Friday--PET scan
So, on arrival to the hospital he wants to ask where the place is. "There's a sign," I say, and set off. There is no need to make a deal of these things, or subject them to discussion; they are already enough. Too much. On our arrival at the check-in desk the check-in person says, almost singing, "I have a cute bracelet for you," reaching across the flat surface, placing the bracelet around his wrist, which he simply extended. His passivity annoys me even more than the check-in person's comment and tone.
It is beyond me why people in hospitals so often treat patients as if they have regressed to the age of 3 or 4 and are not simply ill. God help the person who ever calls me sweetie. Moving on...when the tech person comes to get him she has a cheery look on her face, one of those supposed to make the patient feel comfortable, although I find it rather ghoulish. I refrain from comment. "So, when should I get him?" I ask, figuring on the 2-3 hours outlined in the information sheet. "I'll have him ready for you in an hour," she says, teeth with the smile. "Uh, what?" I ask, "an hour? Just an hour? Are you sure?" And her face no longer looks so cheery, the smile is folding fast and annoyance taking over, the kind of annoyance one has for a parent who can't make the mid-day school play because she works; the kind of annoyance that lets you are not doing the so-called "right thing."
"You look disappointed," she says, as if I have ruined her party by being insufficiently grateful for the quick release. "I had things to do," I say in a trying-not-to-be-too-testy voice, "but oh well. I'll be back," and the look she gives me lets me know that probably on some sheet or computer file somewhere, wherever family members are rated, I will get a black mark. At least one. Selfish? Uncaring? Self centered? Unsupportive? All of the above? Who knows, but this is only, I know, my first step on the bad family member road. Bad wife, bad spouse (and he is such a nice man). All because I am not what was expected: big smile, "great, I'll just stay here then, wasting an hour of what is probably the last warm day until July--and July if I am lucky--in the weatherless halls and waiting rooms of the hospital." Ooops, guess that is not quite it either. I feel like she is expecting me to greet him with a tray of warm cookies and a glass of milk. More likely I'll nip out and take some of my anti-anxiety medication with my coffee if I even have time for coffee now, because I feel like I can't breathe.
These expectations, real or perceived, are very, very stressful. Chalk it up to my Episcopal (culturally so at least) upbringing, stiff upper lip, carry on and all that, but the pressure of expectations EXPECTATIONS is crushing me. It is like a boulder pressing on my lungs, pressing the life out of me. After all, I am not really a bad spouse. On this particular occasion there was no real need for me to take him to the hospital, medical or otherwise. I took him because, specifically because,it seemed like a long day and he had come home from Santa Fe late the night before.And I had planned a day for myself that I was looking forward to.
The expectation that relatives of ill people will suddenly, with diagnosis or impending diagnosis, give themselves and their lives over to the fact of the illness is appalling and unreasonable. And that to not do so is more than appalling, it is akin to murder; just because one person in a family is ill does not mean that the lives of all of the other people in the family should or have to become that. Our social expectation that this is so, and that not doing so is "wrong," or "uncaring," or at least subject to disapproval is to negate non-ill family members altogether.
Why is this considered the only "good" and "right" way to care for a person in this society? Just because a person does not choose to sacrifice them self on the altar of another's illness does not mean they do not care. I do care. I am sorry my husband is ill. I am sorry for him and I am sorry for me and for my children, and sorry for everyone who cares for him. But my life cannot be about that, because then I would, most certainly, have the life pressed out of me. And I care for myself more than that.
PS--There will be more on this topic--for sure.
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