The events of the week have caused me to recall my experience there from April of 2004. Some of it I remember quite vividly, but much of it has become muddled with the passage of time. I have also discovered that Pam’s memories of it are much different than mine. Over dinner one night we were talking about my recovery from the surgery and how long it had taken. My memories were that after a couple of months I was back at work and as good as new. Pam disagreed with this startling comment, “It was at least a year before you were all the way back.” When I protested she explained, “It was like there was a light in your eyes that went out and it took a year before I saw it turn on again.”
She went on to describe how when I was recovering in the hospital I didn’t want her to leave the room. Even after leaving the hospital and going home, for weeks I didn’t want her to leave the house. As she was telling me this I felt embarrassed, ashamed for being such a wimp. Then she said, “It’s like you thought you were broken, damaged.” That memory then flooded back. Yes. That I remember, feeling broken. Each hiccup, each twitch, real and imagined, brought stifling apprehension. You constantly ponder the inner workings of your body. You turn inward and become completely self-obsessed. Its unavoidable I suppose. You’ve got an hideous 7 inch scar down the middle of your chest. Its impossible to ignore.
But eventually you discover that you aren’t broken. You might have a scar to remind you of your mortality, but you are not broken. Finally, you start ignoring the beating of your own heart like you did every second of your life before it all happened. Then, I guess, the light came back on.
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