Thursday, August 20, 2015

faint hope


I swear I could see the faintest tiny pinpoint of light at the far distant end of this interminable tunnel we've been crawling through for the past month. Mary, of course, has been doing the crawling, while all I can do is cheer her on. For awhile we didn't even know if she was heading in the right direction, but we kept trying, hoping that we were not on some fork in the road that took us on a tangent unfamiliar to us and at odds with our goal.
But yesterday while we were taking a very short and tiring walk down the hallway outside her hospital room, I saw and felt a faint and indistinct glimmer of the Mary I've loved so much for the nearly 50 years we've known each other. All she did was make a sly comment about something I said or something she saw. I can't remember what precipitated the moment, but her sideways glance at me, punctuated by a naughty half grin, was pure Mary. At that moment I knew she was feeling better and on the solid ground of that tunnel heading for that tiny pinpoint of light in the distance.
Her doctors have maintained for the past few days that she was doing very well. The infection in her pancreas was losing the battle to the antibiotics they have been pouring into her. She was also able to eat some solid food and keep it down where it would do her the most good. She looked better-- the pallor of illness was gone, the sluring of words in her nonsensical conversation was gone, and her eyes were glittering with attention and recognition. She even read me the riot act about my spending the money on a new iPad for her. She called me stupid and irresponsible. That's my Mary. I love it when she scolds me. It means she cares.
The way things are going right now, she will be scolding me a lot more from the comfort of home. I refuse to predict (I've been disappointed too often when I've done that before) when she will move out of the hospital and back to home, but that pinpoint of light seems to be getting bigger by the minute. 

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