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By Linda Nidiffer
Before I tackle the nonsensical question issue I would like to sing the praises of the Merriwether Volunteer Firefighters and the Edgefield Ambulance service. Yes, darn it, I had to revisit my love hate relationship with 911 because Tom was acting up again. This time he decided to have a temperature of 102.6 and was muttering gibberish—more so than usual which landed us in the E.R. and ICU once again. This time it was a couple of infections that they had a little fun getting under control, but they got it under control in time for him to have his endoscopy which showed improvement. So good news on that front, but a massive scare nonetheless.
Did your parental units ever say this to you, “You want to cry? C’mere I’ll give you something to cry about!” I know that I am not the only one who heard that refrain, but I am wondering if that is a regional song of repression of emotions. Is it a Midwestern thing? Or is it a parental thing? My mother sang this tune with a wooden spoon in her hand so even though the question made no sense logically; we knew what she was saying. Unfortunately, even though I promised myself that I would never ask my kids the question, I did. Sadly so did my daughter.
While Tom has been incarcerated in the hospital off and on these past few months I have been hard pressed to keep my emotions controlled. He hates it when I cry. My mother’s refrain of repression is still singing in my brain. And God help anyone who cries in public—ever—not even at a funeral! I will admit that I have had moments of weakness and have shed a few tears, but I have tried to hide them. He has caught me a time or two and I have told him that I am allowed a “moment of weakness”. That usually shuts both of us up.
But this past weekend I became broken. I started to cry and I couldn’t stop. I am not talking pretty crying either. I am talking about thank God I don’t wear make-up crying. So, I am wailing and sobbing in the bathroom of Tom’s room when a doctor comes into the room. He is a doctor on the team that I have been trying to see for two days. Tom finally gets my attention and when I come out shuddering with unshed tears, the genius observant doctor asks if I am alright! Now I ask you gentle reader, is that a nonsensical question or not?
Usually I would deflect and say, “Just a moment of weakness, I’ll be okay in a moment.” But this time, I said, “Do I appear to be okay? I am having a nervous breakdown. I don’t know if I will ever be okay again.” That was my opening salvo. I really wanted to be diplomatic because we have to deal with this medical group for quite some time, but I was broken. Their dispassionate treatment turned me into a sobbing, heaving wreck. I am still crying. I am still broken maybe I can fix myself and maybe I can’t. I can guarantee a scar on my soul. What we have now is medical services not health care because someone stole the caring. Now that is something to cry about.