I began drafting this while sitting in the critical care ICU waiting room as my husband is valiantly battling to stay alive.
Back at the hacienda, I have a few moments between hospital races to put this in some semblance of order, so please excuse any sloppy editing.
The problem facing my husband of 22 years (23 next month, God willing), is that all of his major organs are trying to shut down. The emergency trip to the hospital was the result of the effects of peritonitis (an accumulation of toxic fluid in his abdomen). A team of incredible specialists are throwing everything at it except the kitchen sink (and that may be next), and they are working in tandem to halt the symptoms and battle the root cause(s).
First line of defense: Antibiotics to kill the poison.
Second line: Drain the toxic fluid.
Third line: cleanse the bloodstream and try to improve the blood flow from a weakened heart that’s been under attack for years.
The poison that is attempting to murder my spouse has been festering for a while. It started innocuously – a bit of discomfort, a pain or two, but nothing that screamed out with fury or intensity until Wednesday evening. Unbeknownst to him (and to us, really), it was also systematically attacking his immune system, his heart, his kidneys and his liver. All are in acute failure at this moment.
(You all know I’m going to get political here because these allegories pretty much write themselves.)
Like the anger that has infected our country over, really, the last decade – this insidious poison crept in – a bit at a time. One small outrage on top of another finally hit a boiling point.
Unfortunately, there is no antibiotic to kill the corrupting, festering substance that is feeding off of the ire of hardworking people in this country. I’m watching race pitted against race, class against class, and a once proud nation being ripped asunder by charlatans who are only stoking the rage for their own political gain. The toxic fluid will not be drained from our society as long as the hate peddlers stand to make a profit off it. And I fear that the weakened heart of America, much like my husband’s, could possibly stop beating.
Before you say “But, Judianna – we have a right to be angry!” – yes, you do. Yes you have every right to let the anger turn into hatred and poison your relationships. It’s your life. For the time being, at least, you can still decide what’s most important to you.
In fact, H-E-Double-Toothpicks, I’m angry too.
I’m angry at the scumbags who are planning to kill our freedom as surely as this illness is trying to kill my husband.
I’m angry at the professional liars in the media and in government who have figured out that they can manipulate your emotions and cause you to lose your sense of self while joining the pitchforks and torches crowd. (On both sides). They know that no matter the outcome, they’ll still have their cushy jobs, their ratings, their paychecks – and meanwhile your lives won’t be one whit better.
I’m angry at those who’ve compromised their values and integrity and demand or assume that I will compromise mine.
But you know what I’m most angry at?
The poison and the still undefined disease process that’s threatening to take my husband from me.
Every four or eight years, we’re warned that “this will be the most important election in our lifetime”. The winner of this election will, according to the fear mongers, either take away all of our God given rights or, I don’t know – lower the oceans or something. Their predecessor (per the rumor mills) is always a nefarious step away from declaring martial law and stopping the elections
And yet, every four or eight years, there’s an orderly change of power. For all the new regulations imposed by whatever party is in charge, there’s an Uber, there are congressional and senatorial elections, there are people calling their congress critters. It will ever be thus.
Yes, I’ll still jump on Twitter and criticize the Emperor Hiro Cheeto – it’s good therapy for me, actually. And yes, I’ll use social media to roundly pan any politician that I deem hypocritical.
But, what’s NOT on my top worry list:
The media’s chosen candidates.
The latest salacious gossip about who is having a vanity fight with whom.
What is important:
My two dachshunds that kissed away my tears when I finally allowed myself to break down last night.
What I’m grateful for:
The heroes that have emerged in the new media to speak truth to power
One of the top hospitals in the nation who is taking tender loving care of my man
The best medical system in the known world
The freedom I have to write and share my thoughts with you gentle readers.
And especially, all of you who have rallied to support me with your good wishes and your prayers.
From my heart to yours, thank you.