INTENSIVE CARE

July, 2007-1:04 pm
INTENSIVE CARE

July 2007

The fear is huge and heavy. Tears fill my eyes throughout the day and I have to brush them away. I try not to give in to the cloud of despondency, so thick I can't see through it.

Things were descending into an epic spiral. We had hoped and prayed this would never happen again. My brother had been doing well for a number of years. It's easy to forget that health is fleeting and can be stolen from us without warning.

I have many memories of being in the Mass General hospital watching an I.V. drip toxic chemotherapy chemicals into his veins. I can still see the parade of gravely ill children, wheelchair bound, emaciated, their hair having fallen out, and a grey anemic pallor. Most of them are gone . Now that I have children, I am in awe of the enormity of what my parents went through.

When someone is gravely ill, it puts us in a dark immense trauma that we can not fully emerge from.

I was a teenager when my brother was diagnosed wit leukemia, but it left an indelible impression that life as a tenuous thread to hang onto, appreciate and enjoy. Death was a probability and was always looming ahead. Miraculously, despite the poor prognosis and cure rates in the 70's, he survived , but had endless severe medical problems all his life.

With every subsequent crisis, we would all return to that frozen apprehension that we knew so well. It was what being a prisoner of war must be like.

This time , in July 07, it is subdural hematoma , brain trauma and seizures, which have put my 48 year old brother into a coma.

I am impacted more profoundly now that I have children. What if it happened to my son or daughter? My heart was broken, seeing my father go through this again.

The trauma resides in all of us, like an immense snowdrift, in which everything is still and surreal. It tears your heart out and holds it in front of your face and taunts you with it. The anxiety made me numb, it slowed time, it made me cold all the time. I had to remember to eat and to breath . I was aware of my mortality, as walked down the streets, afraid to breath in the carbon monoxide spewing from the cars in traffic.

I was functional , but my "fight or flight" adrenaline was so high, I could almost hear it. I felt immobilized inside, like I was on a high speed roller coaster that obliterated every other external sensation.

If anyone asked how my brother was , I would give every last detail of the diagnosis, the prognosis, and what we were going through. The subtext was "Please ,Help me ."

Most people, not knowing what to say, would shrink and cringe , look away and try to change the subject. Then they would join me in the reverie of silence.

I worked all day, spent every evening at the hospital, giving my dad a chance to take a break. I'd get home at 11, and try to take care of my own household work and collapse in bed. I'd see my kids for a short time in the morning over at their dad's and then begin all over again.

Exhaustion descended on me like a painful carbonation, reminding me that I still had a body that had to be taken care of. If I dared to enjoy food or if I went to the gym , I felt guilty that I was the one that got to have a normal life and my brother was not. I asked myself If I could change places with him, would I do it? In my lowest point of self-loathing, I had to be honest: I don't know if I could say yes...

One of the worst moments was when J. told me that if he was going to be "a vegetable" like this, we should just "pull the plug". (Of course she would want to pull the plug on me, and build a subdivision where my house stands, when it turns out I was only taking a nap...but that is another story.) She said "Do you realize that since this happened , we haven't even been able to go out to dinner?"

I am making up my dialogue for my 911 call and imagining myself wiping my prints off the syringe. ( kidding.)

I used to pride myself on my competence and strength, but this time it was eclipsed by an unyielding obstacle. The only moment of peace I had was going out to the backyard before work and listening to the quiet sounds of nature, looking at the water birds with the goslings and ducklings in the pond. Superior beings exhibit their best qualities when they are behaving like birds, unselfishly courageously devoted to the helpless offspring.

The world was different and precarious, the people in it seemed superficial and frivolous in their everyday concerns about parking spots and fashion, and Brazilian wax appointments. I wanted to scream at them "Don't you people know how good you have it? Why are you still complaining about all the shallow things that don't matter? Can't you see how good your life is? Can't you see what real trouble is? Look at me!! Look at my family!! Can't you see what I am going through??? CAN'T YOU??? "

But they could not. They could not look at me. They could not see. No one knew what to say.

Except for ONE PERSON.

MY BUSINESS APPOINTMENT:
I met him at Starbuck's at 5 o'clock on a hot July night. It had been several months since we had seen each other in person, after a previous real estate transaction . We had kept in touch by e-mail, and tonight we were actually going to look at more property for sale.

I was looking forward to this. I remembered how nice he was and I recalled with amusement that , despite the professional relationship, his attractiveness had not gone unnoticed...

I walked into Starbuck's and saw him smiling. He was handsome as ever. He looked tanned from weekends at the cape. He wore a white dress shirt. (He didn't know YET that the white dress shirt was my ultimate aphrodisiac. Ladies , you can keep your rock stars, your American idols, your men in speedos, and you can keep all your sex gadgets. Just point me in the direction of a man in a white dress shirt, with a nice physique in evidence beneath it, and I am "good to go" in the libido department.) That was it. In the future I would recall that moment as the first time I had a conscious awareness of being (inappropriately) sexually attracted to him.

I admonished myself "This a business meeting, not a singles bar. What is wrong with you!" "Snap out of it! CANCEL THAT THOUGHT. Stay focused."

Ignoring my stern self-lecture, all I could hear was his sexy voice, smooth as a late-night D.J. All I saw was the face and body of a man that was more appealing than the 20-something guy on the Abercrombie and Finch billboard. Well, maybe that was a subjective and slightly inaccurate factual observation, but to me, it was genuine and true.

Appearance is nice ...Broad shoulders and strong biceps were only really important back in prehistoric times when a girl needed a man to hunt for food and defend against a blood-thirsty T. Rex.

Right now, my anthropologically based sexual desires had no function and were nothing but trouble. I tried to get my thoughts back to business, but I could practically smell the testosterone in the air.



On this hot July day, with my brother severely ill ,my father devastated, the entire family frightened and depressed and collapsing in on itself, I was here on a business appointment, secretly lusting after a client.

Just for a moment, I had a much-needed distraction and a respite from the anxiety and fear.

"Dona Nobis Pacem" Grant Us Peace.

I rationalized that it was harmless to have flirtatious thoughts. I knew how absolutely important it was that I keep my spirits up.
That I remain consistent. My emotional resources were so depleted, that any thought process that gave me a little relief couldn't be all bad, could it?

We stood on the roof top of a building that was for sale. We looked across at the panoramic city skyline. I could see sailboats on the ocean and the warm summer wind on my face was completely relaxing.

We were having a lot of fun, joking about the interior of the property. (It was a parody of Italian stereotype, resplendent with waxed fruit ,plastic covered lamps, Italian Renaissance furniture, framed pictures of J.F.K. and statues of saints. The owner was a loud, feisty cigarette-smoking old woman that cursed like a trooper. She made the sign of the cross every time she passed by a saint, yet she invoked the name of the Lord many times, in a irreverent way..)

We laughed...

I looked at him ...

He smiled. I smiled. ..

He touched my shoulder . My mind wandered ...

I thought: "I want to be enveloped in some one's arms again.... Right Now"..

In my imagination we were someplace else, alone together, with the breeze and sun on our faces ... someplace else...

STOP IT! STOP IT!!

I shouldn't be thinking things like that. The very last thing I needed to add to my plate was an ill-conceived romantic involvement with an unavailable man.



There are certain rules that one should adhere to, and fantasizing about him did not fit into that protocol.
......Once upon a time, there were plenty of rules about men and decorum, and good girls followed them. The rules worked just fine. But that was long ago, when highways had passing lanes instead of text messaging morons, and the president of the United States spoke in complete sentences.

Would the world come to an end if I was a just a tad little less virtuous?

He was in the medical profession, and therefore was very helpful and comforting to talk to about the problems my brother was having. He was kind and compassionate and well-versed. He was not afraid to talk about it with me.

With calm cool assurances, he said that people come back from brain trauma. It can take a long time, but they often get better. He had seen it many times before. Listening to his words was like hearing the comforting familiar steady cadence of a grandfather clock, as you sat in your favorite chair, looking out at a thunderstorm that roared outside.

I wished that I could have stretched the time out longer, but we were done with our business appointment for the night.
He asked me if I had to go. He asked if I wanted to go somewhere for a drink. With more self-control than I knew I possessed, I told him that I had to leave. I turned and walked away and felt he backlash of reality returning. It was like ripping off a band-aid. I walked back to the hospital.

Later that week, I found another property to show him and it provided a chance to see him again ,in a professional capacity, of course. This time, I boldly suggested in an e-mail that we have a "work-related drink" afterwards. ( Oh my God! I hit the "send" button. Then I asked myself, "Did I actually say that? What are the consequences of what I just did". .)

A weekly pattern of real estate appointments , followed by going out for a drink and enjoying some pleasant conversation began.

Innocent but familiar social gestures of communication , such as touching my hand or my arm ,had entered into the picture. His hand lingered on my shoulder, as he asked me what I wanted t drink. As he took it away, his thumb grazed the side of my breast . It probably didn't have any significance, but I noticed it. I tried not to show any reaction . I acted nonchalant and kept a stead eye contact.

He touched my knee briefly, as a conversational gesture. I told myself that it was done just for conversational effect. It is practically a form of punctuation. After all, we were Italians!

When his hand was blatantly resting on my leg, I should have politely brushed it away, but I just sat there and enjoyed the contact. It felt warm and familiar.

This was the time for me to say "Hey, Keep 'em up here where I can see 'em!" I was ignoring the voice in my head of 'Mother Superior" saying " Stop that! Push that hand away! !"

It felt too good. Feeling good was something in very short supply. Spending time with him was insanely intriguing.
It was innocent on the surface, yet there was a palpable undercurrent.

With each passing week, as the first drink entered our systems, we increasingly became the objects of the other's desire. Inhibitions were lowered and the sedate touching, the hugs, the goodbye kisses and the flirtatiousness became the norm.
By September it was anything but sedate. I remember the night when his hand slid up from my knee to the top of my thigh with an unmistakably sexual innuendo. In a horrendous breach of bar stool etiquette , I did nothing to discourage that. Nor did I do anything to prevent his fingers from moving a few inches from the top of my thigh, down to my inner thigh, and remaining RIGHT there..

It was electrifying.

.

I had absolutely no self consciousness.
It was as if we had been together many times, and as if he knew my body very well. I just smiled, and peered at him over the top of my fluted wine glass,as if we had known each other forever, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do. BECAUSE IT WAS.

We said goodbye that evening and instead of the usual polite goodbye kiss on the cheek, he kissed me on the mouth. One second...two seconds...three. OH MY GOD! I had no intentions of breaking away. .

four...five...six seconds.

"Reality check!!", I thought to myself, ..."Romance and sexual supplicance thrives on fantasy � even ignorance, but that's not sustainable in the long run .Especially not in THIS case. I HAVE TO REMEMBER THAT. I may be reading too much into this. Maybe it is just a kiss. But there seems to be something undeniable between us, and we would both be smart to stop it in it's tracks"

INTENSIVE CARE

I walked to the hospital with a smile , thinking about that kiss. I hadn't been kissed like that in practically a decade. I wish I had a Blackberry so I could check the weather channel and see if, in fact, HELL HAD FROZEN OVER!! I had gotten an infusion of good feelings from our evening together.

That was good. I was going to NEED them: When I got there , I experienced something few of us ever experience: My father was sitting alone, with his head down and his hands covering his face,in the hallway of the hospital. He was sobbing. Our roles were reversed. I saw a man that had always been powerful and in control, now emotionally shattered. I was the caretaker. I held him like a child .I heard a calm assuring steady voice that was mine, but it came from some powerful abstract place. I heard my own voice, as if it were being spoken by someone else, with more assurance and control than I knew I had.

I told him that it was all going to be OK. I told him that people DO come out of comas but it takes a long time.

I told him what a great father he had always been to my brother and how he had done every thing any man ever could have possibly done to provide comfort and love, and that he would never have any regrets. I told him that we have no control over this, and we can't take away someone else's pain, but my brother always knew that his dad was there for him and knows it NOW, and appreciated it. I told him that he had made his son's difficult life much much better. Even in a coma, he knew that he was being cared for right now, just from our being there.

Then I said to my dad, "Come on , let's go back in. We're strong. We're tough. You are going to put on a strong front even if you don't feel it. He needs us. Let's GO."

The power it took to provide the 'emotional rescue' was immeasurable . I've thought of this many times afterward and it always brings tears to my eyes.

My Business Appointment

He was the catalyst that amplified my strength when I needed it the most. I was so grateful to have him as my friend at a time like this. There were a lot of people that I had known for a lot longer, but he was the one I was most comforted by.

It sounds a little crazy, but it makes me almost believe that sometimes in life we have a " guardian angel" that takes the form of a dear friend. Rather than taking the form of winged fat cherubs in the clouds, that I had ceased to believe in about 40 years ago, this one was in the form of a wonderful man with blue eyes , a white dress shirt, who has infinite kindness, (and wandering hands!), who left a positive imprint on me that was still felt, hours later in the hospital hallway.

That night I awoke from a unabashed uninhibited scandellous erotic dream about him. It was so real and startlingly graphic that it was orgasm- generating. I had never had an erotic dream, so powerful that it woke me up from a dead sleep. I couldn't forget the image. It gave new form and substance to the vaporous sexual attraction I had for him. It was now more than just an abstraction.

Week by week, it had become a full-blown narcotic rush of excitement every time I was going to see him.
I was never intending to become lost in erotic reverie at the very thought of him. I never wanted to become a besotted fool, acting like a teenager with a crush on the gym teacher, longing for the next time.

I could logically list all my concerns about the insanity of having a relationship with him.

I could tell myself all the reasons why this was not a good idea.

I could minimize it, saying that I was just having fun with him, in an attempt to get through a traumatic experience. I could assure myself that I could pull back at any time, and I would not let it go any further.

I "COULD HAVE" told myself those things...But I didn't.

Every time I saw him, and heard his voice and felt his hands and his mouth, I was transmorphosed to a place where IT WAS ALL OK. Every logical concern and all the reasons why I shouldn't do this just fell away. All that was left was the most beautiful man in the world.

..to be continued... Go to

http://msboston.diaryland.com/090225_59.html

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