What Bleeds Between Us

Summer Camp- No Longer Separate

Maybe the blood that seeps from his belly is the same pain I feel in my own. When two become one, there may be no distinction between the war of disease and the suffering that we, as a couple—my husband and I—experience. Perhaps his physical anguish reflects my emotional turmoil. This journey is not just his; it is ours.

Photo by Cassi Josh on Unsplash

Maybe this is what love means: togetherness. We are never separate, our hearts and minds intertwined, never quite knowing where one of us ends and the other begins. I used to view this connection as unhealthy, proud of my separateness, until I became her, me, them—tangled in the fabric of the blanket that is us.

Summer camp—the scent of a fresh, clean lake. Summer camp—the night sky filled with stars, the moon, and planets. Summer camp—startled awake with my heart racing.

Photo by alex° on Unsplash

Summer camp—feces in bed. Summer camp—blue gloves, wet wipes, fresh sheet, clean bed. Summer camp- I am an assistant, the restroom is too far for him to be safe. Summer camp- untangle IV’s, roll the cart, hold him sturdy, he is a fall risk. Summer camp—waiting, wide awake at 3 a.m. when he calls my name, so I can walk him back to bed.

Summer camp—I hold his body, embracing all 230 lbs of him. Summer camp- we slow dance in the darkness beneath the stars, the moon, and the dim light. Just for a few seconds, maybe a minute. All is right in this world. Summer camp—I help him into bed and take my place in the recliner beside him.

Summer camp—we hold hands. “I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else,” he says. “Do what?” I tease, knowing he is referring to this hospital experience as our summer camp—quite literally sitting in the mess together.

We laugh about the absurdity of what we now call summer camp. Both of us long for this summer camp to end so we can be under the real stars and sky instead of the nightlight, breathing fresh air rather than melted candle wax, and sleeping in our home in our bed.

Summer camp is still happening. So we hold hands, as that is what one does when they are no longer separate but a pair. We stay in it—through the medical complications, secret winks, unspoken words, bodily fluids, bile, blood, and smells that are always okay, because everything is okay when two become one, and summer camp is still happening, and so are we.