Holiday Reflections

Grief has a way with attacking and retreating that has caused me to reconsider the benefits of long-term antidepressant and anxiety medication.

I have been feeling better lately, except that underneath absolutely everything I feel lies a low-grade fever, comprised entirely of depression and anxiety. My running temperature shows me how some people who have experienced the loss of a spouse have trouble getting out of bed every morning. I have always been very strong-willed. I exist to defend myself against the sadness and anger that have become a large part of my inner persona. Something within me knows and has always known that the only choice for me is to persist upon picking myself up and marching forward. From the moment the gunshot sounded, I have been off and running.

These days of anniversaries, have me feeling as though my body and mind are slowing, slowing, slowing and grief is right on my heels just waiting for me to trip over some unforeseen obstacle along the track. Each anniversary day is a hurdle. I have jumped over the Thanksgiving and “Chris’ birthday” hurdles with some success although my shins have collected bruises, reminding me of how easily grief can attack and take me down. I didn’t fall, though...well, I actually did fall, but I got back up without losing too much ground.

The Christmas season is approaching and with it comes memories of oncological waiting rooms teaming with IV drips and Christmas carols, cookies and stories from other hapless patrons of anti-nausea drugs and chemo-induced pseudo-comas. I am reminded of Christmas wishes I thought I would never have. “I would love a new Tivo!” became “I would love to wake up and discover I have been dreaming.” and “I would love for my husband’s life to be spared for Christmas, this year.“ I experienced hopeless wishes in the face of anticipated disaster intertwined with nurses wearing santa hats and Saturdays spent feeling as though the Neulasta shot had been administered straight into my heart, instead of the back of my husband’s arm. He hated those shots and the barely tolerable pain they brought.

I feel very much like David Banner, constantly searching for the antidote that could eventually stop the demons and end the transformation into the monster that freely takes over his being.