Most of us think of February in terms of it’s holiday – Valentines Day, which of course is represented by the ever popular heart. Bearing precious little resemblance to the actual human heart, it brings us thoughts of our loved ones, and all the accompanying warm fuzzies it was designed to. Funny thing, that the heart represents these things. I suppose I could research where it all came from, but really, I can see that the heart is the center of our being. The pump. The brawn that works with the brain to keep a human being alive. It’s been attributed as the place we feel our feelings – a spiritual heart, I suppose, somewhere in the vicinity of the fleshly one, eh?
In any event, we’ve had a lot of HEART talk so far in this short half a month.
Our first was in discussing the life and passing of our dear little dog, Sparky. We knew he had a heart murmur when he came to us. We had hoped for more time with him – but that little heart was so “big”, that it outgrew itself in no time, and Sparky had to move on. Our tribute to him:
The question that many people have asked through that ordeal was “How is Philip handling it?” And I have had to respond honestly, “Better than the rest of us!”
When Sparky took ill, we could see him struggling to breathe, and standing constantly, unable to lie down and sleep. His meds had been maxed out, and now a blizzard was ensuing. No way to even get to the vet for meds. Philip chose not to watch this, as far as it was possible. We still brought Sparky to him to say good morning and good night, and Sparks still responded with a curl of his tail and brightening of his eyes when he petted him. But other than that, Phil would simply ask – often – where he was and how he was, and was content to know the answer we gave.
Sparky got restless at about 4:00 a.m. the morning he passed, and Rachel thought he might be doing better and finally went to bed. At 5:30, Josiah came downstairs and found him lying in the living room. We all had a good cry and a hug, and we wrapped him in a soft towel and placed him in a box.
I told Phil when I woke him up an hour later that Sparky had died during the night. His chin quivered a little, but he was still in the wake-up stage. We then had to rocket his butt into the shower, and get him ready for physical therapy. He concentrated on that until she left, and it was time to take him to school. That’s when he started asking the questions that no one can answer.
“Mom…so is Sparky…you know…up there?”
“I don’t know, kiddo – all I know is that he’s not hurting anymore. And we gave him the best life we could while he was with us.” And even though it was true, I felt like it was the lamest answer ever. But Phil was already answering his own question.
“I feel like he’s still here, Mom. I can see him over there by the piano. And I can see him in the hall playing with Donkey. And I can see him coming in the door when you open it to let me out, and you’ll have to pick him up and tell him to ‘hold your potatoes, Sparky’ when I drive by.” And he smiled.
And I know he had the better answer. Much better, in fact. Because Sparky was still there! Not his little body, but the energy…the Spark! We could still feel it. And even though we miss his antics and eyes and bunny feet in the hall – the Spark is with us still, and will be alive in our hearts and minds as long as we remember him.
We had the opportunity, then, of getting one of Sparky’s brothers in March, born just as he was slipping away, and we have decided that Sparky is telling us, “Yo…take care of my little bro’!” (According to Phil…).
So, yes…this seemed to be the month of the broken heart; both Sparky’s physical heart, and our emotional hearts. Imagine my thrill when Children’s Hospital called to remind me that Phil’s cardiology appointment was the following Monday.
I listened to the machine tell me the time and place for our appointment, and waited for it: The cold chill. The sick feeling that starts in your stomach like a smoldering log, but turns icy cold as it starts to radiate outward. The thoughts of impending doom that accompany it, and the chill that produces. But this time, it didn’t come. Oh, I didn’t just smile and say, “Guess what we have to do Monday, honey?” But I realized that I felt just a little bit more than nothing. And I had to wonder about that. (Of COURSE I did…)
Was this lack of visceral response because I didn’t care? Has MY heart just calloused over? Was it the intentional denial that I so often have indulged in when it comes to Duchenne – ignoring the shit I don’t want to know? Or was it just that I was emotionally spent from saying goodbye to Sparky? Or maybe…just maybe, this was the Universe cutting me in on the What’s-to-Come, and letting me know that I don’t need to waste any more energy on stressing this one: It’s gonna be okay. Dare I hope….
Monday came, and all I could think of was how much I wanted the day to be over already. It was going to be a whirlwind day – but me and tornadoes go way back, I guess. There was so much to do! Shipping about 25 packages at the post office, pick Phil up at 9:30, Children’s appointments at 10:45 and 11:40, getting lunch, getting his van through vehicle emissions, dropping off a large package at FedEx, and then getting Phil home to use the bathroom before heading back out to Sheboygan for his afternoon physical therapy at 4:30; having to stop at Wally World at some point for some necessities, like milk and toilet paper...like I said, all I wanted was for it to be over.
On the ride to the hospital, my mind wandered into the Game Show version of what we were about to hear. I’ll never get used to the “bad news” that comes no matter what we do. But you do some preparation for it, just in case.
After checking in and getting his echocardiogram, we waited for Dr. Berger to read his results and let us know the verdict. A pleasant man, he greeted us with a handshake and a smile, and I heard the words that absolutely made my day: “No real change in his echo…still low-normal function. Emphasis on the “normal” part. Very good for a boy his age in his condition.” And after a chat about potential meds in the future, we were given a 6-month pass on thinking about Phil’s heart.
The rest of the day actually went off well. We made all of our appointments, and arrived at the end of the day tired, but satisfied that there were no kicks in the head this time. No gut-wrenching news to deal with; no major traumas, no major losses.
We are almost half way through February now, close to the 6 month mark on Phil’s spinal fusion, which he has recovered from remarkably well. Almost 6 months past the major upheaval that has me getting up close and personal to issues that I would rather not have to think about – about death, and dying, and living, and breathing, and the intricacies of all of these. We have not only survived, but have learned so much in the midst of it all. I stand, however, with Socrates when he stated, “All I know, is that I know nothing.” And that leaves us to live our lives in one way – the way we have been – by heart.
No comments:
Post a Comment