How To Wake Up In The Morning

Several months ago, someone asked me casually, "How do you wake up in the morning?" It's a simple question.

The question within it was, "When your wife is facing a chronic, life-threatening and incurable illness, how do you go on?" And lurking under THAT question, like a long buried mummy slowly coming back to life, is the question, "Why?"

My answer at the time was succinct and profound. "Um. I don't know."

I never have given much thought. Usually there's so much going on - medical crises, housekeeping, work, and everything else in life that occupies us - that I don't have time for self-examination.

This is by no means a complete list, but it's just some of the way I get my day started.

1. I open my eyes. This helps immeasurably. The mornings I failed to open my eyes were ones I thought I was putting on a pair of pants to find out later in the office I was only wearing a dress sock.

2. I move my body. Let's not be drastic. This doesn't necessarily involve leaving the bed or doing downward dogs or push-ups. Instead, I shift my limbs around, slowly and diplomatically. Is my wife still there? Yes, she is. I try not to disturb her. She needs her sleep. Because of the intestinal side fx of her illness - a very short bowel means very frequent trips to the bathroom - her body doesn't absorb all the nutrients that the average body (a "normally-bowelled" body) needs to get through the day. Plus, she is not now nor ever was a morning person. So I let her sleep.

3. The alarm goes off. I jerk my limbs, fumble for the clock, accidently raise the volume of NPR to a low jet roar, and wake up Jean.

4. I make inquiries. After a low grumble from the other side of the bed, I ask the following question.
"How many times?" This refers to bathroom visits.
Her answer is one of the following:
a. Several. (I say I'm sorry.)
b. A couple. (Not bad. In sports terms the equivalent of your ball team making it to the playoffs, but not getting to the finals.)
c. None. (I do a small dance of joy, jerking my limbs, and further waking Jean.)

5. I get up and spring into action. This usually happens during emergencies, hospital stays, complications in the middle of the night. During times like these, I respond like General Ulysses S. Grant, who possessed what's called "four o'clock in the morning courage". The success of my courage always depends on finding my pants. (See #1)

6. I don't get up. I'm awake, but I just don't feel like getting out of bed. Or putting on clothes. Or going to work. Or eating. Or doing anything. Sometimes it's a protest over a late night of work, or not getting any sleep because of medical problems, or because we're in a hospital (a place as conducive to sleep as the Motel 6 next to Route I-95). Sometimes it's a sign of depression: a normal human reaction to extraordinary inhuman and over-whelming circumstances. Thanks to Jean, family, friends, and counselors, these mornings aren't so frequent. But they do happen. It's natural and no shame in it.

7. I go back to sleep. The most natural human reaction, especially on a cold winter morning before the crack of dawn. And I don't have to worry about pants.

Posted by gasbarro at January 22, 2007 08:27 AM