Watering
It has been a pretty wet Summer. I haven't had to hand water my plants until last week.
One day, I realized that we hadn't had rain in over a week, so decided to go outside and water the plants. I'd done this a lot last Summer, so wasn't prepared for it to be too difficult.
It was a learning experience.
A very difficult learning experience. I started with the back yard. The easiest. We have a hose back there on a reel. All that is really needed is to unspool the hose and turn on the water. My herbs and the bird baths are all close together. I yanked on the hose and was surprised at how little strength that I had in my arms. I could just barely achieve this. Once I had the hose spread out, I went to turn on the water. Easy enough. I filled the bird baths, watered every plant. Shut the water off.
Now, I had to reel the hose back in. I bent down to do this. Sweat broke out on my forehead. I felt as if I were towing a barge. I finally got it back in the reel setting and then looked at four steps that I had to climb to get into the house.
It was just too much. I sat in a lawn chair and rested, disgusted with my weakness. Several minutes later, I heaved myself up and out and went up the stairs.
I watered the house plants inside. Rested.
Went out to the front yard. It was at least an hour since I had started the whole process. The front yard would be harder, I knew. There were the pansies on the front porch. On the left side of the house, some lavender on a stump and the rose bushes. Down at the end of the driveway, marigolds and catnip, planted for Mabel, the wandering neighbor cat. There was a small hose, but it only went about four feet. We had two large watering cans that we filled with water. I started with watering what I could reach with the hose. A smattering of volunteer chives. Some posies at the base of the Hawthorne tree. When that was done, I filled the watering cans and watered the lavender, the roses, and the pansies. I was stumbling with exhaustion and still had to finish the marigolds and the catnip at the end of the driveway. My back hurt so badly that I was walking nearly doubled over. Everything was blurred.
I was just too tired. I feared that I would fall and that close to the street? How embarrassing.
Dejected, I placed the watering cans down and headed into the house, holding on to the car for balance since my cane was not enough. Once inside, I shakily grabbed a power drink from the fridge and limped to my chair. My hands were shaking so hard that when I tried to drink, some spilled over the front of my shirt.
I sat silently crying. Well. This was much different from last Summer when I still had enough stamina to do simple chores. I put my head in my hands and cried for a long time.
HOW was I going to go to my doctor appointments alone? Would I need a babysitter soon? I finished my power drink, felt better. Stronger. Decided that I would still be able to do small things. Things that didn't involve hauling water, etc.
Still. It hurt. Physically and mentally. I got up and threw the power drink in the trash. Went to my bed and fell on top of it, curling under a quilt. Slept with tears still running into my ears. I woke up when I felt T crawling into bed with me, home from school.
"You've been crying," she said.
I thought about lying, decided against it. Told her why I was crying. She didn't say anything for a long time. Then, she gently suggested that I let that chore fall to her. It would take her ten minutes, she said. I nodded glumly. Another chore to her plate.
She pulled me into her arms. I could feel her shaking with tears, too.
"We knew this was coming," she said.
"I know," I said. "I just thought it would be later. I hoped it would be later."
The last trip to the doctor had not been kind. The chemo was not working. My cancer markers had risen from 104 to 483. The cancer was becoming very aggressive and moving fast. I had to take a heart echo test. If I passed that, there was another chemo to try, a much harsher one than I had ever been on.
It was doubtful that my heart could withstand it, given that it had been tortured for 8 months with arsenic less than a year ago. My odds were not good that I would even go on the chemo. It was more of a possibility that I would just be given medication to keep me as comfortable as possible. But, you never knew. Maybe I would pass the heart echo.
I'll find out tomorrow since I went in for it yesterday.
I have felt a sudden loss of energy since we got home from California. My sleep, always plentiful, was now hungrier, deeper. I slept like someone dead and when awake, thought about sleeping. My clothes were hanging off of me. Eating was a chore.
I feel as if I am falling off this mountain in slow motion. Just slow enough to say goodbye to all the beauty that I see on the way down.
One day, I realized that we hadn't had rain in over a week, so decided to go outside and water the plants. I'd done this a lot last Summer, so wasn't prepared for it to be too difficult.
It was a learning experience.
A very difficult learning experience. I started with the back yard. The easiest. We have a hose back there on a reel. All that is really needed is to unspool the hose and turn on the water. My herbs and the bird baths are all close together. I yanked on the hose and was surprised at how little strength that I had in my arms. I could just barely achieve this. Once I had the hose spread out, I went to turn on the water. Easy enough. I filled the bird baths, watered every plant. Shut the water off.
Now, I had to reel the hose back in. I bent down to do this. Sweat broke out on my forehead. I felt as if I were towing a barge. I finally got it back in the reel setting and then looked at four steps that I had to climb to get into the house.
It was just too much. I sat in a lawn chair and rested, disgusted with my weakness. Several minutes later, I heaved myself up and out and went up the stairs.
I watered the house plants inside. Rested.
Went out to the front yard. It was at least an hour since I had started the whole process. The front yard would be harder, I knew. There were the pansies on the front porch. On the left side of the house, some lavender on a stump and the rose bushes. Down at the end of the driveway, marigolds and catnip, planted for Mabel, the wandering neighbor cat. There was a small hose, but it only went about four feet. We had two large watering cans that we filled with water. I started with watering what I could reach with the hose. A smattering of volunteer chives. Some posies at the base of the Hawthorne tree. When that was done, I filled the watering cans and watered the lavender, the roses, and the pansies. I was stumbling with exhaustion and still had to finish the marigolds and the catnip at the end of the driveway. My back hurt so badly that I was walking nearly doubled over. Everything was blurred.
I was just too tired. I feared that I would fall and that close to the street? How embarrassing.
Dejected, I placed the watering cans down and headed into the house, holding on to the car for balance since my cane was not enough. Once inside, I shakily grabbed a power drink from the fridge and limped to my chair. My hands were shaking so hard that when I tried to drink, some spilled over the front of my shirt.
I sat silently crying. Well. This was much different from last Summer when I still had enough stamina to do simple chores. I put my head in my hands and cried for a long time.
HOW was I going to go to my doctor appointments alone? Would I need a babysitter soon? I finished my power drink, felt better. Stronger. Decided that I would still be able to do small things. Things that didn't involve hauling water, etc.
Still. It hurt. Physically and mentally. I got up and threw the power drink in the trash. Went to my bed and fell on top of it, curling under a quilt. Slept with tears still running into my ears. I woke up when I felt T crawling into bed with me, home from school.
"You've been crying," she said.
I thought about lying, decided against it. Told her why I was crying. She didn't say anything for a long time. Then, she gently suggested that I let that chore fall to her. It would take her ten minutes, she said. I nodded glumly. Another chore to her plate.
She pulled me into her arms. I could feel her shaking with tears, too.
"We knew this was coming," she said.
"I know," I said. "I just thought it would be later. I hoped it would be later."
The last trip to the doctor had not been kind. The chemo was not working. My cancer markers had risen from 104 to 483. The cancer was becoming very aggressive and moving fast. I had to take a heart echo test. If I passed that, there was another chemo to try, a much harsher one than I had ever been on.
It was doubtful that my heart could withstand it, given that it had been tortured for 8 months with arsenic less than a year ago. My odds were not good that I would even go on the chemo. It was more of a possibility that I would just be given medication to keep me as comfortable as possible. But, you never knew. Maybe I would pass the heart echo.
I'll find out tomorrow since I went in for it yesterday.
I have felt a sudden loss of energy since we got home from California. My sleep, always plentiful, was now hungrier, deeper. I slept like someone dead and when awake, thought about sleeping. My clothes were hanging off of me. Eating was a chore.
I feel as if I am falling off this mountain in slow motion. Just slow enough to say goodbye to all the beauty that I see on the way down.
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