Shift Change: June 14, 2022

In the quiet hour around shift change at the hospital, the sun a little lower in the sky through my window, time seems carved out just for me. I’ve finished or not finished my to-dos, replied to emails and messages, slept, and written my daily post for Instagram: I both enjoy this lighter kind of writing, and also enjoy that it staves off many requests for updates that I would otherwise receive.

Today, I also wrote to my HSCT buddy and true friend, Carolyn. She was supposed to be admitted on June 15th for her transplant, but due to an unfortunate uptick of cancer patients and a dearth of specialized nursing staff, she was told her admission was being deferred, without a definite new date.

What I told Carolyn is this: that sometimes it’s the loss of what’s not happened yet that is hardest to grieve, the loss hardest for others to understand. That being plunged back into uncertainty after having this sparkling timeline to hold onto is a massive and difficult thing.

What can one do? Only to feel everything, and in those difficult feelings, remembering there is also, there is always, an AND.

Also - totally irrelevant fun note:

My pain right now is being managed by low dose fentanyl administered by a PCA (Patient Controlled Analgesia) pump. When I use it, I register with fascination the way it bends and pops and colours the words on the computer page for me, moving them perhaps in the direction my subconscious mind is feeling about my writing. Sometimes they chase themselves away from me, and I go back and edit them until they sit more happily on the page. Don’t worry, I’m not going to turn to dependence, but it’s really wild.