"It Do Be Like That."

Yesterday was a no good, very bad day, as Alexander would say. 

I blame it on the rain. This never ending rain. It has been the coolest Spring/Summer that I remember in a very long time. And the rainiest. Of course, all the idiots who don't believe in climate change are out saying ridiculous things like, "If this is climate change, let me have it, son!" Apparently, like Donald Trump, they weren't listening in science class when the difference between weather and climate was discussed. 

I am so sick of rain. I used to kind of think that night time thunder storms were cozy. Now, I just think, "AGAIN? Jaysus!" We have not had to turn on our lawn sprinklers. Not once. My tomatoes have yellow leaves. I went out and apologized to them yesterday, in between rainstorms. 

"This isn't normal," I told them. "Normal is that it is more dry than rainy in the Summer and much hotter. Normal would be me trotting out here with a bucket of water for you occasionally. Normal would be that you would be sunsoaked, not rainsoaked." 

I fingered a yellowy leaf and sighed. Felt its root stem. It was still strong, but not as firm as I liked. 

I realize that this could all change in an instant. Soon, I could be complaining that I was tired of the constant thrum of the air conditioning, of walking outside into a steam bath of hot air. It may just come yet. 

And the mosquitoes. Good hell. I have been in chemo for months, so the bugs have been avoiding me like the plague. It is one of the few perks of being on chemo. Bugs have no taste for your blood. But, since I have been off of my meds, they now have resumed to loving and craving my Irish girl pale blood. They attack me with gusto whenever I am outside. This rainy, cool weather has made them swarm. I sat in the car yesterday, waiting for T to get done walking. We have become true weather watchers. One of us will say, "Hey, it's stopped raining. Check your phone. When is it supposed to start up again?" And if we have an hour respite, we go to the park so I can sit in the pale anemic sunshine while T walks. I am too weak to go for walks anymore, but I enjoy bench sitting. But, the bugs were so awful as I sat on the bench, that I limped back to the car and sat trying to read with the window cracked open. A mosquito found its way in and began to torment me as only a mosquito can. It dive bombed my face, buzzed in my ear, tried to munch on my neck and arms. I swiped at it, swore at it. Finally, it got me good on the back of my upper arm. Twice. Immediately my arm welted up in quarter sized itchy mounds. I put anti itch lotion on them when we got home, but I was crabby. 

The crabby went on for the rest of the day. T is working hard on her dissertation. She has a paper due tonight. I read a lot. Watched a movie. 

This weather is not good for my RA. My joints began to ache, especially in my ankles, a new favorite resting spot. At last the clock limped to bedtime. I told T that I was going to take a shower and call it a day. She immediately came over to me and said she'd get my towel ready and start the shower. 

I was lucky that she is so attentive. When I tried to stand, both ankles went whompy on me. This probably makes no sense to those of you who do not have RA. It means that my joints were not feeling cooperative and they caved in as if I were on ice skates at a rink. I fumbled forward into her arms. She calmly stood still until I was steadied and we stood for a few seconds. 

"Ready to try again?" I heard her say. Yes, this has happened before. She knows the drill. A few times this has happened when I was alone and it did not end well. I ended up pitching forward and either catching myself on a piece of furniture or landing on the floor. I was lucky, very lucky that she happened to be there. 

I took a long shaky breath. Told her yes. Tried again. This time, much more gingerly. And it was okay. My right ankle wobbled but my left one held. Holding on to her arm, we went into the bedroom to get ready for my shower. 

I could feel her watching my every move carefully after both of my ankles steadied. I brushed my teeth. Flossed. She helped me get my sun dress over my head gently, so gently. Helped me kick off my shoes. 

When it was time to get in the shower, she asked me if I needed her to get in with me. I gruffly told her NO! My shower time is my alone time. There have been a few times when I have been in such dire straits that I needed showering help, but the majority of the time I insist on doing this alone, even if it means that I must hold tightly to the wall. 

Until you get to this place, don't judge. It is HARD to lose your independence. I fight for every bit of mine. This drives T mad. She says that she truly does not mind helping me, that it is her pleasure.  And in some strange way, it is. She is incredibly protective of me and I should be more grateful. 

Instead, my basic bad mood got the best of me. I still have bandages all over my chest from getting my port put in. The liver biopsy bandages have fallen off, but those port ones are holding steady. I am to keep them on until they naturally start to fall away. The doctor said this would happen in 4-10 days. It was only 4 days. I'm still tender on my chest and badly bruised. 

I got out of the shower and T was waiting with a towel as she nearly always is. She wrapped me up in it, kissing my face, calling me hers. Instead of snuggling into her, I felt like a butterfly stuck in a cocoon. I felt trapped. But, I said nothing. I dried myself off, annoyed that she was standing there watching me. I felt like a 6 year old. 

And then, she took the towel away from me and said, "Here. You missed a spot on your neck. Let me help." 

 I usually think nothing of this. But, for some reason...this was the final straw. As she dabbed at my neck, she accidentally hit on my bruised throat from the port placement and I yelped, tears coming in to my eyes. 

"THAT HURT!" I yelled. 

She jumped back, alarmed. She immediately apologized, saying that she felt as though she had barely touched me. I took offense. 


"So....are you saying....what? That I am overreacting? Acting like a baby...WHAT?"

She swallowed. Looked down for a second. 


"C'mon, honey. Of course, I didn't mean that. Let's just get you to bed. You must be so tired." 

Her kindness deflated my anger. As she helped me into the bed, I felt embarrassed by my behavior. 

I am so very lucky. She has taken over this caretaking role with such patience, such grace. She NEVER complains. She is unfailingly gentle and kind. I have heard stories in my support group that make me know how incredibly lucky I am. Many talk about how their caregivers are short tempered or resentful. Impatient with their infirmities. 

I have never experienced anything but kindness from T. And there I was, yelling at her. Not because she had done anything wrong. It DID hurt, but not that much and she had not meant to do it. I should have been as patient with her as she is with me. She was taking time from writing her paper to tend to me. 

She turned off the light and bent to kiss me goodnight, saying that she was going to work for a few more hours and then turn in, too. 

She turned for one final goodnight as she stood in the lighted doorway. 

"I'm sorry," I whispered. 

"No worries," she said. "I am yours and you are mine. I love you. Sleep well. It do be like that." 

We both chuckled. She often comes home from school and tells me common high school slang. Towards the end of the school year, It do be like that was making the rounds. I asked her how it was used. 

"They say it when they are in agreement with something,"  she had explained. It had become another of our private phrases that we used with each other.


I closed my eyes. 

I am the luckiest.  

It sure do be like that.