,pissing off countless doctors and nurses, becoming more comfortable with needles than I ever thought possible. And though it was sometimes stressful, very stressful, i was good at it. What a fucking weird thing to say, being good at disease. But don’t mistake being good at it, with liking it. I would never wish kidney failure on anyone, and I would never wish it on their loved ones either. Because I died inside every time she was let down, as opportunities for a new kidney passed her by and she was left waiting and hurting. She always gives me credit for being the tough one, but i think it was her. I don’t know if I could have endured all of those years of dialysis, those hours pinned to a chair by needles. All of the hospital stays, the drugs, the side effects, the doctors. People who live with serious diseases are the true heroes. Fuck athletes…

Now the moment we’ve been waiting for has arrived. As she heals in a hospital be i sit here and pine for her, this apartment empty without her. i know her recovery will be tough, there will be setbacks and stress and for me, there will be a new learning curve. Letting her get well. I have to learn how to live all over again, how to help her and how to let her help herself. The fact is I’m a little scared. I can only hope I’m as good at recovery as i was at waiting…


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