Through the mist lightly...
Meet me in the morning, 56th and Wabasha | Meet me in the morning, 56th and Wabasha | Honey, we could be in Kansas | By the time the snow begins to thaw.
Bob Dylan | Meet Me in the Morning
Well, I don't know about Kansas, but the allusion to summer's about right. Maybe California...on the beach. Wendy and me, with the kids and some friends tagging along...
It's been quite a day. Actually, it's been quite a few years, but it was this afternoon that things started looking up. I made mention below that Wendy was slated to see a psychiatrist at Groote Schuur this week. The appointment was this morning. It was, in many ways, a last-ditch appeal by her for a way out of the hell she's found herself in these past four or five years. And they, in turn, have merely been an extension of a lifetime of uncertainty, confusion, stuff ups, false starts and a suffering it'd be difficult to communicate.
Knowing the state of our public health services, I must have known I was going to go up there with her, but I let myself in on the secret only last night. Distancing oneself from a loved one's suffering calls for a certain amount of denial, something of which I have some experience and expertise. I generally leave her to do the hard work, while I complain and suffer with the rest-of-the-best should the train derail. This past week, though, my psyche has been stretched tighter than a drum. Sometimes, no matter how much you're able to detach from another's anguish, it affects you profoundly. I have, to put it bluntly, been at the end of my tether; out of options and fresh ideas. Racing in to today, life in the fast lane looked like taking its final toll and I had my hands in front of my face, preparing for the inevitable smash.
This one was for both of us.
We were up there at seven, fighting our way through labyrinthine corridors designed by a deranged architect determined to prevent those on the outside getting in and those on the inside getting out. Groote Schuur's on the slopes of Devil's Peak and it shows. Finding your destination within evokes the thrill of topping an alpine summit. But, as with mountaineering, the weather's prone to change. Facing the innards of an institution in which she has spent several months of her life, my wife was in a state of high anxiety—and showed it. "I want out," was the gist of her refrain but, as expedition leader for the day, I inveigled her to soldier on.
Four to five hours in the psychiatric outpatients' waiting room of one of South Africa's largest hospitals will wreak havoc with the most balanced individual. For somebody uncertain as to whether they exist in their own right or are merely a figment of the Devil's imagination, a morning spent in the guts of this gargantuan monument to academic medicine proved a descent to Hell. Three times she wanted out and three times I managed to head off another failed attempt at meaningful therapy and a shot at normalcy. Manipulation and begging have their uses and places. This was a time for shamelessness. Besides, Wendy is comfortable with these things. After inveighing against bureaucractic sloth only once (to the receptionist), she saw the doctor.
'The Doctor' is a psychiatric intern who, because he spent time eliciting an empathic case history, won her confidence. Accepting of the space Wendy has been and is in, he immediately saw the need for a rigorous, long-term psycho-pharmaceutical regimen. Unlike shrinks in private practice who promise to fix your mind while charging an arm and a leg, these guys don't mess about. Lending weight to assertions that what Groote Schuur lacks in capacity it makes up for in quality, he took his initial findings to a consultant and came back with a prescription showing an appreciation of her needs. In fact, he proved to be the first doctor Wendy's seen in twenty-five years willing to prescribe short-term medication others have denied her, and in doses that make a difference. He knows what she needs over the next few years and is willing to give it to her.
If there's one thing my wife deserves to feel, it's a quiet sense of being okay in the world. She was given a shot at a normal life today and it's up to her to accept or reject her future. For what it's worth, as the meds kick in and bearing in mind that prejudging these things is an exercise in futility, I believe she'll grab it with both hands. It's been an exhausting few weeks but, with the support of friends, I'm pleased I opted to dive in at the deep end. Ultimately, we all live with the results of our choices. Today, heading into tomorrow, I'm more than happy with mine.
Note Have I been feeling sorry for myself these past few weeks, months and years? Over and above the nightmares that hide behind the placid text, "You betcha." If you haven't picked that up, you haven't read this blog. But, if I'm to feel comfortable with what I write or write that with which I'm comfortable, I need to allude to or speak of realites that affect me and many others. Otherwise it's all bullshit. Leslie's comment—from someone who speaks her and many other minds—says a great deal. Too much is unspeakable and too often we avoid writing the stuff that really matters to us.
That really fries my soul. My family means more to me than anything else and, bearing in mind the dictum "No shame, no gain" (or something like that) I'll do anything for them. So, anything blogged here is done so with their permission. We talk about this kind of stuff, not because we choose to but because we have to. These things, which bedevil us for years, cannot be brushed aside or relegated to a state of "non-being". They'll always out, even if we believe we say nothing of them. If I'm to speak openly and honestly, I'd rather be upfront. Wendy feels the same way. She's no nut. More often than not, she's the saint of sanity. Like all of us though, she has problems. But, with what little support she's had to now, she's dealing with them.
And, as noted above, people like Joel, Leslie, those who mailed very special thoughts, and many others who have stuff in their lives that precludes them saying anything (believe me, they're out there), come through and wipe out self-pity and muddy thinking through criticism, empathy or understanding (stated or not). What I say doesn't count for much. What they say, does. Without detracting from my sense of who and what I am, their statements give me a far clearer idea of where I stand or fall. And that gives this medium infinitely greater and more far-reaching value than any other I've come across.
They say the darkest hour is right before the dawn | They say the darkest hour is right before the dawn | But you wouldn't know it by me | Every day's been darkness since you been gone.
Bob Dylan | Meet Me in the Morning
