Thursday, June 18, 2009

"time goes by so slowly...

for those who wait, there's not time to hesitate"

to quote Madonna's track one to her CD Jump!
I've been listening to that song on and off for years because I happen to love it and that album as well. Most times I've always thought that, no, time doesn't move "so slowly"... it moves much too quickly.
Take my garden for example, I've been tending it as best I could for some time now and already I see a few little teeny tiny tomato fetuses (I don't know what they're called when they're mini tomatoes the size of a pea). How quickly they grow and yet the seedlings were only planted in what seems like only days ago. Yet, I stop and remind myself that it's already June. June, the sixth month of the year. June, summer Solstice is upon us, we are half way to winter Solstice. June, six months since I was admitted to the Heart Institute. Six months have passed, that's 6 months less I have to live. If I am gifted with 4 years, that's one eighth of my life left. If I get 2 years, that's a quarter of what I have left.
Time doesn't move slowly, it races by. Except of course if you're waiting for something.

Time really has passed so painfully slow the past few days - waiting, waiting for signs of life, of things to turn. The saying "no news is good news" is wearing awfully thin around here. It's been over 48 hours since the Step-Son went into cardiac arrest. Although he's now thawed out, he's not yet conscious. Tests for brain damage/brain activity are currently being done. How one can do that when someone is still in a comatose state is beyond me. How can you test memory recall , cognitive functioning etc. if the person is not even awake?

Time moves so slowly when one waits, waits for Pacific time to catch up with our time. When our morning is over at noon, their day at the hospital has only just begun. The earliest I get a text here is a 3pm. If I fly out, I know I wouldn't be of any use there, perhaps only get in the way since there are loads of people around him - hoping, praying, meditating, etc. on him to wake up, on him to pull through. A times I'm told it's crowded that people can only go in shifts. The positive note is that if and when he wakes up he won't be alone - unless it's the dead of night and eveyone's decided silumtaneously to get some rest.

Back in Ottawa I'm getting jumpy everytime I receive a text message. Is it good news or is it bad? It's some news that's for sure. I wouldn't get a text if it wasn't news. Sometimes hours will go by without reading a thing and that's when I realize that I would rather get rattled with a text than read/hear nothing at all. Thank G-d for technology, I'm not sure how people communicated so cheaply in the past. I've come to accept that technology is here to stay and like it or not, it really helps gets messages across. It may be impersonal but the greater the amount of people one knows and the further apart they are, the easier it is to disseminate all this information - necessary or not.

Althoug in my own life, time moves too quickly, time is essetnially running out. At the very present tense, time crawls at a turtle's pace at best. At worst, it stands silently still with no change, no signs, nothing to go on. Here in Ottawa in a house that feels oversized and eerily quiet I'm helpless to do anything for my Wife but send prayers of healing, Reiki and love. She was warmed when I told her there are thoughts/warmth/prayers/ etc. from everywhere in between to both coasts. Atlantic and Pacific. (Which reminds me, I still have to contact her best friend in Sask who was the first to know Thomas' existence.) And of course, I net-work for her from afar. (One friend's already given us contacts for excellent cardiologists out there should he wake up and need them). I've always been the communicator of the family, it's times like these that I don't mind it whatsoever. It's the least I can do during this unbearably long and painful course .