Refined
Friday, July 3, 2009 The days are long and the years are short.
— from "Long Days" at Isa, Leukemia, Life
I have been thinking lately about how our life was at this time in 2007. The Palinode had a severely herniated disk between his L4 and L5, was relying on Dilaudid just to roll out of bed in the morning, and stood bent at a right angle, his upper body perpendicular to the ground, when he walked. He leaned heavily on a cheap cane we picked up at a drug store.
A few months earlier, I had been diagnosed with cervical cancer, and I had a total laparoscopic hysterectomy on July 3rd. I can't be certain, but I'm sure they used a MixMaster in there, because I spent weeks and weeks in pain that double-dosing ibuprofen and codeine could barely touch.
Our bed was moved into the living room so that we could both walk a straight line to the bathroom and take in the summer sun through the bay window. I regularly joked that we lived like we were 85 but secretly found our state of affairs pathetic and unreasonable.
The memory that keeps coming back to me is of me standing in the kitchen and reaching for a glass in the cupboard. The Palinode was thirsty but too bent to be able to reach it for himself, despite their being kept on the first shelf. I stood there for several minutes, shielding my tears from his line of vision with a cupboard door.
I hated that he could not reach the cups. I hated that it hurt me to get one for him. I hated seeing the pained grimace that had become a more and more permanent fixture on his face. I hated that the visibility of his injury meant that it was the only thing anybody every talked to me about anymore when they weren't asking about my cancer. I wanted to be able to make the Palinode straight and strong again. I wanted to be able to take a crap without screaming for Jesus. I wanted to smooth the furrows from his brow and be able to hold him without making him wince. I wanted the first things I reached for in my bedside table not to be surgical tape and morphine derivatives.
I look at us now two years later, and I am amazed at how things have changed. I knew then that our respective conditions were not permanent and that we would once again live like the thirty-somethings we really were, but too often the small things overwhelmed me: the glasses of water, the prescriptions to fill, the boredom of long hours when I lacked the concentration to read but was unable to sleep. Part of me felt like we would hang in that tedious and agonizing stasis forever, that we had already been there forever. In my weaker moments, I believed we were marked for tragedy.
And now we are here. We are cancer free and standing tall. One year after we had been fixed up by several doctors and teams of nurses, I think we were still in recovery from those many months we lived as mock 85-year-olds, but now that we are reaching our series of two-year anniversaries marking our recoveries, I realize how lucky I am to have found such a person with which to live this life.
When life pretty much dragged us out back and took its brass knuckles to us, we took care of each other. We didn't fight when the strain of pain and loss lapped us around the apartment. We were as gentle as we could manage through all our concerns. I look back and think What if we'd lost one of us?, and I look in his eyes now and know how much of a gift we've been given to still be here together. There is a softness around his edges when he looks at me, a knowing about me, and I can only hope my own face lays bare the same.
Two years ago today, I lost my uterus to some cells gone wrong. Today, as the past telescopes away into infinity, I am finally able to see how free from disabilizing pain, how alive we are. I may have lost a major organ, but I am whole, and he may have a leg still recovering sensation with each new bit of nerve regrowth, but he is whole.
There should be a name for this, some word for the pairs of us that manage to come through the fire refined, because I am beginning to think that the legacy of those two years is no longer a roving sadness and an isolation of spirit. There has been a quiet refinement, the bittersweet gift of trials by fire, and we are whole.
Reader Comments (35)
I am awestruck at that picture. It shows everything you just talked about. You are so, so loved, S.
I love this post. This is the stuff I want to read about. Life. The good too, you know, but yeah the shits, too.
I had pre-cancer and a cryogenic surgery. I have endometriosis and have had three laproscopic surgeries. I have had adhesions sticking from my uterus to my spine. Hypothyroidism. I remember exactly that feeling, that feeling of being so OLD. And being free of those things is a fucking miracle. I think every day how so many people suffer with chronic things that they don't escape or can't wait out or fix. We are the lucky ones.
And the part about tenderness during the storm? I have that too, and it's something I am so grateful for as well. Your husband has the sweetest eyes.
I wish I had the word for that also. I've had that luck in a different form. Everything I want to say is really corny. There's a lot of it but I will confine it to this: That's what marriage is (whether people have the papers or not). That can be one of the most amazing things about marriage. Friendships sometimes have that also. I think it is incredible that you both came through something--you could have been alone but you weren't. There's so much to celebrate about that. It's one of the greatest gifts.
I wish I had a less goofy way to say this. I think what you are talking about-the survival and the aftermath and the gratitude and the love--its so hard to know how to explain but this is a great post.
It's difficult to recall physical pain; what we recall are the contortions we made to accommodate the pain - and the emotions. I'm so glad that your portraits of horror ease into such great beauty. The journey you've made is breath-taking and so very incredible. I'm so grateful that you & the Palinode had each other through this. It strikes me as a collaboration in accomplishment. In utmost love. Refined indeed - this post seems the very definition of 'better'. xx
I nominate this post for Five Star Friday. I insist. If not this week's then next week's. And if it does not appear, I will stage billboard campaigns in front of your apartment (well, a random apartment since I only sort of generally know where you live).
I wish gratitude could be eaten, smelled, touched, washed with our socks and dried on the line without fear of bird shit. This post is as close as it gets to making thankfulness something tangible. A great read.
Thanks for quoting me.
Fantastic post and hopefully no technical mishaps.
The comparison to 85 yo connects you to a generation of people who moved into retirement homes together. Who had seen loss from war,disease and old age. Looks like you two will be there in 40 or 50 years too.
beautiful.
Yeah. What they said! You and your relationship has been through the crucible. How gratifying to find that you are stronger, finer than your circumstances. Ah, love, persistent love.
You.are.awesome.
It's "marriage" - your love has triumphed through adversity and you've put a lump in my throat.
What an amazing story, and post.
That was wonderful. Except I don't know about the part about Palinode standing TALL and that was a bad joke for such a sweet post. I'll be wondering about that word for coming through the fire refined.
That was a very romantic bit of writing. Congratulations for coming out on the other side of your misfortunes even closer to eachother than you were before them.
Thank you...so much. I hope someday I can find something like you have.
the beauty and grace of this brought tears rolling down my face. I, too, hope to someday in this lifetime, get to experience a relationship like you have.
love and light to you both.
Oh Schmutzie... whenever I stop by and read your blog md you write these kinds of posts, I get so very excited that the Internets let me get to know you, even in a cybernetic way.
Go, you.
... that "md" should read "and"-- soz.
Wonderful writing about an amazing relationship. Wow.
i heart you both.
You guys are wonderful together
Coming through the fire refined and strengthened is the tempering. Bet at the time, you had wished you could have seen the outcome. It's a testament to your spirits that you kept on keeping on.
Wow, Schmutz. This post is lovely, so lovely I welled up a little bit. I'm not a weller.
Well, okay, I'm a weller, but not a regular weller.
Let's face it. I'm a regular weller, but this post is extraordinary.
Thanks for reminding me that these awful times can be temporary.
My guy is about to undergo surgery to fuse his discs at L4, L5 and S1 in two weeks.
The pain on his face everyday just about breaks my heart. I hope I give him a small measure of the comfort he gave me when my parents and nephew were sick and dying during that wretched 4 year patch.
Your post so completely resonated with me and is why I visit so much.
Thanks
His eyes tell it all.. It's amazing, really.
Beautiful. Words, photo, both of you.
This is so lovely. What marriage is all about. Partners through thick and thin, growth, strength.
Just lovely!
This is a lovely piece of gratitude. Thank you for sharing this, and I wish you a lifetime of health!
I love this post and that is a wonderful, telling shot of P.! Pain is usually the great corroder and it say something about both of you that it has melded you together!
seeing you guys (and meeting you both for the first time) together in vegas, I would never in a million years guess that there had ever been anything physically wrong with either of you. but I could tell that you cared for each other in a way that had been proven and that would never allow anything to hurt either of you again. yinz are awesome. *hugs*
I'm thinking refined is a pretty fine word for you both.
you are killing me, a most excellent post.
a psychic/reader once told me that couples that go through traumas and rise above them are soul mates.
I randomly came across this today, on a day where I am also reflective of the times in life when I have felt so...OLD!..because of health issues. Today is also a day where I am insanely grateful for the man in my life. A new relationship, but one that already feels like refined love. You two went through a pheonix stage. Rose from the ashes and came out refined. Forged, as it were. It is lovely to me to read this more than a year after you wrote it. Your words are timeless.
Best wishes :)
This is a really great story. I am very inspired. Thanks for this!