Guy hopes it isn't a train

Each morning I have woken up, wished I hadn't, cried, and then stayed in the bed. This morning was different. We woke up to the phone ringing. The home phone is forwarded to Guy's cell phone right now, and it was my doctor from back home calling. She had just gotten the news and was calling to check on me. I really like her.

We had a good talk. She said the same things I have already heard, but it doesn't matter. Each time I hear them, be it from a doctor, a family member, a friend, or even just a comment here, they make me feel a little better. That phone call seems like a turning point. Don't get me wrong, I'm completely allowing another turn around to spin me back if needed, but at least this morning, I feel better.

Guy and I have decided that the night from hell was greatly accentuated by taking a Percoset too late in the afternoon and then having a glass and a half of wine with Sil that evening. Quite possible. Anyway, my doctor said that drugs will just mask the grieving process and that I shouldn't really be okay right now. It was just fine to not be okay. That unless I felt like hurting myself, we should wait on the drugs.

I figure that if anything even comes close to being like it was night before last, that I will run, not walk to the land of happier drugs. For now, I'm going to give it one more shot without them. I do want to grieve. I also want to live though. Today I think I can do both.

After I got off the phone, I rolled back over to Guy who held me like he loved me instead of holding me like I needed it. It felt good and I asked him, "Do you see light at the end of the tunnel yet?"

He answered me, "Yes. I'm just hoping it isn't a train." Smart ass.

Here's to a new year. Starting over. Trying again. Taking two steps forward and hopefully from now on only one step back at a time.