Last week, I made another trip to the hospital! A visit in a series of visits that have come to torment me. Another friend, another diagnosis, another wave of helplessness crashing into already existing feelings of restlessness. My 30s have come with a certain awareness, where I am now comfortable in my own skin, yet I have a yearning for a certain “Je ne sais quoi”. Those feelings aside, I walked up the stairs to the ward where he lay; a strong wave of antiseptic and fried plantains hit me. I do not know if I can eat fried plantains anytime soon. His eyes were closed, his stomach swollen, his skin sallow. Another victim of kidney wahala; three dialysis sessions have now been done with a fourth being planned and donations made by “friends” as health insurance does not cover renal problems. How clever! We smiled and chatted a bit of this, a bit of that. We prayed, I wished him well from the bottom of my being. Hardly enough.
As I drove home, I saw T in my mind’s eye, laughing at me and my worrying. I called him, dreading it, knowing that we would fight, the cold type where no one said any angry words. Knowing I could never tell him the depth of my worry, knowing i could not share all that I was feeling.
“How far? I just visited someone in hospital…just go and have that cough checked out…cut down on red meat and alcohol. Try to lose some weight…blood pressure and kidney functions.” I muttered, embarrassed, but also sad at my embarrassment and fears and inability to say it all.
I saw an awesome post by Matt Thomas where he addressed the pertinent issue of outsiders intruding into one’s life and offering unsolicited advice. Surely that is not extended to family?