There’s a Hole in Bed Where You’re Supposed To Be

Thérèse & Rob Frank relax with us at our former apartment in Maastricht.

As predicted last night was heavy for Martijn – he didn’t process the food and had a very very bad night vomiting. This is dangerous on two accounts – when you are lying flat on back you can choke to death; when you have tenuous deep wounds everywhere in your lower track…well you get the picture. Happily, he rallied after the nursing team reinserted the stomach tube that drains the bile from his stomach. Today he was back on no food and water, marking the fifth day of such a regime.

Nevertheless, he had asked to see another set of very old dear friends, Thérèse & Rob Frank, now of Rotterdam. Martijn was Rob's roommate in university. We had a very nice visit and they marveled at Martijn’s resilience in the face of all this. Later, they drove me home where we shared tea and conversation. Before I headed back to the hospital, I simply collapsed, taking an unaccustomed 15-minute power nap. It was enough to refresh me. Our neighbor and dear friend Audrey drove and accompanied me to the hospital where Martijn rested again bathed in an autumnal sunset. Hopefully this evening he’ll rest well since tomorrow is a big day with the possible removal of the epidural (spinal tap) that has provided precious relief from pain. I’m certainly not looking forward to this next stage, but I’ll be there for whatever support I can muster. Basically, Martijn seems stable and progressing nicely post-surgery. His spirit is still very high and tonight he cried explaining that he truly feels the love of so many people helping through these stages of recovery. We are both beyond words of gratitude for you, a member of this healing community.

Before I turn in here are a few simple things that can cause my tears to flow: hanging one towel and washcloth in the bathroom where two sets always sit; seeing the dishwasher fill slowly with one set of everything instead of two; beginning to fall asleep and waiting for the nightly backrub that doesn’t happen and the “ribbit ribbit” chant we usually prattle every night before snuggling off to sleep. It’s not just about the pain, the fear, the uncertainty, you see, but about the tangible heart-rending absence of things familiar and beloved. I remember a line from a John Lennon song that goes something like: “…there’s a hole in bed where you’re supposed to be….”