But Healing isn't just about Medicine

Ground Zero. Driving myself to hospital alone in the dark. Saving myself. Fighting for explanations for my health. Trying to be an equal partner in my healing process with my doctors. Trying to keep myself positive and buoyant in the face of terrifying potential disease. Trying to stay strong and not disappear into an emotional hole from whence little healing and strength is possible. Trying to rewrite my 'hospital story' from the last time where I allowed myself to drift away from everyone who would care about me. And the deep and dark depression that followed that. Trying to keep breathing. Keep moving.

And Charlie. We made love in the afternoon. I so enjoyed being with him. He played the Carpenters. I LOVE the Carpenters. First time sex together was slow and sexy. And languid and lazy. And a sudden and magical connection moment when he put himself inside me eventually and I felt myself explode with a beautiful and deep orgasm that set him off as well. And it felt so very lovely to be in that place for those moments. And then he felt suddenly ill and rolled off me, running to the bathroom. Too many shooters the night before on top of no breakfast or lunch and suddenly Charlie was feeling miserable. He came back to bed and fell instantly asleep. And I snoozed next to him for a while, getting up to get him some water and have a shower. And I texted him while I lay there, telling him how lovely I had found that, knowing he'd come across it later.

And then I thought I should leave. He wasn't feeling well and I sensed he didn't want to be unwell in front of me. So to protect his dignity, I asked him to show me out. We kissed at the car, and I was gone. Heading home to be a mom to my little family who were on their way home from a happy holiday in Mozambique. By that night, the 'poison pill' had been taken and I was in hospital.

And then Charlie 'disappeared'. I did what I promised myself I would do - I texted all my close friends about what had happened to me, and asked for the support I needed. I even put a post on FaceBook - very unlike me - just asking for my mates to stand close - because I needed to not repeat my pattern of self isolation while I battle my demons alone. I didn't text Mark. Idiot. I should have. He's one of my best friends. But I didn't. Thought he was away on holiday with his family and somehow didn't want to intrude on that. But Charlie? WTF? Just started very distant 'get well soon' and 'sorry to hear that' messages. It was so fucking disheartening. Just no stepping up from him whatsoever. I even asked him to visit me in hospital because I needed some TLC. And his only response was that he would try the following day if he could find somewhere to drop his son off for a bit. Never showed. Not even a fucking bunch of flowers! I cannot tell you what a monumental feat is was for me to not fall into a hole because of that. I can't believe I was left alone again in hospital! Last time by Mark. And Berlin. This time Charlie. I make love to a man and he leaves. And I'm not just left to lick my wounds. I'm left fighting for my life. What, The Fuck. Is that About?

So I worked my ass off to make that not hurt so bad. I charged up my phone and started connecting with all my precious people. Telling them how I was feeling. Letting them support me through my Easter weekend. My precious mom-in-law showed up and took control of my home and my children, and my in-hospital care. Gluten free breakfasts. Hospital clothes. Visits from my children. She sat and cried with me when we read though my CT results. She just picked up the slack and held me safe through it all. What a wonderful gift the universe gave me when she came into my life. The real mom support that I was not born into. Blessed angel woman.

And my friends, dispersed across the country on their holiday weekends loved me from far. Checking in. Showering me with warm affection and care. Berlin. Stayed close and caring. Talked me through the rough bits. Tried to reassure me about Charlie's abandonment. Told me that sometimes things just need to grow, and that maybe Charlie is confused. And that I should stay away from texting him all my needy stuff.

And I walked the hospital corridors. And I read books. And slept. And tried and tried to keep myself in that positive frame of mind that would help me heal. Because every single time I thought of Charlie, my heart would begin to ache, right in the very same place that the Lung damage had hit. And the pain felt unbearable.

Both of my Cape Town best friends dreamed of me the same night. One dreamed I was in a castle with her. It was cold and raining, and uncomfortable, but she knew we were safe from the worst. And the other dreamed that we were both on an incredibly high cloud together. And she was terrified about how we would get down. And I smiled at her and reassured her that we would be safe going down the terrifying high ladder next to us. And she didn't want to go on it. But I said - 'Don't worry. We'll be safe. Watch me. Follow me. And I started to climb down. And then the ladder started to fall away from the cloud. And I fell with it down down down...away... and she screamed for the people to save me. And they rushed to where I would fall and inflated a huge jumping castle inflatable thing which I landed on. And I was safe. But she had no idea how to reach me again because now the ladder was gone.

This isn't an easy road I'm walking, is it? So much to learn about self care. And demons. And pain. And the neglect and abandonment that comes form my early Narcissistic mothering days. The long shadows that still reach into my life. The Autoimmune disease that comes from childhood trauma. The weak coping skills to deal healthily with self care. The dysfunctional expectations of relationships based on the pathological road I've walked. And the rechoosing of men who abandon me like my father did. All packed into one week of hospital.

A better week this time than last. Because I'm changing all of this slowly.

And that is all I can ask for. That it's better than before.