High Hopes

I didn’t think I was going the end the year writing about the year that was, but here I am. Writer’s block is a thing. I don’t know how many attempts I have made to recap a shitty year, probably because I don’t really want to relive it. So as I sit here on December 31, 2020, drinking a cheap red from a plastic kids cup, contemplating how to give the year the send off it deserves, I recall some of the wonderful things that happened this year….and just like that, writer’s block dissolves underneath the slap of my fingers on my keyboard.

This year I realised I wasn’t superhuman. Sounds ridiculous, right? Well, in my position as the greatest wife, carer, parent, friend, councillor, confidante, taxi driver, dishwasher, ass- kicking, bed making, homework helping, love guru (I could go on but I think you get the picture) it’s safe to say I haven’t always been so upbeat and cheerful about my life. Throughout the year Paul’s health was up and down; spending time in hospital every school holidays and forced to stay home because of a global pandemic. Infection after infection, pneumonia in the left lung then in the right, losing motivation and feeling sick in the gut all the time. I had no idea what was going on with Paul physically or mentally and I felt like I was failing at my superhuman job. I was struggling and I was in way over my head. Paul’s medical team were not overly helpful, just keeping him at bay with antibiotics and dealing with symptoms as they presented. I knew there was something more going on but just couldn’t put my finger on it. I turned to someone who had helped me in the past, my energy and spiritual practitioner.

Fiona saw what nobody else could see. A dark, negative cloud sitting in the pit of Paul’s gut- the place where all those suppressed, negative feelings go to hide. “Paul should be talking by now, and he could be moving a lot more,” she told me. “He is being lazy.”

That piece of >insert a bunch of expletives< !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

After several minutes of deep breathing to avoid a situation of imploding, I realised that Paul was unmotivated and I needed to know why. What’s the point of all this if he isn’t even putting effort in? I was going to kill him! But there were so many emotions buried inside of him, from guilt and shame to feelings of inadequacy and uselessness. Fiona saw it all. He needed some tough love but he also needed his feelings validated. So I went home and did just that. As I spoke to Paul about the things Fiona said, Paul’s eyes were fixated on me like a creepy psychopath, blinking strongly in agreement to the revelations I had just presented to him. Through his non verbal methods of communication, Paul confirmed what Fiona had said. The feelings were buried deep and his constant medical issues would never be resolved until his mental health issues were dealt with.

Fast forward to a week later when Fiona was standing by Paul’s bed, shifting some of that cold, dark and stagnant energy from Paul’s stomach. I watched on as tears flowed down her cheeks. As I passed the tissues to Fiona to mop up her face, she reminded me again that they were Paul’s tears. Paul was using Fiona as a vessel to let out his emotions. I watched in awe as they seemed to have an unspoken conversation between them. It was just magical.

Its been just shy of a month since Fiona came. Paul can now move both feet in a kicking motion (set a new PB of 150 kicks in a row.) He straightens his index fingers and his thumb movements are getting stronger. Ive watched him move his wrists in short, quick bursts and his head movements get quicker. He can focus his eyes on what he wants in a 4 quadrant choice window. He chooses what he wears each day and what cologne he puts on. He can breath into a whistle to make a sound. The other day, he managed to say a very breathy “F**K” for the first time.

Sometimes I want to kill my husband. But as I write this blog, I’ve realised I have never loved him more than I do right now. I love my job.

Vicki xoxoxoxox