Happy (?) Anniversary

Exactly a year ago, exactly at 7:30AM, they wheeled my beloved away. He was already groggy from the first round of tranquilizers. We'd been up since 5AM, not wanting to miss our 7AM deadline for being the second operation of the day. We didn't sleep the night before, and stayed up watching that odd-looking ex-model and her reality show of running a modeling agency. I can't even remember her name, but can still see her face and hear her voice. They shaved his stomach (and other places), gave him more drugs, cut him open, removed his prostate and 8 lymph nodes in his abdomen.

I went back up to my room when he left me, and watched "An Inconvenient Truth." Contemplating global destruction made me feel better, somehow. Anything other than thinking about him lying there on that table, the mask over his face, the monitors beeping. Was it quiet in there, or was it loud? What was the doctor thinking? Was he thinking about the beautiful fall day outside? I took a nap, then headed over to the mall across the street at noon and stood in line at the Chinese fast food. A nice-looking man started talking to me. He was an Israeli doctor working here at Mayo, and he asked me to join him and his associate for lunch, but I smiled and said no. It might've been nice to talk about his work and his friend's work, and their wives, to ask them if they hunt, but instead I sat by myself and looked out over the sea of plants and put my head in my hands and started crying. That's something that's new for me - feeling free to cry in public. I've always been able to laugh in public, but always felt self-conscious crying in public. But not anymore. I'll cry anywhere, and it's a really good thing. My cell phone rang, and the nurse called to let me know they'd taken him in for his operation - it was 12:30.

I don't remember what I did after lunch, probably wandered around the mall, smelling candles and touching fabrics on expensive jackets. I thought about buying something to remember this time, then I realized that I didn't WANT to remember this time. I wanted it to be finished, a blip on our shared history, a vague murmuring if we remembered it at all. Yet here Steve and I sit this moment, he on the couch, wrapped in one of the many fuzzy blankets I bought when Mom almost died, his coffee cup leaning against his right cheek. He's looking at me, smiling, asking me if I'm writing about how incredibly handsome he is, so I answer, "Yes, I am," in my talking-to-a-puppy voice, and I think how incredibly fortunate I am to be married to this man, and how grateful I am that he is alive, and healthy, and here with me right now.

Sure, the operation went seamlessly perfect. Dr. Meyers is one of the best in the world. He froze when I hugged him, thanking him for taking good care of my boy. But that next night was a nightmare. They kicked us out less than 24 hours after the operation, and we had to stay in the hotel one more night. We couldn't have driven home the 300 miles. I only remember pushing him in the wheelchair with his bags on the handles, all the way to the hotel. I remember walking the 4 blocks to get the car, then loading it up. I'd forgotten how much I relied on him to be my equal partner, but now I was the main one, I was it all. We got home just as school let out. I had to stop Bill at the doors to tell him Daddy was home, but he'd had an operation and was very tired. We decided not to tell Bill everything because we didn't want to scare him. Now he's scared of anyone getting an operation, because he just KNEW this was something big. We'll tell him later. So I nursed my husband, stayed with him that whole week, adjusted his foot pillow, got him another blanket. I was tired, but I know he was more tired. And this is what you do - you take care of each other.

Yesterday he walked up to me and said, "You need a hug." Okay, I said, opening my arms. "I need a hug," he said, and I stepped back and looked at him. "It's been exactly a year since we were at Mayo," he said, and I started crying. My body had known, even if I hadn't. I love that man, my husband, my second self, and he's here with me on this rocky road of life, and I'm grateful, I'm so grateful, because life is fragile, and can change in an eye blink, it really can, but he's here now, and I'm here, and all is well.