After five months of being ill, and two surgeries, I am on the other side. I am recovering. I am healing. I am building up my strength. I am a MAGIC HEALING PERSON.
Or so one of my surgeons tells me. (I like him.)
There were times of abject misery and near-total despair – moments of true darkness, especially when Kaylah left us in the middle of it all. There were tears. Fists were shaken at the sky and WHY-MEs were hollered.
I tried to be grateful.
Really, I did. I noted that if I had been sick this way in Game of Thrones (our short hand for living in the middle ages), I’d probably be dead – but only after a hideous festering decline. The middle ages were not known for delicate illnesses.
What got me through is simple: love. Love saved me.
Oh, sure, modern medicine did its part. There were x-rays and CT scans, and multiple rounds of antibiotics. There were surgeries, irrigation, and stitches, narcotics, sterile gauze, and anti-nausea meds.
Ed was there through it all.
He was patient and kind, full of empathy and compassion. He never rushed me. He encouraged me constantly. He knew I was afraid and he didn’t try to fix it. He held my hand. He caught my tears.
Until – finally – I turned the corner. I started to get better. I began to heal. And together we celebrated. By going to the ocean – the most healing place I know.
Love is not consolation. It is light.
Ed lights up my every day. He is my love. And his love has saved me, more than once.