Optimism

Optimism -- noun, hopefulness and confidence about the future or the successful outcome of something.

"the talks had been amicable and there were grounds for optimism"

synonyms:

hopefulness, hope, confidence, buoyancy, cheer, good cheer, cheerfulness, sanguineness, positiveness, positive attitude "such statements reflect the growing optimism among members of the profession"

It is not often I comment or even pause to reflect here the millions of words penned by my slave, my wife, lover, friend -- my ever mouse. We have been through many fires, reached understanding and with mutual want some measures of success in our chosen way of life. To the reader, it would seem that she bent double to become my ideal of perfection. This would be accurate. My goals. My wants. My desires.  My rules.

I lead, she follows. Without complaint.

Thursday September 12, was difficult, she was cross and snappish, she had journaled that day, a story about my summer reading adventure. She still had many demerits that day. I did not know where this was coming from. I failed to recognize so much, her coloring was off, her hands trembled. When I tightened the strings of her corset, she let out a gasp. My only thought was, 'good, you deserve to suffer.' Friday, I was cross with her laziness, adding on more demerits. Saturday, I continued to neglect her, using her how I wished, discarding her after. Saturday evening late, my eyes opened that something else was wrong. Something she wasn't telling me. When I asked she admitted that she was feeling unwell, and she was indeed feverish. I put her to bed. I was not worried, nor concerned. I did not ask how long she had been feeling "off."

I was angry with her. Her attitude. the fact that she was feeling unwell was of little consequence. I left her alone in the bedroom, until it was time for another dose of acetaminophen some four hours later. I found her balled up and whimpering in pain. I picked her up, carried her to the car and drove her nonstop to the nearest hospital. It did not occur to me to call an ambulance.

At the ER, despite being busy, they seemed to take my word, since I was holding her in my arms and she was obvious pain, that she needed medical attention right away. When I lowered her to a bed, she screamed in pain. That scream ripped through me. I have never once heard a scream such as that. That is saying something, since I have been known to inflict all sorts of pain for my own sadistic want. I have never felt faint in my life over another's suffering, yet, her howl made my legs feel as though they could no longer carry my weight.

They struggled to find a vein to draw blood, ordered tests, and I stayed with her, knowing the culprit was likely an acute appendicitis. Nothing we cannot handle, I assured her, whispering into her ear that she'd be fine. The ultrasound showed that her appendix had already burst. What began simple was now not.

No time to wait, they had me sign consent forms, as they wheeled her to the operating room, they discussed briefly the surgery and plans. Through the doors they went. A few moments later a nurse emerged and handed me her wedding ring -- told me to wait in a room and gave me a number. I could watch her progress by that number and corresponding color. A sheet of paper was handed to me that explained everything, but I lacked any comprehension of it. This whole thing felt surreal.

I made phone calls, my sister-in-law had arrived at the house (I had phoned them first while driving to the ER) and my brother was already at hospital looking for me. I felt grateful to see him. Our friends Lucy and Schroeder arrived and more of my family.  I was upbeat, cracking wise.

Reality settled a few hours later, when she was wheeled into ICU. The surgeon repeated her current condition twice to me, and later my sibling repeated it all again -- it was not sinking in. Her condition was critical, her vitals unstable, her heart had stopped during surgery and for now, machines were keeping her alive.

They did not know her the way I did. This was a strong healthy woman. She will wake up and it will all be fine. The doctors did not know her. My brother gently explained that she had sepsis -- her blood was poisoned caused by the rupture. He became curt with me, reminding that people die from it. Maybe trying to prepare me for that possibility. I shook my head and looked beyond him to her form in the bed.

I refused to hear it. I held her hand, listening to the machines. My siblings now annoyed me, reminding me to eat, check my blood sugar and take my insulin -- I was bitter and resentful. As I leaned by her bed and held her hand, my free hand, slipped frequently into my pocket, touching her wedding ring, like a talisman. I blamed myself. I still do. I should have known. Why had I not seen it? Had I brought her to hospital on Friday, she would be home and in my care. Why did I not see it? How long had she been in pain?

Twenty-four hours later, her condition remained unchanged and if I am honest, perhaps a little worse. The time between meeting with doctors became further apart. They had no news and I refused to discuss....

It was my brother who put his hand on my shoulder Wednesday night and asked, if she would want this? This was my first inclination. Was she dying? The words left my lips before I could stop them. No one had said those words in that order to me.

He admitted that this was not good, if things did not change and soon, yes, she was indeed slipping from life.

I have only shed tears a scant few times in my life and never in a public place -- always alone, usually after a drink or two I would allow myself to feel. I held her hand, kissed her fingers and wept -- in a very silent way. When my brother attempted to comfort me, I drew back. That would be too much.

I remained optimistic -- she was going to be fine. Maybe I was trying to convince myself of this -- but I truly believed it. That also said, I appreciated my brother and the doctors honesty that the outcome might not be good. Perhaps I was being indulgent of myself, as I fondled and touched the wedding ring, still buried in my pocket and spoke to my children over the phone and sat by my lady's bedside, stroking her fingers and forehead. I knew before the doctors that her fever was down. And I swear I felt her fingers move, grasping slightly my own for a brief moment. Then the fever was back up and down again.

Thursday morning I felt I was dreaming. My eyes were closed, my head resting on the railing of the bed, my hand always on her. I knew I felt her fingers move again. Her vitals were much the same, her fever still up and down, her color improved, but still not quite all there. They had long since backed off the drugs that were keeping her asleep, a medically induced coma, so her body could heal, and yet she still slept on. Without the ventilator, she would already been gone.

I tried to keep my optimism alive however bleak it seemed. The rational side was winning I had made the appointment with medical team to discuss in a frank manner where exactly we stood. I do not mean to imply they had already given up on her, they were looking at everything I could not see. So far, her labs while, not great but not unexpected due to infection. This was encouraging despite the fact she was not breathing on her own, nor, waking. She had a few episodes of tachecahardia and extremely low heart rate, these were controlled by medications. She had also developed an abscess and they had inserted a drain, this did not help her healing.

They used the term delayed emergence from anesthesia.

Doctors explained statically her likelihood of waking now were somewhat diminished - not impossible, but diminished. They spoke of ongoing issues with prolonged intubation, the danger of pneumonia and other common illnesses. The stress on her heart and eventual organs. She could be effectively dying. But there was good news. A full week had not yet passed, and they reminded me while her condition was bad, hope was not lost. Her body was working, the antibiotics (a cocktail of several) were preventing the infection from worsening, the labs indicated, and her organs were not failing so far and there was brain activity. Her pupils responded to light, and body responded to stimulus. The neurologist was hopeful and he stood alone. I liked him.

My brother was guarded on that. He agreed with the rest of the "team" that I should be preparing our children and making other decisions. I was clinging to hope.

It was Friday and I was exhausted the team meeting the day before had wrung me out. I continued to mull over what my brother had said. I still was not prepared to have that talk with our children. My optimism that I was certain of earlier in the week was fading. I kissed her forehead and said in what I hoped was a happy tone, that I would be back later. I went home, ate, read to my daughter, showered, put on clean clothing, shaved and drove back to hospital and to her bedside. The wedding ring transferred carefully to my new pocket. I returned to ICU picked up the phone for admittance, but was told to wait. There was flurry of people, coming in and going out. The relief when I learned the activity was not for her but for some other unfortunate person. Someone else was getting a phone call. I held mouse's hand, thanked G-d, kissing her fingers. This time I knew they moved, I saw it, and it was not a twitch, they had moved. She seemed chilled, her body was bathed in sweat, and her temperature was for the first time in a week, normal. The fever that plagued her had broken at last.

Just after midnight on Saturday morning, I noticed the machines breathing for her sounded different and called the nurse who explained that mouse was breathing on her own, over the vent. Her oxygen level was not great, but good enough on room air. They waited the appointed amount of time, and removed the breathing tube. I held my breath until I was sure that she would continue to breathe. I watched as her chest rose and fell with each breath, I kissed her fingers and lips. I wept this time with a bit of relief.

When I looked up at her face, her eyes were just open a little and focused on me. She couldn't speak but the curious look spoke for her. I told her she was going to be fine, and watched as she closed them again. I spoke gently to her, begging to keep her eyes open a little longer. She complied. I again, held my breath as the nurse assured me that mouse needed rest. I barked at the nurse that my wife had been sleeping for nearly a week.

Yet, mouse did seem tired. What did I expect? My attitude was how we got here.

A doctor came back, and assured me this was just sleep and she needed it. Around two AM she woke again. She still couldn't stay awake long and seemed very lethargic. The nurse said her throat was probably scratchy and her mouth was very dry. She offered me a cup of ice with a spoon and said to give her one ice chip. Mouse swallowed it without issue, no choking or problems. This was very good news. I felt like rejoicing.

I fed her ice chips and spoke gently to her in between her naps. Filling her in on all the bother she'd been in a good hearted and deeply relieved way. She knew I was scared, I could tell as she touched me.

Her first words that she carefully croaked out the next day was that she was sorry. That was like a kick to the gut. I was to blame. It was all my fault. I should have asked, she would have told me, she would not have lied to me. I would never have tightened the corset so tight. That might have been what caused the rupture. This was all on me.

She remained in ICU until Sunday evening, the drain, having done its work was removed, and her incision closed again, one whole week since her surgery, her vitals were now stable, she was drinking water and had been cleared for soft foods, which I fed to her, until a nurse insisted that she had to do it on her own. I slipped the wedding ring back on her finger, it was more loose than before.

Soon in her private room, she was cleared to walk, and to eat solids -- it happened all too fast for me. Small meals, but she could drink all the water she wished. There was some residual pain from the surgery, not surprising since they had to open her wide to remove the appendix and clean the area. The abscess drain required that the wound reopened and most recently stapled again closed.  The children were able to see her. Her voice was hoarse for a few days, and remained scratchy longer.

After just a few days she was released from hospital. I advocated for her stay longer, but the doctors assured me she was fine to go home. My reason was simple, she'd been in ICU for a week, but only in the hospital room for a couple days. What about the antibiotics? Mouse provided that answer, "Pills." She still wasn't speaking a whole lot, her throat still hurt -- but she managed to convey her own wishes.

She was eager to get home too. I tried to keep the house quiet, Lucy and Schroeder came, they had been helping with our children, and staying with mouse when I was in the big "meeting" that seemed already forever ago. We could not keep family and friends away. No matter how badly I wished for that. People were kind and brought food. Eventually, it was just us. The children in bed, and she was sleepy. Naturally, she insisted on walking up the stairs herself, which she did slowly with me following behind her. I had offered to make up the sofa to save her the trip, but she wanted her own bed. I gave her a pain pill and her evening antibiotic and watched as she drifted to sleep. I tried to not worry those first nights and naps that she would not wake. I also rejoiced silently when she did. Her pain was not so bad that she needed medication often and she frequently refused it. I had to trust that she would tell me when or if it was required.

I harassed her about her pain and made sure that she took her antibiotics. Although she did not need me to supervise that. I did not return to work. I could not fathom being away from her. No, I made vows to her while she was comatose and possibly dying that if she lived, I would watch every drippy movie she could possibly want to watch. I promised that I'd be better and remind her of my unconditional love daily, something I had not told her in some time. I would set aside my own desires and treat her with less indifference that I knew had to hurt her at times.

I wasted no time pulling out the movies I knew she'd love to watch. Dr. Zhivago (a long dull tale that she for some reason loves). Cleopatra, and Gone with the Wind, not to mention musicals like West Side Story, The Sound of Music and My Fair Lady, which I do not mind very much. I blissfully slept through West Side Story. We did manage to catch up on Shameless and American Horror Story -- so all was not lost. I had even promised to take her to see that silly Downton Abbey film. Although she will have to wait a bit to see that (with any luck it will be out of theaters by that time).

The corset for now, at least, is gone. The way we live there will be changes there too. I consider myself especially fortunate that mouse had not been marked since the summer holiday. I had planned on collecting on all those demerits the following week. The week she was in a coma, clinging to life. I have a fairly good gasp on what might have gone wrong had she been marked - none are welcomed thoughts. Our life and lifestyle is wrought with dangers that we ignore. A comforting lie is easier than the bitter and indifferent truth.

I did finally get a timeline of sorts from what she could recall. The fever began on Saturday (but I think Friday), but she dismissed it as a bug. The pain was a different issue, she had hid that from me and that began on Tuesday. Hearing that I exhaled slowly, unaware I was holding my breath.

 Mouse claimed she was not afraid of me. She was afraid of the pain thinking it was bad. I looked at her and said as calmly as I could that the pain was bad. An indication that something awful was wrong. She was thinking a different kind of bad. I held her, and I made her promise me to never ever hide pain or discomfort from me again. I do not care how silly she thinks it to be; I do not care if she knows how it happened.

Yesterday, I returned to work, which was a huge mess. I sent at least 30 text messages and only panicked once when she failed to respond, she was napping. I have to get over my own fears of losing her. I reminded her that she was a lady of leisure. No cleaning, no lifting, her main occupation was to get rest and recover, take her antibiotics and pain medicine if she felt she needed it. The housekeeper would keep the house in order and I can certainly cook and make lunches.

We will survive.