on being seen

It's been a tough few months. OK, a tough few years. But for now, a tough few weeks.

I've been feeling the most sick I have felt since this all started and there are no answers yet, even though I have some people on my "health team" who I have to keep remembering do care and are trying to help. They're now thinking maybe it's Sjogren's, so I'm slowly getting tested for that (so far it's a bunch of negatives). School started, and I have to muster all of my happy energy to welcome new and returning students. My husband is traveling for work a lot this month. We lost my mom in February and his mom just a few weeks ago, also to cancer, so there's the not-knowing how to support someone when your relationship is already not as good as it could be, when you coexist in the same house but don't know how to do marriage any more. Sometimes I'm not sure what I can tell whom, whether work friends are life friends or just work friends or somewhere in between. My older kid is a senior in high school this year, and today was the first day of school, I'm starting to grieve what I know will be a hard transition. It's a lot for anyone, and as my therapist pointed out, when you're depressed, you don't really cope very well.

And then there was this morning.

A few months ago, the gas station on the corner of Cherry Valley and Route 206 was bought by a lovely young guy whose name is Sunny. He's from Pakistan. I only share that because it's important to him.

The first time I met him, he was so excited to introduce himself, to welcome me to his business. It was the most awesome gas pump visit ever. And so the next time, I greeted him by name. It made him smile, and it made ME smile, and now he calls me "my dean." When I drive up, he says "hello, beautiful!" We always have actual conversations: about people, about families, about religion, about mental health (his brother is a therapist), about life. He says he loves coming to work because he loves all of the people he meets, despite the insane hours on his feet. I met his mom and sister in Pakistan on a Facetime when I happened to be there one morning while he was on a call. I told them he was famous. He's met my daughter, and lectured her on the importance of mothers in your life. He introduced me to his wife, who is finishing her degree in social work; she's interested in end of life care, and we talked about the real need for this role in eldercare. He offers me coffee, and I always politely decline, because I've had my one cup, and then he offers me water. It's an unlikely and probably not very deep but heart-warming relationship, and I always drive away smiling.

Today was a particularly tough morning. I've been especially depressed and hopeless the past few days. My vision has been so bad that I thought I was going blind yesterday. I woke up feeling like crap, with a headache and feeling like I was going to be sick, was trying to decide whether to go get my blood drawn to check my sodium (because that's the only way you can check it and those are symptoms of hyponatremia to which I'm now prone thanks to my medication for diabetes insipidus), and noticed I needed to get gas. So I went to Sunny's.

I didn't see him when I drove up to the gas station. He recently hired someone else, so I thought maybe I'd end up with the new employee pumping my gas. But just as I was settling into that possibility, there he came, running up to my car from somewhere I hadn't seen.

"Hello, beautiful," he said, sticking his arm and head into my open window. He thrust a bottle of water past the passenger side to me. "I saw your car drive up and I grabbed some water for you."

As he walked away to start the pump, I clutched the Poland Spring to my chest and started to cry. (Which is always a relief because sometimes my eyes are so dry they don't even make tears.) And of course I was still crying when he came back to start his conversation.

"What's wrong?" he asked, genuinely concerned. I shook my head, still clutching the bottle to my chest. "What's wrong? Tell me, friend," he urged.

"I've been sick for a long time, Sunny," I managed to say. "It's OK. I just really needed this kindness this morning."

"Tell me," he said again, gently, holding out his hand over the passenger seat. I grabbed it with both of my hands, held it.

"It's OK," I said. "I have a therapist."

"Friends are more powerful than therapists," he said. "I get off work at 11. You come."

"I can't," I told him. "I have to pick up my kids after work."

"I will be waiting," he said. "You come." And he ran to take care of the next customer.

~~~~~

That would be a good end to the story. But there's more that matters, I think. 

So I went to get my blood drawn, and on my way out, I got a text from one of my colleagues, with whom I'd spent two hours in close contact last night at a college sponsored event that I have to co-host. After feeling not great last night, he tested positive for COVID this morning.

I felt so angry again. I'm already sick. I'm already trying to spin many plates alone. I'm running on empty. I can't afford to get COVID right now.

My work guidelines say that if you're exposed, you come in anyway, and wear a mask. You test on day 5. So into work I went, texting everyone I knew I'd see, trying to do damage control from the event last night, trying to plan for the week ahead just in case. I canceled plans to visit my high school English teachers, whom I haven't seen in almost a year. I let my therapist know so she could tell me she wants to be virtual next week.

I went to my office, closed my door, sat down, and drank my Sunny water.

A knock came. One of my colleagues.

Who dropped a brown paper bag on my desk with a single chocolate chip cookie, and a note that said "While it won't remove all of the annoyance, hopefully it came bring a smile."

So here I am crying again.

Because sometimes it is so hard to try to communicate all of your needs when there are so many freaking needs, and you feel like you're completely exhausting because you have so many needs, and when people just SEE you without you needing to say a word, it breaks your heart wide open.