My darling husband drove me into town for my annual check up with the eye doctor this morning. Yesterday he had to work from home so he could take me to visit the heart clinic to check the ICD implant wound and the ICD itself to make sure everything was in working order after the implant two weeks ago. It pains me to be so dependent on others, but that’s another post.
After the eye doc appointment this morning we went to my favorite store – Home Depot – to pick up two things. I walked from one front door to the other across the front of the store. Not a great distance.
Then a 20 minute rest while we ate cheeseburgers in the truck – thank goodness for drive throughs!
On to a small town type grocery store where I stubbornly hobbled along with my cane instead of using a motorized cart. Trying to get a little exercise here and there.
But by the time we got home and I collapsed into my recliner, leaned back and closed my eyes, it was too late. I was beyond exhausted. I could barely speak and the pressure-pain in my chest was worrisome.
Is exhaustion an emotion? I don’t think so, but is there a state of being more intense than exhaustion? I can’t think of an appropriate word to describe it, but it’s the state of physical exhaustion to the degree of leaky emotions. You know what I mean: when your eyes are tightly closed and you finally fully exhale, relaxing every muscle in your body and a warm teardrop slides down your cheek. Then another, and another. Just a few though – and it cannot even be defined as crying.
It’s not crying. It’s all that determination and courage you had to employ to get through the past four hours – at least what is left of them anyway. You let them flow, take in a deep breath and then let it out slowly. Just as quickly as they began, they end. No more tears. Just a sweet, wonderful, lifeless kind of surrender that can only be understood by those who have walked the tightrope between life and death.
© Maria R. Conklin and Journey Of A Tired Heart, 2015-2016