I'm lying in my bed wishing the night before hadn't happened. Wishing that I could have acted sooner. Wishing that Casey would have come home an hour later. I roll over to my side and crack open an eye. I see that the door to the bedroom is shut indicating that Casey is already up for the day. I groan, snap my eye shut and roll over on my other side. This doesn't help. The sun is beating through the window despite the blinds. It is as if the sun is taunting me, "Yoo hoo, Tamara!! It's morning! You might as well get up because I'm not going to let you sleep!" "Damn sun.", I think to myself. I throw the covers off me, get out of bed and put on a pair of comfy pants. (Comfy pants is my term for PJs.)
I stumble to the living room. I look out the window. There's Casey outside watering the plants. I think to myself, "I hate how productive he is." I shuffle my way to the back door, step outside and plop myself down on a patio chair. I watch Casey for a bit. He's going about his day, basking in the sun and playing with the dog. He shows no sign of anything occurring last night. Until he looks my way. I can see the sadness in his eyes. I can see the look of concern radiating from his face all the way across his body. "Good morning honey. How are you?" He asks with a tone that implies he wants me to have been magically healed overnight. My response to him is to just shrug my shoulders and look away.
I wait for him to turn away from me before I allow myself to look at him again. He has turned away to watch our chickens. He's thrown in some feed for them. The three little feathered ladies are running amok trying to get every last bit as quickly as possible. Almost as if it's their last supper. I watch Casey watching the chickens. His shoulders are slumped, his head lowered and his movements sluggish. I know this man. I can tell that he feels like he's losing the fight. A fight that is not his to win. He wants so badly for me to get better. He wants so badly for me to become a participant in my own life. He has done everything he can to heal me. But I can tell that he is close to giving up.
This thought makes me incredibly sad. More sad than I ever thought I could be, especially considering that fact that I'm more depressed than I've ever been in my entire life. My face contorts into a pained expression. Furrowed brow, mouth downturned, eyebrows knitted and jaw clenched. (This expression becomes frozen on my face for the weeks to come.)
The noise in my head is as loud as it's ever been but for a brief moment there is silence. In this split second I am able to decide what I must do. This decision will impact the rest of my life. It is the decision that will take me from dying to living, although I don't know this yet. I just know that if I don't do something I will lose my chance at the life I've always wanted. The life that will enable me to achieve my goals for love, marriage, children, travel and happiness.
I look back at Casey. He has knelt down next to our big dog. Scratching her behind the ears. He feels my look on him and turns his head my way. The sadness in his eyes is overbearing. He knows I want to say something so he stands up, puts his hands in his pockets. Despite the hurt in his face he gives me his full attention.
I don't want to say this to him. It makes me feel like a loser. It makes me feel like I've given up. It makes me feel like I truly am sick. But then, maybe I am. I look at the man I love and say, "If I don't do this right now I never will. Let's go to the hospital."
Casey drops his hands from his pockets. Breathes a sigh of relief and says to me, "I'll go get my keys."
