laughing through the tears 3

wildhair

December 24, 2006

 

Christmas eve.  In another dimension – one without viral diseases of the liver, we would be on the plane still, Europe bound, probably giggling over our good fortune and giddy about our love.  As it is, we are still giggling quite a bit, with Wei’s co-patients in room 22-26, albeit it is not quite all hunky dory, because the 5-10% chance that his acute hepatitis B may turn chronic is still there, a latent threat to our unfettered happiness for the next 60 years or so.  Wei’s face had darkened for a second yesterday, when he said “I never come out on top in draws”.  I’m equally notorious when it comes to chancing things, but surely – with his robust (seeming) health, he can beat the virus and come out relatively unscathed except for a renewed determination to lead a healthy lifestyle? 

 

But what if – the blood test results tomorrow show no recovery?  Still those dangerously high transaminase levels (1,900)?  Would I still smile the same love the same live the same – when he can’t drink can’t play vigorous sport can’t walk for too long can’t stay out late can’t eat spicy foods?  It would be testing of our love.

 

Last night had been terrible for sleep – woke three times, dreamt vividly – being shot at and having someone’s brains splattered on my face, -- that led to an hour’s insomnia where the chief thought was about drawing a timeline of Wei’s infection, then encountering Bush senior lying on a stretcher in a lavatory who accused me of being a CIA spy, frenetically searching for a place that sold seafood hor fun for my grandmother and teaching mother how to use the Venere website to book hotels, rounded off an uneasy night listening to bumping sounds next door and upstairs—blood rushing in my ears.

 

Even when someone knocked at the door at 11 o’clock this morning, I jumped in horror and grabbed the phone, fingers poised on the 110 police emergency number.  He went away.

 

December 25, 2006

 

Jingle Bells.  Hell’s Bells.  Stuffed ridged potato chips (the chicken flavour was lame but I couldn’t find anything remotely exciting like salt ‘n vinegar) into my mouth after a fight with Wei – one that was silent and took place in my head, that ended with me crying and going out into the street with a pocket full of change.  I promised to buy a carton of yoghurt for Wei.  Then I saw the chips – which I had been hankering for for weeks.

 

It’s not easy being me right now – because I am a caretaker.  My existence and satisfaction are rooted in Wei’s recovery.  If it’s good for his liver, I’ll buy it, plan it, cook it, and eat a little of it too (saving most for him) because I can’t exactly cook two versions.  Although the compliments by his co-patients and that improvement on the blood test do compensate somewhat my efforts.

 

One more day to go, this Christmas.  We would have been in Milan today – seeing castles and museums and closed shops and perhaps eating Chinese because all the Italian eateries are shut. 

 

Meanwhile, we need to continue Wei’s treatment until he’s safe enough to be let out.

 

December 26, 2006

 

Sleep is quite an undertaking, now that I don’t have Wei’s arms around me and my legs between his. 

 

But we’ll live.  During the day I feel a great sense of purposefulness.  The meal planning starts with – gathering a hoard of fresh food from the market, arms at breaking point but face aglow with anticipation.  If love had a weight, it would be that of my hefty bags -- eggplants, beef, live prawns, Chinese broccoli, bananas and oranges.  If love had a velocity, it would be the speed of my frantic shelling of prawns after they’ve been blanched, hands red from the considerable heat.  If love had a flavour, it would be the careful seasoning of each dish – leaving out anything that might be harsh on his poor embattled liver. 

 

The love-in at room 22-26 continues.  Even when the doctors said a single room was now available, we said “no thanks”.  Intravenous injections are much more fun (or rather, less painful) when you joke about racing your room mates to the empty line.  The other two geezers have both copied Wei’s eating habits to recover faster – yoghurt, bananas.  I am hungry from not touching, holding Wei as much as I used to, so I sneak kisses and hugs when no one is looking.

 

December 27, 2006

 

The purposefulness of my hospital visits are more than offset by the purposelessness I feel at work.  During brownout week we only have one hour of programming—even that excludes my efforts.  So I diddle and fiddle, cleaned up my desk – marginally.  Tossed a pile of paper, filed some paper, rearranged some paper.