Two Lucky

The minute I uttered the words, “blood pressure,” I felt a balloon burst in me. It was more like an implosion; air was sucked out of my lungs, replaced by something wet-like. It happened in less than a second. My eyes filled with water. I had to look away.

My reaction caught me by surprise because I wasn’t even thinking about Rusty at the time. The words I said bore no context to the cancer; I was lamenting to a friend at a bar how the dearth of cabs in Singapore would one day surely lead me to seek medical attention for elevated blood levels.

But in that second, those words took me back to that little white room at New York-Presbyterian Hospital, where “blood pressure” was the arbiter of Rusty’s survival. Every other hour we monitored his numbers to see if his body would endure another dose of chemotherapy. That was three months before he died.

I shook under the weight of the two words, and as my mind wandered, more came: insurance forms, contrast solution, doctor’s appointment, platelets, subcutaneous tumors, initialise here, dehydration, clinical trial, scans, nurse practitioner, response rates, alcohol swabs, refills, bags of blood, emergency room, do-not-resuscitate.

These were the words that defined a lifetime for me, the words that forced themselves into my common experience, the words that my tongue reluctantly became familiar with.

In the last two months, I haven’t said, or heard much of these words. Rusty’s death not only released him from his suffering, it released me too. Grief may be my new imprisoner, but I know it will not stand up to love. In claiming back the words of everyday life, I piece back a little of myself, and with each new piece in place, I feel more solid, more clear-headed about my feelings and what to do with them.

Though I still live each day on the edge of water, I give thanks every morning for being onshore. The sea, once menacing, threatens me no more. When I wade, I am not afraid. I look out into the distance and see the sun on the horizon, beginning to rise. Its light is simple, magnificent.

I say to myself, “If only you could see this, Rusty,” and immediately I know he does.

This entry was posted on Monday, July 2nd, 2007 at 4:07 am and is filed under Singapore. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.