Page 38 of Alarm Fatigue

This week, in particular, I have been working on managing an uptick in my insecurities and pessimism. I am trying to counterbalance this with continuing to keep up with my posse of support. I have even expanded my social circle by going out for drinks with some of the nurses from the hospital—it was such a blast—afterwards my side ached from laughing and I kicked myself for not going out with them before. It also has helped to manage these feelings by going for a run or to the Zumba classes that Gabriella has dragged me to. I am so clumsy and out of synch during Zumba, that I do not have time to get lost in my brain, so it has been helpful in that way. Otherwise I may seriously injure myself, or someone else. Long ago I accepted that no matter how much I accomplish or how many compliments I accumulate, part of me will always believe that I am not good enough. I finish chewing the last bits of my toast and pull up my app to say the blessing after my meal. Of course, after a lifetime of this I know it by heart, but I have always found there is something deeply comforting about reading the words, so I do.

Afterwards, glancing at my phone I read Mark’s last message again and reply.

Mark: It was a long night and

I am going to nap until maybe

dinner time & I will message

you when I wake. I hope you

have a good morning.

Me: Good afternoon, or evening,

depending on what time you see

this. I just finished breakfast.

Looking forward to catching up

Mark, for his part, has been more attentive that I would have thought he would have time for. Even though the patient to provider ratio he has shared with me is outrageous, he consistently takes the time to stay in touch. Catching up with him a bit each day, a picture has formed in my mind of the camp and its conditions as well as the broad spectrum of medical care that they need him to provide. Early on he confided that the camp, which is on the island of Chios, houses more refugees than it was built for. From the brief snippets Mark provides I can tell I am receiving a fairly sanitized version of his day-to-day encounters. Even as a watered down version, the humanitarian crisis of these refugees, some from Yemen, most from Syria, does put my own personal issues into perspective. While I am careful not to deny myself the truth of what I am going through, at the same time the reality is much of my suffering has to do with the past and old wounds that fester in my head and heart. All of my crap, however, is not actually life or death, no matter what my fears tell me.

Hannah and I have kept up with the pottery classes and even though I am too inattentive to create anything I love, I have enjoyed getting to know the young man she has been seeing. Edan is very attractive, tall and wiry with dark skin and wavy dark hair; he is an artsy type who is quiet and unassuming. He and Hannah seem mismatched on the surface but when I see them together, they seem to synchronize in a way that is very endearing to witness. I do not know what they are like when they spend time on their own, but when I see them they seem to come together in such an effortless way, it is almost as if they have known each other longer than the few weeks it has been.

∞∞∞

The end of this week had seemed so far off, and now before I can believe it the six weeks have gone by. Keeping busy with my own work, visiting my daughters and grandchildren in between, not to mention my new hobbies, I cannot believe how quickly the time has passed. I message Mark to confirm his flight number as I plan on picking him up from the airport in the morning.

Me: Okay, Flight number UA983,

I will see you bright and early then

Mark: You really want to pick me up?

Are you sure?

Me: Are you kidding me? Yes!

Mark: Rachel. I get in at 4:30

in the morning

Me: I am aware and I want you

to know I cannot wait to see

you--So YES I am picking you up

Mark: I see. I miss you

Me: I miss you too

Before this evening, I have avoided saying that I missed him and maybe for that reason he did not say it much either. As I said, I just wanted to keep it casual and straightforward to avoid reading in between the lines. The truth is, I really do miss him, which surprises me a little. And when he said he misses me, somehow I know I can trust him.

Sleep is evasive tonight. For some reason I keep trying to imagine what my mother would have thought of Mark. I do know that because I am into him, she would be happy for me. However, in her lifetime, it was hard for her to form any of her own opinions—in order to survive, she had to be someone who lived for trying to please others. Sadly, as a consequence, it is hard to know what she personally would have liked or disliked about anything. However, when she was alive, if I found something that made me happy, she was ready to be my cheerleader. Until she was not there anymore. Suddenly I feel such a wave of sadness not only for her but also for myself as many of my memories of her are more about the shell of her being rather than who she actually was or could have been.

Turning over in bed, I wonder whether, if I try a different position, I might leave my mother’s ghost behind and maybe get some sleep. Sometimes, she just seems to haunt me, and I can either entertain it or try for a distraction. I decide, sitting up, to go for the distraction as I am getting no more rest and the least I can do is protect myself from emotional exhaustion if not physical. Saying a prayer of thanks that my own daughters who, whether they like it or not, are able to know all about my likes and dislikes, I get up and select something to wear.

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