Funny thing about my blogging pals. Most post a lot and my E mail is full of notifications. Occasionally I’ll sign into my E mail and, zounds, no one has posted. Can this be? Has the world as I know it ended? What is strange is that a lot of posts and no posts usually happen at the same time. Eerie music here.

A friend I made down here, a lovely woman named Nadine, is weathering the aftermath of her husband’s six-way bypass surgery. She has been so good in keeping me informed by E mail. The doctor operated a week ago at 5 a.m. and finished at 12:30 midday. That is one helluva surgery. Mickey is now stable – she was told “things went well”. Recovery is always iffy and he is 83. So I have offered my services for anything she might need, but haven’t been called on. Many times people are reluctant to ask.

I am particularly sensitive to her situation because I cared for my husband, Jay, through surgeries, procedures, respirators, hospitalizations, home care with nurses, and the like in the last few years of his life. I lived in the hospital for a while, once for 9 months. Then suddenly it was over. And although I knew it would be eventually, I was devastated.

The aftermath, for me, was also difficult because I had no relations nearby (and my sis, anyway, is a flake). The home-care nurses (RNs and LPNs) who shared the weekly shifts had been my support group. Then they were gone, the loft was empty. It made a hollow sound when I walked through it. The piano was at the far end near Second Avenue and I was reluctant to go that far to play because it was lonely. Jay and I had joked when we moved in, in 1959, that we’d have to get walkie-talkies to communicate. So I stayed in the part where Jay’s hospital bed had been and where the kitchen was. A small comfort.

I tried socializing with people from an Alzheimers support group, but they wanted to move on with their lives and not be reminded.

My office friends were sweet and kind but had their own lives. There is a limit to how much angst non-family (and family if it comes to that) can absorb. After a very short while, they think you “should be over it.” I’m still not over it and it has been 15 years. Oh, I get on with my life but I don’t forget. Grief support groups weren’t meeting because it was summer time and “all the widows were out of town visiting children and grandchildren.” I was reminded of a wonderful greeting card I once saw of a woman (cartoon style drawing ), horror on her face, sobbing “Oh good grief, I forgot to have children.”

I needed help right away and was referred to a grief counselor. She was a youngish woman and as my therapy wore on, I realized that she had very little personal experience to draw on. I wondered why the referring agency thought she could help me. She had no grasp of my pain and tried to talk me out of it. She was also pregnant. After several sessions I decided she was a joke and stopped the therapy. I have learned that wanting to stop therapy elicits anxiety in some therapists. They think they have somehow messed up and want to “fix things,” and, ideally, talk you out of stopping. She wanted to have a session to discuss my decision. I didn’t feel like spending $90 to make her feel better about her skills. In any case, she couldn’t have changed my mind. Finally, in September, I found a support group and it became a lifeline for me.

So all I can do for Nadine is offer to hold her hand or look in on her kitties or shop for her and if she doesn’t feel comfy with that, that’s okay too. Whatever she wants.


xx, Teal