Too Late

For the past several weeks, as I left the house with Sylvester each day for our morning walk, I paused a moment as I passed my neighbor Pat's house. I hadn't seen her out and about recently; we usually catch up on each other's lives when we cross paths out walking. 

"I should call her," I thought. I ran into another neighbor, Michelle, who told me Pat wasn't feeling well; some sort of stomach issue. "I should definitely call her," I thought.

Then I'd arrive home, and life would happen, and I didn't call her. Last night, I got a call. Pat was found dead in her home yesterday. 

She was found leaning back in her favorite chair, eyeglasses in hand, Bible on the table next to her. It looks like she died peacefully.

No need to call her now.

Late this winter, as my rounds took me past the facility where Joie lived, I would think, "I'm feeling better. I need to call Julie (her daughter) and set up time to stop in for a visit." Joie was on the Alzheimer's road. I'd only met her a few times, and I'd quickly learned to love her. She hadn't lost her spunk or her love of life and beauty; she was delightful.

Then I'd arrive at my destination, and I didn't reach out to Julie, and last month, she sent me a note. Joie had some sort of stroke one night a few weeks prior, and never really woke in the morning.

No need to visit now.

I am sad. I am sorry I didn't listen to the voice telling me to reach out to these lovely acquaintances. I do know one more visit with me wouldn't have changed much in the course of either my life or theirs, yet I am mourning the lost chance for one more moment of connection.

As often as I remind myself today is the only day I have, sometimes I manage to forget this is also true of everyone else. I fell into the trap of thinking I could call tomorrow, not knowing tomorrow would be too late.

I hope, if/when I hear the voice again, telling me to reach out, I will remember to listen today. 

Rest In Peace, my friends.

Purpose

This has not been a productive week. I sat down at the computer on Monday to write this, my weekly letter to those who care to read it, and stared at the blank screen for a long minute. I didn't even boot up the machine; just sat and stared.

Then, because there was no one to stop me, I stood up, went into the next room, and got out a jigsaw puzzle, and now you know how I've spent most of the past couple of days.

As I've been puzzling away, my mind keeps circling back to part of the conversation I had with Adam, my onco-psych doctor, last week - he has been helping me (attempt to) keep an even keel as I wend my way through treatment. We were talking about the mental transition from active treatment to living with the aftermath of those treatments. I wondered aloud, "Why am I here? Is there any sort of purpose to my life?"

After we batted this around for a bit, he gently posed the question, "How much of your search for purpose and meaning comes from within, and how much is externally generated; what you've been told by the world what purpose and meaning should look like?"

Dude.

Good question.

From the time I took over managing the household chores, after Mom's cancer came roaring back when I was 15, I've been a do-er. I've done my best to do all the things expected of me, and to do them as well as I could. The world gave me kudos for my efforts. My life had purpose. My life had meaning. They told me it did! And I believed them. 

Like a fish in a pond, I wasn't aware of the water surrounding me; that there was anything more. Then the kids grew up and I retired and my sense of purpose and meaning left with the jobs. Then, cancer dropped a leaf on the surface of the pond, and I realized how little of the world I understood.

I'm glad Adam asked the question. For the first time since I found myself wandering about in the liminal space I landed in after my camper van trip was derailed, my musings have direction. Can I become (more) aware of the limits of the pond? Can I begin to winnow my thoughts, to determine what comes from within, and what I swallowed along with the water?

I like these questions. Eventually, I may even come up with some answers. Who knows?

And Today Is??

I am three weeks into my six-week surgery recovery period. It didn't take long, without my daily routine to give structure to my days, for me to fall into the gray fog of limbo-land.

What day is today? Does it even matter? Let's look at the calendar of events. Hmmm. Walk the dog, morning and evening, and...  Ooh! Excitement! Today I go to the grocery store AND do laundry. Sure hope my energy will hold up! 

The sad part is that, many days, the above thrills do turn out to be about all I can handle. This surgery wasn't major. I am surprised at how much of my energy is still being directed to healing.

Doesn't help that, many nights, I haven't been sleeping well. I know exercise is a healthy addiction, but an addiction it is. And as with any addiction, cold turkey withdrawal can be brutal; my muscles start objecting in the middle of the night. It can take quite a while to get settled back down. It kinda sucks.

Lack of energy and poor rest have led to much brain fog. It frustrates me to have all this lovely free time on my hands, yet not be able to enjoy doing the things. Fortunately, I still have a couple more meals from the food fairies tucked away in the freezer - thaw and eat is much better than attempting to plan and cook.

Soon, I tell me. Soon, this, too, shall pass.

The good news part is, starting today, I got to go back to gentle easy stretchy yoga. The doc's office said I could and everything. I have a long list of restrictions, mostly centered around not using my chest muscles, i.e. no putting weight on my wrists, but that's OK - I've been doing classes long enough to know what alternative poses I can safely do. After this morning's class, my hips and thighs are definitely happier; here's hoping the effects last through the night.

It's already getting harder for me to follow the no-more-than-10-lbs rule. My chest doesn't hurt much at all, and without pain as a reminder, I keep forgetting I'm not allowed to do stuff. *sigh*

I am grateful I get to stretch, because the lymph cords have returned. Those things hurt. At least, this time, as long as I avoid a healing incision or two, I'm allowed to poke and stretch the cords. I hope early intervention will keep them from becoming lingering nuisances, like they did last winter. We shall see.

In the meantime, the world moves on. The sunlight has regained its energy, leaving behind the pallid light of winter. The days are long, the flowers are blooming.

And, this time, *GodWillin'AndTheCrickDon'tRise*, when I get better, I get to stay better. I hope. For a while, at least. 

One step at a time.

Surgery Aftermath

I've made great strides in recovery this past week. The Food Fairies made sure I didn't need to worry about coming up with something to eat for dinner each night, so all I had to do was work on healing.

The first few days home, I walked Sylvester around just one block - and even that was a stretch for my sore legs. Wednesday, I decided it was time to live a little closer to the edge, and walked him around two (!!2!!) blocks. I was exhausted when I got home, but no more sore, so I counted it as a win. Friday, we went back to our normal half-mile morning and evening walks, with the same results. The effort wears me out, but doesn't make things hurt.

You can tell how exciting my week has been, because those are the high points.

They tell me it takes energy to heal, and at this point, I believe them. I have all the energy reserves of a sidewalk puddle in the sunlight. 

Still, I grow weary of being weary. I gave it a WHOLE WEEK! You'd think I'd be better by now!

Only gentle exercises can be done - no sweating allowed - for another week. Then, I'm hoping I can talk the docs into letting me go back to some gentle yoga classes. I am growing restless and I miss seeing people. 

It'll be two weeks after that before I'm going to be able to ease back into my regular workout routine. Sure would hate to go through all this pain only to mess up the doc's good work with my impatience. (From his notes he found several spots carrying a "heavy scar burden", and took out the tissue. His words give me hope - perhaps my shoulder will give me much less trouble going forward.)

To keep myself busy, I've been doing some low-energy projects. The flower beds are cleared of the baby weeds it takes little effort to pull. I actually enjoyed this part - sitting quietly in the cool air, digging my fingers into the dirt, thinking not much of anything at all. 

I've also been taking baby steps on some long-procrastinated-on, but low-energy projects. All right, team! Ready to clear out old files? You know I'll be happier (or, at least better organized) if I get some of this stuff done! True, but, *sigh*

Clearly, it's time to take some drastic measures. Puzzles and Prosecco (minus the prosecco - alcohol and healing are not bosom companions), here I come! 

One step at a time.