Wednesday, June 15, 2016


I gave myself a bit of a wake-up call yesterday--along with a 911 call.  I was at work, in our back office; it was crowded at the moment, also being the "conference room" where all the doctors come to talk to each other (usually about politics or such and nothing patient-related).  I suddenly started feeling really light-headed, I thought I would pass out or worse.  I was hanging on to the desk with my head down; and I sort of remember thinking that there were five medical doctors right there in front of me, and I was going to fall over and die without any of them noticing.  One of them did notice, though; I think he asked me if I was okay and I answered 'I don't know.'

That doctor, the neurologist, takes my pulse, tells the psychiatrist to call 911, and the next thing I know, they are all in "MD mode" and whisking me off to one of the exam rooms to make me lie down.  (This is all during the busy time of the day, mind you, and I am hearing myself protesting that I need to go back to my desk and keep working.)  EMTs came and checked me out, and my pulse was back down to normal by then.  I took a half an hour or so to eat lunch and get myself settled, but ended up staying at work (despite recommendations that I do otherwise).  In all likelihood, I managed to give myself another panic attack (the second one of my life).

I think I've just been pushing myself too hard, and looking too far forward, and I forgot to stay grounded at all.  I fixated on that idea of "this can't be my life" and instead of just living my way through it to see where it will go, I think I was getting frustrated and discontent and wanting things to happen right now, and not giving myself credit for being as strong and resilient as anyone should expect for someone in the early stages of grief.
I'm standing in the middle of the wreckage of our life together--of my life--and instead of taking the time I need to pick up and sort all the little pieces to see what I might have left, I'm letting myself get disappointed in myself that I don't have a skyscraper standing here by now.  Joanne did always tell me I was too hard on myself.

In the Greek myth that everyone knows, Daedalus warns Icarus not to fly too close to the sun, or else his wings will melt and he will fall into the sea.  (Icarus was, apparently, roughly as sensible as I've been being, and plunged to his doom anyway.)  So I think I need to just let things go for now, and focus on the day-to-day that's in front of me.  Take care of the things that are in front of me now--the last of the estate administration stuff, and also the normal things that I haven't been keeping up with, like dishes, cooking, laundry, yard work.

In the details of the myth that not as many people know, what Daedalus actually told Icarus was that he had to fly at a moderate height--if he flew too high, the wings would melt and get ruined, but if he flew too low, the wings would get wet from the seaspray and get ruined, and the only way to make it across was to fly in the middle of the two extremes.  But I think for me right now, if I can make myself keep going forward, and keep up on the day-to-day obligations, and start working my way back into my Kitchen, that will be flying high enough.  Once that stuff starts to feel simple again, then that can be the time to go a little higher and look a little further forward.

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