One week. Barring a positive COVID test, that’s how long I have until I get to return to my bachelor’s life. It’s incredible. At the six weeks to go mark, I was despairing of ever living alone again. Then, I realized it was only five weeks and suddenly felt freer. I don’t know why as it’s only one week less, but five weeks felt doable whereas six weeks seemed insurmountable. Now, it’s one week, and if history is any indication, this is going to be the hardest week to get through.
I don’t know why, but the last part of doing something is always the hardest. I mean, I have my theories, of course. It’s because the finish line is in sight, but out of reach. It’s right there! I can see it so why can’t I be there already? A week is nothing in the grand scheme of things. On the other hand, a week is how long I was lying in a hospital bed unconscious. It’s enough to change my life–and to not change it at the same time. Everything is the same and yet completely different because of that week. Or rather, because of the events that led up to that week. Me having pneumonia, calling 911, passing out in the front hallway, and then suffering two cardiac arrests and a stroke on the way to the hospital. That all took half an hour or so to occur, which is such a short period of time.
When I first left the hospital, my recent trauma was all I could think about. Even when I wasn’t focusing on it, it was poking at me in the back of my mind. Why it happened , what exactly happened, was it going to happen again, etc. I talked about it with my medical team and with friends and family. I wanted to know everything that happened while I was out. My brother was good for the basic information as he started a Caring Bridge journal in which he wrote daily of what happened to me. He noted all the things the docs told him and directed everyone to the journal when they had questions about me. He said it allowed him to have a nexus for people to consult rather than to pester him in several outlets. In addition, it helped him order his own thoughts about what was happening and keep everything straight. He’s not one to emote, but I know it was really rough on him. He was my default contact person because I’m not partnered, have no kids, and my parents live in Taiwan. He’s the closest person to me, both geographically and familial-wise. He was the one who made decisions as to what happened to me, which is a burden I would not wish upon anyone.
It’s hard to remember how I felt when I woke up after a week of being unconscious now that two months have passed. When did I stop thinking about it every day? I’m no longer sure. I do know that at the six weeks home mark, I was more concerned about the family dynamics than I was about my own health scare. The former was having a way more negative effect on me than the latter. It was partly because I came back to life in pretty good shape, but it was more because family dysfunction doesn’t vanish when you go through a life-changing event. Well, it can, I suppose, but it didn’t. In this case, my trauma just underscored the family dysfunction in a way that made it impossible for me to ignore.
I like living on my own. Before I ended up in the hospital, there was a Krupa stream (from RKG) in which I said I liked living on my own because I could eat cereal at three in the morning if I wanted. This started a beautiful discussion about the worthiness of living the single life that brought tears to my eyes. Several people commented on how heartwarming and uplifting the discussion was, and I was proud to have started it.
Since coming out of the hospital, I’ve been laxer about the pandemic because of a perspective change. COVID-19 isn’t going anywhere–it’s endemic rather than a pandemic now. I’m getting my booster soon and then I’ll be fully vaxxed. I’m already moving out and about in the world more than I did in the past year-and-a-half. I went to Thanksgiving lunch with my brother’s family (wife and two sons) plus his MIL and SIL. We are all at least doubly-vaxxed and we were all wearing our masks whenever we weren’t eating. Which was a relief.
I’m planning on still being careful, obviously, but I can’t put my life on hold indefinitely. It’s an ongoing fight with my parents. Not a fight, really, but a hot debate. I’m of the mindset that I can’t prevent what happened to me from occurring again (though it is highly doubtful it will) because it was such a random thing. And, conversely, I’ll be on the alert for pneumonia again. But these are my bonus days and I’m going to enjoy them to the fullest. I’ve spent too many years being fearful and would prefer not to return to that mindset again.
My father lives in a fantasy world. The reason I’m mentioning it is because it spills over into how he acts towards those around him. For example, me. He’s said more than once that my mother should return here after flying him back to Taiwan in order to take care of me. Which, I mean, this is laughable on so many levels. His health has been declining for years and is at the nadir currently. He cannot live without my mother doing everything for him. He says he’ll just die, which is even more infuriating. Talk about your martyr complex! Plus, he knows there is no way my mother would allow this to happen so he can say it without consequence.
In addition, I have not needed help in at least a month. Yes, I needed my mother to do some of the things when I first got out of the hospital like help me shower and feed Shadow/change his litterbox. But I’ve taken back all the chores and have even added things like opening pill bottles for them and carrying heavy things to things I do. The only thing my mother does for me is cook (and I can do that for myself) and laundry (which, also, I can do). She spends 90% of her time taking care of my father/worrying about him and 9% of her time sleeping and doing what she needs to do. The other 1% is the amount of time she spends doing something for me.
So, all of this is pure fantasy. It allows my father to be the martyr without him actually having to do anything. He can spout this bullshit as much as he likes without it meaning anything. My mom thinks it shows his good intent whereas to me, it just shows how out of touch with reality he is (and always has been). If he really had good intent, he would offer up something that I would actually want or appreciate. But, no. That would mean he’d have to think of what that would be and be able to offer it. And, to be fair, he has nothing to offer me that I would actually want.
I want him to get better enough so that he can fly back to Taiwan. That’s selfish and cold of me, but I’m all out of fucks to give. The last two months have been rough on me, not because of my health incident, but because of the family dysfunction. It has shown me how little I actually mean to my parents–me as a person, I mean. Me the daughter? Yeah, they love her, whomever she might be. Me the person? They can’t love that person because they don’t know that person. They can’t fathom the world in which this person lives. That’s especially true of my father, but it’s also my mother to a certain extent.
I have been sad, frustrated, upset, and pissed off in equal parts for the last few months. I have also realized that a traumatic event can fracture a family as much as it can bring it together. I’ve had to bite my tongue over and over again–and I have not always been successful in doing so. Hopefully, in one week, I’ll be freer to be myself.