This used to be a real journal.
Jun. 17th, 2006 10:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
judecorpI tend to gloss over events these days that years ago would have held much more weight, much more need for documentation. I don't think this has changed, I just think I have become more busy, more full of events. I wish for simpler days when I could ruminate on one situation, one event, one emotion, so it could be processed and moved along. Staccato blasts of chaos and drama have all but eliminated the possibility of this.
I would have written about the traumatic experience of taking Jen to the emergency room when she couldn't breathe from bronchitis, nearly a year to the day from when I went to a different hospital, in a different state, to be told that my father was not going to live. To sign DNR forms. To have only one hope - that nothing final happened before my brother could come to town. One year later I was in a dingy ER in Dorchester with my wife who was struggling to breathe, gasping on top of several new health concerns that had popped up in the last few weeks. Flashback City. I could have given a lot of life to those feelings, to that event, to the parallel and visceral memories. Instead the car got vandalized and our IUI cycle got cancelled.
Recently, in an argument, she told me that she was really hurt by that evening in the hospital, that I wasn't there for her in the way she wanted. I didn't hold her hand much, I didn't whisper comforting things. And I felt horribly guilty, and sad, and undeserving of compassion for my own pain, for my own situation, for the acknowledgment that it must have been terribly difficult to be in the ER that night, just a year later, with yet another near and dear next to the monitors and machines. And I guess in some ways that shows more than anything else how out of sync and out of touch we have actually become in our time in Boston, with the trials and tribulations that seem to be neverending around these parts. That's sad.
I suppose I shouldn't watch maudlin Logo programs On Demand about old lesbians dying of cancer. At least not this early in the morning at the start of a beautiful Saturday.
I want my old life back.
I would have written about the traumatic experience of taking Jen to the emergency room when she couldn't breathe from bronchitis, nearly a year to the day from when I went to a different hospital, in a different state, to be told that my father was not going to live. To sign DNR forms. To have only one hope - that nothing final happened before my brother could come to town. One year later I was in a dingy ER in Dorchester with my wife who was struggling to breathe, gasping on top of several new health concerns that had popped up in the last few weeks. Flashback City. I could have given a lot of life to those feelings, to that event, to the parallel and visceral memories. Instead the car got vandalized and our IUI cycle got cancelled.
Recently, in an argument, she told me that she was really hurt by that evening in the hospital, that I wasn't there for her in the way she wanted. I didn't hold her hand much, I didn't whisper comforting things. And I felt horribly guilty, and sad, and undeserving of compassion for my own pain, for my own situation, for the acknowledgment that it must have been terribly difficult to be in the ER that night, just a year later, with yet another near and dear next to the monitors and machines. And I guess in some ways that shows more than anything else how out of sync and out of touch we have actually become in our time in Boston, with the trials and tribulations that seem to be neverending around these parts. That's sad.
I suppose I shouldn't watch maudlin Logo programs On Demand about old lesbians dying of cancer. At least not this early in the morning at the start of a beautiful Saturday.
I want my old life back.
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Date: 2006-06-22 01:41 am (UTC)Jude + Sean 4Eva
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