‘Tonight I cried the tears of a child, Who knows what fear runs deep and wild inside, But the river’s in flow tonight’
‘I lay down and the light streamed across my face, I felt the beauty of some deeper grace and I tried, To find my way to the other side’
‘I feel your skin is smooth as silk, Drunk like a baby on his mama’s milk, Lay me down under the wishing tree, Lay your healing hands on me’
(Marc Cohn, Healing Hands)
Today I received a message on Facebook from a woman who doesn’t know me, but knows. This is what it read:
Hope you are doing okay! Haven’t seen many posts from you lately on TS page. Hoping all is well. 🙂
My initial words are from a song which is bringing me a lot of comfort at the moment. Lay your healing hands on me… Personally I think the song is more about a distraught person finding comfort and solace in his lover’s arms by something so simple as just being there, feeling the soothing touch of skin, an embrace.
The reason this song is comforting me so much at the moment is more because I think I would also view it as any form of support, any form of being reached out to. Simple, touching, beautiful. The odd thing is I haven’t heard the song in years, I just happened to stumble across it while I was sorting out some of my music files. But there it was, I guess you could say emotional timing couldn’t have been better.
The message I received this morning was from a fellow ISS-sufferer. Those three sentences brought such a smile to my face. Because it showed me that I am indeed not alone. Not alone because I have the support of friends, not alone because I have anonymous yet knowing support of those dealing with this as well. And that is comforting. I guess someone was reaching out their healing hands to me today.
I have been doing a lot of thinking – as always – about my upcoming torment. Yes, yes, yes, I am terrified, which I would think goes without saying. Not just ‘getting a bit nervous‘ as others are asking. But oddly it seems as though my thoughts have altered somewhat, even if to just a minor degree. It’s the pending result after all of this which is acting as an additional form of ‘pick-me-up’.
While I was running this afternoon I was fully aware of every single breath I took. The increasing strain in my breathing when going uphill. The ease when my body had less strain running downhill. I had to stop and look around me, taking in the graveled path I was running on, the trees and shrubs in the forrest my track goes through. The greens of the leaves, the sunlight glistening through branches, the smells, all the while trying to catch my breath, calm my breathing. It hit me that very soon I would be able to enjoy this in a completely different way: I will be able to remove the strained breathing out of all of this and take in the surrounding much more intensely.
I have been following some positive news and results from women I have visited. One has just had her post-operative follow up and the airways seems clear. The other received the all-clear to go back to work. As hard as those few weeks are going to be (and I am not talking about the boredom which will make it seem like time spent in hospital is likely to be endless) the discomfort, the stent, the trach, not being able to speak, to swallow properly, the outlook of as normal a life as possible before ISS is within arms, no hands reach. If all goes well, I am nearly there. That thought is actually pretty overwhelming, in the most positive way.
I find it hard to grasp that this endless worry of how long a dilation will last, when the initial symptoms will be appearing, all these silent emotional debilitations affecting the physical as well will not be present anymore. It is actually making me somewhat nervous. ISS has been such an immense part of my life for so long – over 10 years! With the worst phases having me hospitalized and in surgery every six weeks. It is a paradox to think that the normality I will be getting is a normality I am actually no longer used to. Currently I am far more used to these constant symptoms and implications ISS has to offer.
And while I am writing this, I find it odd that I am actually thinking these thoughts. I have to laugh at myself. Or perhaps with myself. Anyhow, another 20 days to go.