Sunday, February 08, 2004
Sincerely, Yours.
Watching a friend, well, rebound from her sadness (there is no other word that conveys the meaning better) I felt a touch of envy. I wish I could live like that. What makes me different, I wondered. Is it because I'm male - and when we hurt we isolate ourselves; no females cluster around us to give aid, a shoulder to cry on... and possibly a brief romantic interlude to distract us from reality? (Spoiler to females : that guy giving you his shoulder to cry on - do you really think he's just doing it because he has nothing better to do and he's so nice? If you do, well... that's nice then.) When we hurt - we hurt alone? Or is it because of the choices I make, the paths I tread. The memories I want to hold sacred, and life I am tired of bespoiling. The fatigue I have, at all that is demeaning to Me.
I write about Her often, about You. But this friend thought, yesterday that the reason people read my blog(s) is because through them I write about Me. That these pages are personal. Are they? I don't know. Personal, to me, would be a telephone call. Or standing at a random bookshop leafing through generic shiny ?woman's magazines, waiting.
Personal, to me :
red call, 60 year old male at indian restaurant, long wait for dinner, agitation and sudden collapse.
GCS 3/15 on arrival. A, B, C clear, iv access stat, bloods, ABG, ECG ? normal, repeat ! normal, involve the medical reg and the anaesthetics reg. PERLA, Plantars bilatarally downgoing, Chest X ray, and then close monitoring and agonised moments ticking away waiting for the bloods to come back. Checking for an AAA as an afterthought because of a paranoid worry about the b/p creeping down slowly. A fluctuating GCS with a brief 2 min return to lucidity - GCS 14/15 -- then he sinks back to 3/15.
And feeling devastated as the family comes in (GCS 3/15), cries all over the patient and leaves. And feeling puzzled when the CT comes back... absolutely normal. By which time he's intubated, ventilated and waiting for an ITU bed.
I know he's had a stroke. I know it.
That's personal.
To me.
Now.
I miss those phonecalls, sometimes.
Sometimes, I miss You.
But in the here and now, this is personal. This is Me.
Watching a friend, well, rebound from her sadness (there is no other word that conveys the meaning better) I felt a touch of envy. I wish I could live like that. What makes me different, I wondered. Is it because I'm male - and when we hurt we isolate ourselves; no females cluster around us to give aid, a shoulder to cry on... and possibly a brief romantic interlude to distract us from reality? (Spoiler to females : that guy giving you his shoulder to cry on - do you really think he's just doing it because he has nothing better to do and he's so nice? If you do, well... that's nice then.) When we hurt - we hurt alone? Or is it because of the choices I make, the paths I tread. The memories I want to hold sacred, and life I am tired of bespoiling. The fatigue I have, at all that is demeaning to Me.
I write about Her often, about You. But this friend thought, yesterday that the reason people read my blog(s) is because through them I write about Me. That these pages are personal. Are they? I don't know. Personal, to me, would be a telephone call. Or standing at a random bookshop leafing through generic shiny ?woman's magazines, waiting.
Personal, to me :
red call, 60 year old male at indian restaurant, long wait for dinner, agitation and sudden collapse.
GCS 3/15 on arrival. A, B, C clear, iv access stat, bloods, ABG, ECG ? normal, repeat ! normal, involve the medical reg and the anaesthetics reg. PERLA, Plantars bilatarally downgoing, Chest X ray, and then close monitoring and agonised moments ticking away waiting for the bloods to come back. Checking for an AAA as an afterthought because of a paranoid worry about the b/p creeping down slowly. A fluctuating GCS with a brief 2 min return to lucidity - GCS 14/15 -- then he sinks back to 3/15.
And feeling devastated as the family comes in (GCS 3/15), cries all over the patient and leaves. And feeling puzzled when the CT comes back... absolutely normal. By which time he's intubated, ventilated and waiting for an ITU bed.
I know he's had a stroke. I know it.
That's personal.
To me.
Now.
I miss those phonecalls, sometimes.
Sometimes, I miss You.
But in the here and now, this is personal. This is Me.
