A bed. A Friday Morning. Clouds. Dreams. Joe at BK.
It's Friday morning. You awaken briefly as T comes in the bedroom to say goodbye to you as she leaves for work. There is a murmuring about hoping that she has a good day or some such thing. You are asleep again before she leaves the room. It is just before seven.
You awaken again around 8:30. Sigh. Stretch. Contemplate getting up to pee and decide that the need is not that great. You think about not so long ago when you used to wake up when T left for work, ready to start your day. You are no longer that person. You let her go. Shins are aching fiercely; you move to your back and lay them both down gently, straight out. Feel the warmth of the electric mattress begin to soothe them. You tumble back into sleep, dream a dream that is one of many in a shuffle of dream cards. The dreams are different. The situation pretty much never changes. You are in charge of one toddler or ten. Sometimes, you are in charge of all three of your children but they are all strange ages. L will be 4, C will be a newborn, and S, just walking. Sometimes, you don't know the children in your dream, but they are always babies and toddlers and you are always in charge and you are always distressed because this is a big mistake. You are too tired, too damaged to be in charge. WHY did you agree to do this? Children slip away, are lost. You clutch one while searching for the other. In this dream, you are with one of your sisters and preparing a wedding cake. You are in charge of ingredients and there are a lot of missing ones. You are embarrassed. How could you have forgotten to purchase anise? Flour? You are babysitting two children as well. You have no idea who these children are but in your dream, they are your siblings. A boy and a girl. You somehow lose the boy and the girl has a dirty diaper. Also, the cake needs to be baked. Your sister is everywhere and nowhere.
You awaken hot and mad. It is always this way. There are always children. You manage to lose one of them, sometimes more. There is a project that is not finished. Sometimes it is a work project, other times it is not. You have several versions of this dream at least three or four times a week.
You lay in bed and check your watch. It is nearly nine thirty. You really need to get up. You went to bed at nine thirty last night. So...twelve hours of sleep. That is a lot.
Your body thinks otherwise. Your body is tired. Muscles and joints aching mightily. You don't feel rested or refreshed at all. You think about your last session with your palliative helper. How she told you that instead of fighting rest, you should merge, conjoin, make fast to it. You liked those words. And you try to do this but it goes against your nature. You were raised to be a doer, not to be lazy. This feels lazy.
And it is cloudy outside. Supposed to snow later in the day. Your car is in the shop. There is nowhere for you to be today. No appointments. It is so warm in this bed. That dream was so mentally draining and your body is already slipping back into sleepiness.
Your aching bones settle against the soft sheets and you nod off again. This time, you say your mantra as you drift off.
Peace. Love. Healing.
You drift away. When you awaken an hour later, you feel better. You lay in bed and do your anti clot stretches and then slowly pull off the covers.
Brrhh. It is so cold. Your house temperature is set on 68, but your bedroom is at the end of the radiator line in your old house, so it rarely gets above 60 degrees in your bedroom in the Winter. Good sleeping weather. Not so good getting up weather.
You slide back under the covers. This would be easier if the sun was peeking through the slats of the blinds. But, not today. It is going to be a cold, long day. You think of drinking your protein drink for breakfast, reading that good book. Food is not your friend anymore. It isn't that you are sick. You just have no appetite. The chemo you are on is one of the better ones for that. It doesn't make you puke all the time, it just takes away your urge to eat. Food is fuel now.
Fatigue is the main problem that you battle. You know that if you don't get out of the bed quickly, it will call you back and therein lies the rub: it could seduce you all day. There have been more days than you care to admit that have been spent in that bed.
Today will not be one of them. You get up and limp painfully to the bathroom. Pee. Brush teeth. Look at hair to see if you have lost any more. It isn't too bad. Shivering, you make up the bed and get dressed. Your fingers are clumsy. Socks are hard. Buttons are harder. Tying your sneakers is time consuming.
You pull on a sweater and wander to the fridge, pull out a protein drink and sit down to read.
The silence in the house is soothing. A squirrel quarrels with a cardinal on the banister of the back porch. The sky is gray and insidious looking. You sip the protein drink.
You are lucky. You did not have to get up and go to a job today. As much as you miss working, you are no fool. You could never do a job. You think back to yesterday. How after your dental appointment, you stopped at Burger King to get a sausage and egg biscuit. The line in the drive through was insane and slow. Finally, as you got to the window, you saw why. An older man, probably in his late 60's was being trained. He had a bulbous nose and a good work ethic expression. He was slow but friendly.
"You had the chocolate milk and the number 8?" he asked.
You started to say that no, you just had the sausage and egg biscuit but a younger man, obviously his trainer, said in an unkind voice,
"NO, JOE! For Pete sakes, she has THIS one. You follow the order on the screen, not the counter. C'MON!!!"
Joe shook his head and apologized to you. "It's my first day," he said. "I think I'll sleep well tonight. This is hard!"
His trainer just rolled his eyes. You looked at the trainer's name tag.
CRAIG.
A car beeped behind you. You told Joe he was doing just fine and moved on. You started to drive home and then turned around and drove back to the Burger King and went inside. Asked to speak to the manager. A friendly man named Mike came up to you and asked how he could help.
"I think you could give Joe a break," you said. "And maybe a more patient trainer. Craig doesn't have the empathy or kindness to his elders to do this job successfully. I think you need someone more evolved."
Mike looked puzzled. You told him about your drive through experience. "A little patience will go a long way," you said. "Craig seems unequipped for the job. And you know what? Older workers have proven themselves to be better workers, in the long run. If you give Joe a chance, he may surprise you."
You don't know if what you said made a difference. Probably not. But, you have said this many times. Cancer has not given you many gifts. One gift, though, is that you do not suffer fools. And you refuse to watch someone being bullied. Even though Joe could've probably held his own. You were not going to just sit there and watch and say nothing. You seem to have lost that piece of yourself.
It took cancer for you to do that. You realized one day that you just didn't care if everyone liked you anymore. You were not on earth to watch bullies or suck up for love.
It hasn't always worked out for you. But....oh, well. What you realize, too, is that you are actually an incredibly lucky person. You are in a battle. You do not have to work full time while you fight it. A lot of people don't have that luxury. You do. You also have the luxury of staying in bed and resting all day if you need to do so. You have incredibly expensive medications and can afford to purchase them. You will never have to worry about paying for your medications. This is a gift.
You sit and drink your protein drink and read your book, looking up now and then to watch the birds outside.
It is a bed. A Friday morning. Clouds. Mundane dreams that reveal your inner frustrations. And Joe at Burger King to teach you a lesson.
Not a bad couple of days. You're still capable of learning.
You awaken again around 8:30. Sigh. Stretch. Contemplate getting up to pee and decide that the need is not that great. You think about not so long ago when you used to wake up when T left for work, ready to start your day. You are no longer that person. You let her go. Shins are aching fiercely; you move to your back and lay them both down gently, straight out. Feel the warmth of the electric mattress begin to soothe them. You tumble back into sleep, dream a dream that is one of many in a shuffle of dream cards. The dreams are different. The situation pretty much never changes. You are in charge of one toddler or ten. Sometimes, you are in charge of all three of your children but they are all strange ages. L will be 4, C will be a newborn, and S, just walking. Sometimes, you don't know the children in your dream, but they are always babies and toddlers and you are always in charge and you are always distressed because this is a big mistake. You are too tired, too damaged to be in charge. WHY did you agree to do this? Children slip away, are lost. You clutch one while searching for the other. In this dream, you are with one of your sisters and preparing a wedding cake. You are in charge of ingredients and there are a lot of missing ones. You are embarrassed. How could you have forgotten to purchase anise? Flour? You are babysitting two children as well. You have no idea who these children are but in your dream, they are your siblings. A boy and a girl. You somehow lose the boy and the girl has a dirty diaper. Also, the cake needs to be baked. Your sister is everywhere and nowhere.
You awaken hot and mad. It is always this way. There are always children. You manage to lose one of them, sometimes more. There is a project that is not finished. Sometimes it is a work project, other times it is not. You have several versions of this dream at least three or four times a week.
You lay in bed and check your watch. It is nearly nine thirty. You really need to get up. You went to bed at nine thirty last night. So...twelve hours of sleep. That is a lot.
Your body thinks otherwise. Your body is tired. Muscles and joints aching mightily. You don't feel rested or refreshed at all. You think about your last session with your palliative helper. How she told you that instead of fighting rest, you should merge, conjoin, make fast to it. You liked those words. And you try to do this but it goes against your nature. You were raised to be a doer, not to be lazy. This feels lazy.
And it is cloudy outside. Supposed to snow later in the day. Your car is in the shop. There is nowhere for you to be today. No appointments. It is so warm in this bed. That dream was so mentally draining and your body is already slipping back into sleepiness.
Your aching bones settle against the soft sheets and you nod off again. This time, you say your mantra as you drift off.
Peace. Love. Healing.
You drift away. When you awaken an hour later, you feel better. You lay in bed and do your anti clot stretches and then slowly pull off the covers.
Brrhh. It is so cold. Your house temperature is set on 68, but your bedroom is at the end of the radiator line in your old house, so it rarely gets above 60 degrees in your bedroom in the Winter. Good sleeping weather. Not so good getting up weather.
You slide back under the covers. This would be easier if the sun was peeking through the slats of the blinds. But, not today. It is going to be a cold, long day. You think of drinking your protein drink for breakfast, reading that good book. Food is not your friend anymore. It isn't that you are sick. You just have no appetite. The chemo you are on is one of the better ones for that. It doesn't make you puke all the time, it just takes away your urge to eat. Food is fuel now.
Fatigue is the main problem that you battle. You know that if you don't get out of the bed quickly, it will call you back and therein lies the rub: it could seduce you all day. There have been more days than you care to admit that have been spent in that bed.
Today will not be one of them. You get up and limp painfully to the bathroom. Pee. Brush teeth. Look at hair to see if you have lost any more. It isn't too bad. Shivering, you make up the bed and get dressed. Your fingers are clumsy. Socks are hard. Buttons are harder. Tying your sneakers is time consuming.
You pull on a sweater and wander to the fridge, pull out a protein drink and sit down to read.
The silence in the house is soothing. A squirrel quarrels with a cardinal on the banister of the back porch. The sky is gray and insidious looking. You sip the protein drink.
You are lucky. You did not have to get up and go to a job today. As much as you miss working, you are no fool. You could never do a job. You think back to yesterday. How after your dental appointment, you stopped at Burger King to get a sausage and egg biscuit. The line in the drive through was insane and slow. Finally, as you got to the window, you saw why. An older man, probably in his late 60's was being trained. He had a bulbous nose and a good work ethic expression. He was slow but friendly.
"You had the chocolate milk and the number 8?" he asked.
You started to say that no, you just had the sausage and egg biscuit but a younger man, obviously his trainer, said in an unkind voice,
"NO, JOE! For Pete sakes, she has THIS one. You follow the order on the screen, not the counter. C'MON!!!"
Joe shook his head and apologized to you. "It's my first day," he said. "I think I'll sleep well tonight. This is hard!"
His trainer just rolled his eyes. You looked at the trainer's name tag.
CRAIG.
A car beeped behind you. You told Joe he was doing just fine and moved on. You started to drive home and then turned around and drove back to the Burger King and went inside. Asked to speak to the manager. A friendly man named Mike came up to you and asked how he could help.
"I think you could give Joe a break," you said. "And maybe a more patient trainer. Craig doesn't have the empathy or kindness to his elders to do this job successfully. I think you need someone more evolved."
Mike looked puzzled. You told him about your drive through experience. "A little patience will go a long way," you said. "Craig seems unequipped for the job. And you know what? Older workers have proven themselves to be better workers, in the long run. If you give Joe a chance, he may surprise you."
You don't know if what you said made a difference. Probably not. But, you have said this many times. Cancer has not given you many gifts. One gift, though, is that you do not suffer fools. And you refuse to watch someone being bullied. Even though Joe could've probably held his own. You were not going to just sit there and watch and say nothing. You seem to have lost that piece of yourself.
It took cancer for you to do that. You realized one day that you just didn't care if everyone liked you anymore. You were not on earth to watch bullies or suck up for love.
It hasn't always worked out for you. But....oh, well. What you realize, too, is that you are actually an incredibly lucky person. You are in a battle. You do not have to work full time while you fight it. A lot of people don't have that luxury. You do. You also have the luxury of staying in bed and resting all day if you need to do so. You have incredibly expensive medications and can afford to purchase them. You will never have to worry about paying for your medications. This is a gift.
You sit and drink your protein drink and read your book, looking up now and then to watch the birds outside.
It is a bed. A Friday morning. Clouds. Mundane dreams that reveal your inner frustrations. And Joe at Burger King to teach you a lesson.
Not a bad couple of days. You're still capable of learning.
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