Friday, January 31, 2014

My Personal Pericardial Stripping

Dear John,
 
I've been staring at the page and searching for words. They are escaping me tonight. Oh, I have the daily news for you - I took Abby in to get her sutures out, went to work, wrestled with IT issues all day, came home, shoveled the driveway. We're expecting five inches of new snow with a quarter-inch of ice on top of it, so I got our usual three-foot drift out of the center of the driveway. None of that really matters.
 
And that's all the words I seem to have. The nausea and vomiting from coming off of Cymbalta are getting much better, as long as I'm careful what I eat. Now I'm feeling the emotional fallout. Having to keep living without you has been horrifically painful. But being on Cymbalta - even, as I was, for pain - damped my emotions more than I realized. The only way I can describe what's happening now is to compare it to a pericardial stripping. (It's so good to be married to somebody who knows what that is!) The pain I feel now is closer, rawer, and I can't defend myself against it. My usual comfort things don't work anymore. I'm not crying the way I did, wailing like a banshee - I'm trickling slow tears all the time. My heart seems to be eroding. Soon it will wash downstream with the melting snow.
 
Well, that's a lot of words for not having any, isn't it? I know that you know all of this already. But I'm determined to be honest here, and this is as honest as my loss for words will allow. You'll have to fill in what I can't express. I love you. All I ever asked was to not have to live without you. And it's very hard right now. Please pray for me tonight, as I will for you.
 
Love you so much more than life,
Joan.

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