Friday, March 26, 2010

A Sort of Letter

Three months of nothing to say.  From a creative standpoint at least.  The new year was full of hope and dedication.  Refocused on taking control of my well being, I spent much energy researching and implementing changes in my medical treatment.  

January began with the euphoria of feeling normal.  What could be so narcotic about normalcy?  After 3 years of feeling like crap you forget what it's like to go days on end not confronting roadblocks.  So my year began without the solitary peace of creative writing.  But with socializing and playing and performing music.  Those are two things that have been a staple of my adult life and were sorely missed.  And so I was beginning to think and plan on getting out and performing again.

By January's end, I was back on the rollercoaster.  Perhaps overconfident in my condition, I engaged and overindulged, in some late night revelry with neighbors.  This hangover should have had me on an IV in an ER.  But in my own shame and embarrassment I rode it out.  I haven't been the same since.

Febuary's blizzards and shut in darkness tends to meloncholy.  Add in the anvil of fatigue from Addisonian imbalance and you have an iceberg on the senses.  A common rhinovirus is to be expected this time of year.  But this manifested into some unexplained maelstrom that put me in the hospital for a full day of fruitless examinations. "All the tests came back normal, Mr. Orzek.  But we've determined you have a viral syndrome".  A what?

The weeks after, it became evident that the meds prior to "viral syndrome" weren't cutting it.  So it's been lower the meds, get sick for a few days, stress dose, lower the meds, get sick for a few days, stress dose ...etc., ad nauseum. Lots of nauseum.  It seems my adrenal glands have been beaten further into submission.  This progression is to be expected.  But there is no road map to getting there.

On March 9, I received a phone call that my father-in-law, Glenn MacKinnon, had died.  He and I were close.  As my own father has been dead 15 years now, Glenn has been my guiding role model through fatherhood and marriage.  I don't think I've realized his loss for me yet.  My wife has lost a father, my children their only grandfather.  My family's grief is obvious.  And overwhelming.  

But having his once or twice a year outreach will be noticed.  His hand on my shoulder, asking "so, how are YOU doing?"  That honest and open invitation to share my internal paternal frustrations or fears won't be there any more.  That is when it will hit me, I think.

Time marches on and life is for the living.  Enter any other cliches such as, get back on yer horse, that which doesn't kill us makes us stronger.  It's all true, however hollow it feels right now.

But I am still determined.  I will get myself right and enter this spring hopeful.  And carry forth with my loved ones into the warmth of our summers.