Monday, July 23. We're almost home. It's Monday morning, and I have Geronimo with me. I felt OK when we left the marina, I made sure I had something to eat, and all was well.
The cramp got me in Freeport. In traffic, in road construction. I drive blindly, by instinct, just wanting to get home. No place to pull off, no place to get help. Just keep driving, keep breathing. Keep from screaming. Just get home.
As we pass the State Police office, I dither. Should I pull over, ask them to call Dayton to come pick up Geronimo and have them call an ambulance to take me to the hospital? But no, I keep going, maybe it's getting better. Maybe it's starting to relax.
Maybe I'm just wishing.
I get home, and drag myself up the stairs. "Geronimo!" Dayton calls as the pup dances into his office. I walk into mine, drop my purse, and stand, drooping, defeated. Dayton looks my way. "Are you OK?" He helps me to bed, and I fall to the mattress, sobbing wildly. What do you do with such pain? I've gone downhill so quickly, I've lost 5 pounds in the past week, and I feel like an old lady.
Finally the pain ebbs, and I relax out from my fetal position. Dayton puts the pup in bed with me, and I pull up the covers. Biopsy tomorrow. It can't possibly be more painful than this. I sleep the rest of the afternoon. This is becoming a habit.
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1 comment:
You are braver and stronger than you think. Sharing your story as you go through this is a very brave thing. There are many prayers going up to heaven for you right now. We love you! Donna
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