I know we go back in time, we go back millennia, and to say we are eternal is to say our love is eternal; I know why she does not like me to talk about my pain because what I feel, she feels; I remember her four wisdom teeth extracted all at once–she told of how the young resident in dental surgery struggled and fought the gums, the teeth adhering when no amount of pressure would work, how the anesthesia began to wear off, how just hearing and the memory makes my stomach churn, how the resident would not give in, how he struggled even cutting a nerve to her face, finally after what seemed like hours, calling the experienced Professor, DDS, who popped them right out, and how maybe (I was a teacher) would give that resident a talking to and a poor grade. This young dentist was, after all, experienced, and never should have let such a thing go on so long. Oh, my stomach churns for her, and oh, I even now, feel her pain, I feel the enlarged cheeks, I feel the anguish in her inability to speak for several days. Oh, I cry for her, and 37 years after the fact, I feel her pain, and I have hurt so often, how she must have felt every cut, every stick of the needles, how she sat up to see if I was dying from my bleed, how she missed sleep only to go into work after three hours, and a shower, how she managed to pull off excellence in work while I was nearly dying, how she felt every stitch, how she nursed me back after being at work 9 hours, how she drove directly to the closest ER where I received IV fluid to stabilize my kidneys, how her eyes fell as she learned of the pacemaker, how she chastised me with every false alarm ride to the ER in the ambulence, and how finally there was hope in that my mood began to improve, and then the Ph.D. psychologists saying that I was gaining ground, and giving up the other Ph.D. therapist so I could focus on one, a vast improvement, and her shoulders finally after 7 years of fighting for my life, after feeling right along with me, “Don’t be so dramatic.” The struggles, for a while, must be over; only next time will it be her? and I will stand tall with her, and I will remain quiet for her, and I will not sleep until I know, and I will take care of my own medications, and I will watch the clock, and I will sit by her bedside for hour after lonely hour, and I will let relatives ignore me, and I will make countless phone calls, and I will wait for the next doctor, and I will not know what to say, or how to ask questions, and I will carry my iPhone charger so if I need to sleep in the chair beside her I can charge my phone, and I will constantly call anyone for help, and I will fight off fatigue and tears, and if it ends, and when it ends, I will feel tired, and I will try not to be so dramatic. For we go back millennia, and our Love is eternal.
With all Love, Chuck
