I’m Here but I’m Not Here

I’m here, but I’m not.

I’m not really listening.

I’m consulting google on a regular basis. Mid email, I’ll return to the keywords: urethra, diverticulum, recovery, complications. I read everyone’s story, and then snap out of it and realize I have no idea how I’ll recover. I cannot plan this.

And then I try to plan it.

I count backwards from Christmas day, how many weeks? I look at the school calendar, check the holidays and re-think, re-plan and then replay all of the sentences I can remember. I know she said possibly two operations, but I can’t remember what the second one was? I remember my knees shaking, someone telling me to sit down, hearing them say “she needs time to digest this”. What did I miss? What didn’t I digest? And then I realize I’ll have no idea until I go to see the urologist again. “We’ll know more after the 22nd”. I cannot plan this.

And then I try to plan it.

I have just over three weeks left of our time in Australia, and I’m wasting it. The medicine they gave me is making me nauseous, I can’t concentrate, I’m not drinking. I’m not hungry. I can’t stop thinking about catheters and driving and stairs and relatives and what it might be like to go to hospital for days without G.

In two days we’ll be in Queensland. A change of scenery. There will be no plans, just beach, family, shopping, old friends. I will not google. I will not plan, I will wait. I will not wonder if the Grade 1 concert is held in November and how quickly I can find that out upon arriving back in Doha.

I will try to forget.

I’m here, but I’m not.

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