Mornings
They are the hardest. Mornings.
Especially Mondays. But, Tuesdays suck, too. And on and on.
The pain is the worst in the morning, my head the foggiest. It is always the same. T comes in at 6:45 to kiss me goodbye. She says she will see me after school. I murmur something about having a good day.
And then I lay there and wait. Listening. I hear the back door shut. The garage door opens. She is gone.
And then I let myself cry. I don't cry every day. But, yes....many days, I cry.
I am usually in pretty severe pain. I can't bend my fingers. My feet are numb. My legs ache with a throbbing that is relentless. I try meditation.
I suck at meditation.
So, I lay there and feel sad. Especially in the days right after chemo because not only am I sore and stiff all over, but I am also deep in chemo fog. My thoughts drift to others who have it worse than I do. A male cousin is hospitalized due to an infection he has due to his low white blood cell count from his leukemia. I know how lucky I am. I am one step away from that. I am home. There is that.
I try to remember when the last time was that I wasn't tired. Not just fatigued, but dead tired. So tired that getting up to pee seems like a feat. I think about what I refer to now as the old days. The days when I was working. The days when T still woke me up with her goodbye kiss, but I got out of bed and took a shower after she left.
By myself. I no longer take showers by myself. T hovers in the bathroom, on some pretense of brushing her teeth or washing her face. Because my balance is precarious and she worries about me falling in the shower. So, I no longer take a nightly bath to ease into sleep and then a morning shower to wake up. Now, I just take a nightly shower and T helps me dry off and helps me into bed. Do I need a drink? She kisses me lightly on the forehead, tells me she loves me.
I feel like I'm her daughter. She has become my caregiver instead of my wife.
I used to take my shower and then get dressed for work. My job was opening all the blinds and curtains to let the sunshine in to say hello to the morning. Now, T does it. My fingers can no longer handle blinds or curtain pulls. Then, I would snap off the cap from a yogurt and settle down with a coffee and my book.
The day would go on and I would get Lucy up and ready for school. Make her breakfast...often her favorite: a soft boiled egg in her special little cup, her toast cut in strips to dip into it, a slice or two of bacon to dip as well. And then there would be a rush to get her homework ready in her backpack and then the drive to school.
Now, Lucy is in France. And I am flat on my back in my bed, staring at the ceiling. Wondering how we got from there to here at such a breakneck pace.
My fatigue is never ending. It sits with me constantly. I look over at my clothes, carefully set out for me by T the night before. Just getting up takes effort. I sit up and ever so carefully slide my legs over the side of the bed. A side effect of the chemo that I am on is called hand and foot syndrome. It is not fun. The palms of my hands and the bottoms of my feet are bright red, as if sunburned. They hurt as if sunburned. I gingerly place my feet on the floor and gently, gently, gently get up to use the bathroom, snagging my underpants out of the drawer on my way. This is harder than it looks. I can barely move my hands. They are stiff and unbending, red with pain. I reach into the lingerie drawer and am unable to feel the soft underwear, just hope that I snagged some.
Once in the bathroom, I sit and pee and pull on the underwear. Get up and hold my tooth brush as if I am wearing an oven mitt. Clumsily brush.
By this time, I am severely knackered and have to rest at the edge of the bed for a few moments before I attempt to make it up. T tells me to just skip it, that it is not important.
It is important to me that I make my bed. It just is.
I rest again after the bed is made. Then, it is time to get dressed. This takes much longer than I like and I am hindered by shoe tying and, in the Winter, pulling on socks.
Once, that is done....I go to the kitchen and pull out my Atkins and a yogurt. T buys the yogurt without lids now since they were proving troublesome for me.
Once settled in my chair with my breakfast, I look out at the yard birds playing in the bird baths. I check my phone. Try to read.
Begin my day.
To say that I yearn for the old days is pointless.
But, I do. I never wanted this to be my swan song. But, it is. So, I sing it.
The day will fill in. I will watch a movie or read. The mailman delivers our mail now. His name is Jack. I always know when it is his day off or when he is sick or assigned another route because the mail doesn't come to my front door. I know that he is probably not supposed to hand deliver it but once when he brought a package to the door, I made such a fuss over it that he, in his kind way, took to hand delivering our mail.
Cancer brings these people to you. They just rise to the occasion. Others fall away and that is okay, too. It's a learning curve. Some just....can't....deal. Others can, and do.
Soon it will be time for me to drive and get my coffee or go to a doctor or lab appointment. By noon, my fingers are moving. The pain is lessened.
The fog is still there, but I am not a step away from tears any longer. My chin is set and my eyes are dry.
And then it will time for T to come home. I will lay down at 2:30 for my nap and she will awaken me with her hello kiss.
And life will be brighter. Better. Easier.
Especially Mondays. But, Tuesdays suck, too. And on and on.
The pain is the worst in the morning, my head the foggiest. It is always the same. T comes in at 6:45 to kiss me goodbye. She says she will see me after school. I murmur something about having a good day.
And then I lay there and wait. Listening. I hear the back door shut. The garage door opens. She is gone.
And then I let myself cry. I don't cry every day. But, yes....many days, I cry.
I am usually in pretty severe pain. I can't bend my fingers. My feet are numb. My legs ache with a throbbing that is relentless. I try meditation.
I suck at meditation.
So, I lay there and feel sad. Especially in the days right after chemo because not only am I sore and stiff all over, but I am also deep in chemo fog. My thoughts drift to others who have it worse than I do. A male cousin is hospitalized due to an infection he has due to his low white blood cell count from his leukemia. I know how lucky I am. I am one step away from that. I am home. There is that.
I try to remember when the last time was that I wasn't tired. Not just fatigued, but dead tired. So tired that getting up to pee seems like a feat. I think about what I refer to now as the old days. The days when I was working. The days when T still woke me up with her goodbye kiss, but I got out of bed and took a shower after she left.
By myself. I no longer take showers by myself. T hovers in the bathroom, on some pretense of brushing her teeth or washing her face. Because my balance is precarious and she worries about me falling in the shower. So, I no longer take a nightly bath to ease into sleep and then a morning shower to wake up. Now, I just take a nightly shower and T helps me dry off and helps me into bed. Do I need a drink? She kisses me lightly on the forehead, tells me she loves me.
I feel like I'm her daughter. She has become my caregiver instead of my wife.
I used to take my shower and then get dressed for work. My job was opening all the blinds and curtains to let the sunshine in to say hello to the morning. Now, T does it. My fingers can no longer handle blinds or curtain pulls. Then, I would snap off the cap from a yogurt and settle down with a coffee and my book.
The day would go on and I would get Lucy up and ready for school. Make her breakfast...often her favorite: a soft boiled egg in her special little cup, her toast cut in strips to dip into it, a slice or two of bacon to dip as well. And then there would be a rush to get her homework ready in her backpack and then the drive to school.
Now, Lucy is in France. And I am flat on my back in my bed, staring at the ceiling. Wondering how we got from there to here at such a breakneck pace.
My fatigue is never ending. It sits with me constantly. I look over at my clothes, carefully set out for me by T the night before. Just getting up takes effort. I sit up and ever so carefully slide my legs over the side of the bed. A side effect of the chemo that I am on is called hand and foot syndrome. It is not fun. The palms of my hands and the bottoms of my feet are bright red, as if sunburned. They hurt as if sunburned. I gingerly place my feet on the floor and gently, gently, gently get up to use the bathroom, snagging my underpants out of the drawer on my way. This is harder than it looks. I can barely move my hands. They are stiff and unbending, red with pain. I reach into the lingerie drawer and am unable to feel the soft underwear, just hope that I snagged some.
Once in the bathroom, I sit and pee and pull on the underwear. Get up and hold my tooth brush as if I am wearing an oven mitt. Clumsily brush.
By this time, I am severely knackered and have to rest at the edge of the bed for a few moments before I attempt to make it up. T tells me to just skip it, that it is not important.
It is important to me that I make my bed. It just is.
I rest again after the bed is made. Then, it is time to get dressed. This takes much longer than I like and I am hindered by shoe tying and, in the Winter, pulling on socks.
Once, that is done....I go to the kitchen and pull out my Atkins and a yogurt. T buys the yogurt without lids now since they were proving troublesome for me.
Once settled in my chair with my breakfast, I look out at the yard birds playing in the bird baths. I check my phone. Try to read.
Begin my day.
To say that I yearn for the old days is pointless.
But, I do. I never wanted this to be my swan song. But, it is. So, I sing it.
The day will fill in. I will watch a movie or read. The mailman delivers our mail now. His name is Jack. I always know when it is his day off or when he is sick or assigned another route because the mail doesn't come to my front door. I know that he is probably not supposed to hand deliver it but once when he brought a package to the door, I made such a fuss over it that he, in his kind way, took to hand delivering our mail.
Cancer brings these people to you. They just rise to the occasion. Others fall away and that is okay, too. It's a learning curve. Some just....can't....deal. Others can, and do.
Soon it will be time for me to drive and get my coffee or go to a doctor or lab appointment. By noon, my fingers are moving. The pain is lessened.
The fog is still there, but I am not a step away from tears any longer. My chin is set and my eyes are dry.
And then it will time for T to come home. I will lay down at 2:30 for my nap and she will awaken me with her hello kiss.
And life will be brighter. Better. Easier.
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