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Evil Thoughts

December 17th, 2011

Today is a gap day. There are no doctors, no hospitals on the schedule. Not having anything to anticipate, I slept too late and woke up without that feeling of dread I usually have every morning. Don is feeling better today, too. He decided he wanted to go ahead and get the blood test the GI doctor ordered.

Don’t worry about taking me, he says, I feel good enough to drive myself. So I let him. I had much of the day to myself. I went out to lunch on my own. I went to the bookstore and bought a 2012 calendar. Walked over to Trader Joe’s and sampled some cranberry salsa. Then I drove to Fry’s and did some grocery shopping. I couldn’t find everything on my list – they were out of the particular nutritional supplement I’ve been buying for Don. We still have a few cans left, though, so it’s no big deal.

However, as I start for home, I suddenly decide I’ll try another place and see if they have it. I don’t need to do this. But it’s a nice day. I’m enjoying myself. I don’t want to go home.

This second place does have the supplement. I buy it and take it out to the car. You know, I think, as I drive down the street, I could just keep going until I get to California.

Oh, the evil thoughts you have that are never voiced aloud, thoughts that shock and horrify you even as you have them. Things you would never really wish for. As I sit here typing I bring to mind several friends and relatives who are living with pain or sickness, or caring for family members with chronic or acute illnesses. Several who have spouses or children with alcohol or drug problems. People who have endured much more than I have, and for much longer. What kind of things must go through their heads, as well?

Please don’t let her die until June, when the insurance kicks in.

If one more person offers advice I’m going to shoot them.

If I never see that ungrateful kid again it’ll be too soon.

I wonder how long it would take me to die if I just didn’t get up out of this bed?

I’m going to knock that doctor’s teeth down his throat if he doesn’t stop treating us like children.

I can’t think about this for another minute or I’ll lose my mind, so shut up.

For God’s sake, let this be over.

But then you feel better. You feel hopeful. You have a good day. You get up the next morning and carry on, because you love him and you’re more than willing to take it however long you have to.

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