It is not appropriate for me to argue with Derek when it comes to numbers. I think we’ve established that I have little or no aptitude for things mathematical. And now I just got this song stuck in my head:
I am not the very model of a modern major general.
Back to numbers and arguing. Each and every time Derek tells me how long it has been since his third surgery/2nd transplant, my response is: “Really?” I then proceed to count, with the aid of a calendar, to convince myself that he is correct. There are a few reasons for my bewilderment.
1. He’s doing so well, I think it must have happened more than 9 weeks ago.
2. Our original surgeries are now 13 weeks in the past, and I cling to that April date.
3. I lost a lot of time, we both did. It feels as if the months of April and May never happened. When I think about the fact that we are nearly through with July I get even more confused. Was I even awake in June?
Time flies when you’re having fun, but I can say definitively that hanging out in a hospital for the better part of a month is not fun. Also not fun are the days and weeks in which your body is not the body you know and love. When you’re not 100% it tends to feel a lot like failure, even when you know, logically, it is not. Feeling like a failure is not even remotely fun. It’s awful. I spend a lot of time thinking, why does is it feel like many more months have gone by since Livernalia, en premier et duexieme transpired? (For you French speakers out there, I know duexieme is usually used when there are more than 2 things, but I like that word, so I’m going with it.) Where in fact, did all of that time go?
One of the things I love about Derek is his proclivity for quiet; the silence we often share is never awkward. There is no pressure to fill the air that surrounds us with idle talk. We speak when necessary and when we want to; rarely is it out of some sense of obligation. When Derek and I go for a walk, much of the time is spent in silence. On one of these walks I remember thinking to myself that as horrible as it was to see him so sick in the hospital, waiting for the 2nd transplant, it is equal parts amazing to be able to spend so much time with him now. I told him so and he smiled and held my hand. When we walk around the neighborhood together, when we are hanging out around the house, or cooking dinner, or going on little adventures, these are the fun parts.
Maybe time has sped along at its breakneck pace, despite the agony of health issues, because embedded in those awful moments were little slivers of hilarious giggling? I wonder what this means for our future together. Time keeps ticking along at a regular metronomic pace, but the more time I spend with Derek the faster time seems to be going. If we were prone to bickering and scowling at each other, would time creep along? I’m going to do my very best to never test out that alternate reality.