Once upon a time, I remember stating that it would be my purpose to find some happy medium and live in it. Since then, I've changed the model so that coping with illness is my full time job. I think it suits me better because I'm never just drifting along in the middle. Today will be a very busy day. We are supposed to have a Nor'easter plow through and anyone who has had neurosurgery knows how closely linked barometric pressure and pain are. It also happens to be Pain Doc Day in seven hours or so. It would be nice if the two events would merge and someone would just give me a shot to put me out for the duration but it doesn't work that way. On a personal level, it would create a temptation to just get a shot every time bad weather rolled through. On my doctors' professional levels, it would mean having some professional care for me the entire time monitoring me and that still wouldn't be enough. I just reserve the right to be grouchy (preferably in a humorous way) and hope not to be grumpy (the non-joking version of angry) if someone chooses to drug test me today. It would be painful and I don't want to say why. I would do it and presumably pass on the retest but I will not promise good grace.
There will be days when I will not be busy at all like yesterday and the day before. It took all three cats but they managed to prevent me from staying awake the excruciating full 24 hours. That's approaching 30 pounds of cat which was enough to make me yell when one or more stood on my more or less permanently sore ankles. I could investigate it but that would require seeing doctors and this is a bad day to even discuss that. I snoozed most of the day which is what I like to call it when I'm not deeply asleep most of the time but suitably relaxed. There was some "NHL 2011" on the PS3 involved but I played in general manager mode. When you don't have cable so no one is trying to use the TV, you can wait as long as you want between moves.
This past evening (October 9th in case it takes me a while to finish and post), I finished reading Book Three in the Last Chronicles of Thomas Covenant. I know there are ways it can be prevented so that should be a sufficient sop to fate but I expect The Last Dark to be in my hands on the morning of October 15th. Anyone who wishes to lose something important should bother me that day. In all honesty, I should ration my reading to avoid concentration headaches and because we won't be seeing any more Covenant books from my favorite author. These last four books have been wrapping up the story in a way the previous series didn't and that ended with Covenant's death. I've been predicting his return since 1987 so you might say I've grown up with the character. Every time I read the books, I find new insights into writing and life as well as the Land. When I say this series has wrapped up the story pretty well so far, I could put it in terms that my fellow "Star Wars" fans could appreciate. Donaldson has given us a perspective on the Land that might as well be compared to starting off with the founding of the Jedi Knights and ending with some future legacy of Luke Skywalker. (Damned browser's intrusive spellchecker wanted me to call him Luke Jaywalker. I'll call him Farm boy all I want but never a jaywalker.) I look forward to this last book with bittersweet anticipation.
I'm full of seething concern for friends and family right now. I don't know if I have mentioned here that my sister-in-law, Barbara, has thyroid cancer. I know I've posted on Facebook. Right now, we have too little information to do anything but worry. Linda McCune Johnson has been a long time friend and reader when I was desperate for readers to help me earn my oxygen. Things are better for me now but Linda is in the hospital with heart trouble involving fluid. I might need to let the cats nap me now since there's nothing I can do about anything.
Okay. Time has passed. It's almost 24 hours after I started this post and things are clearing up. My sister-in-law is not yet laying claim to my throne as the sickest person in the family. She's hoping as I do that a simple (by the standards of surgery) operation will cure her cancer. Honestly, we're not that competitive. It's more a matter of knowing how sick someone would have to be in order to steal my throne. No one should have to go through that. Regular reader Linda remains incommunicado which makes sense a little more than 24 hours after getting admitted to the hospital with heart problems. We all need to designate someone who will put information online in the event that we are too sick to handle it ourselves. I was worried about a friend who had changed her online habits suddenly from being very closed to very open but she replied to my email. She's okay. The openness thing is just a change.
The change is a nice segue to the original purpose of this post. With my brand new chair in the house, I have rediscovered the joys of not being uncomfortable in addition to being in pain. My body has stored up so much tension and fatigue from the old broken chair that I all but fall asleep the moment I let the chair recline. It doesn't bother me the way it did before because I wake up feeling better than when I fell asleep. It feels so much less like I'm running a race and falling further behind the pack with each lap. My improved mood probably started with the least painful appointment I've had at the Pain Doc's office. I was already in pain but they caused me no additional pain.
Meekers gave me a feel good moment less than an hour ago. She's the bravest of our cats and the most vocal but bravest is the key here. I got up out of the chair to write this comfortably at my desk and Meek was settled in my chair almost before I was out of it. This made me feel irrationally angry for a second or two before I decided that it was okay. She's smart for wanting to occupy the most comfortable chair in the house and then she did the sweetest thing. She saw that I was headed upstairs and she followed me giving up her comfy spot in the process. I think she's with Melissa right now who is sleeping like most sane people at 5 AM but she's sweet anyway. She chose the comfort of her family over the heavenly chair.
Despite the fact that a friend was accurate in describing my house as a campground earlier today, I feel intensely lucky. After Melissa managed to sleep through my morning of moaning in pain, she stopped off at the liquor store and bought me a six pack of Guinness Extra Stout bottles. That alone would have been a small treasure. The Guinness Extra Stout is a nice sipping beer that won't break the bank in the event of getting guzzled accidentally. It has the pleasant combination of strong flavor and that "stick to your ribs" feeling that people used to apply to oatmeal. It tastes great and is more filling so you really can drink just one. That helps my doctors feel better about me. The greater treasure was a 750 ml. bottle of Chimay's Trappist Grand Reserve 2012. I love Belgian ales and Belgian Trappist (aka Abbey) ales are among my favorites. I don't think I've ever tasted a bad brew from Belgium but my favorite depends on my mood. Once I laid my greedy eyes on that bottle of Chimay, I found myself in a mood for Trappist ale.
I could catalog the bad things in my life right now but there would be no point. It's the same old shit with a different day. Thanks to my parents walking out of my life peacefully, it takes more to bother me. My full time job is managing a life of chronic pain and I think I'm pretty good at it. I oppose despair with joy. Every time I start to think about how hopeless my quest to get published professionally again might be, I'm reminded of the simple joy of creation. Every time I feel as though I cannot do anything beyond sit in a chair, I remember to play one of my Pearl Jam CDs. I was bemoaning a lack of new Pearl Jam last winter and their new album will be out in a few days. Melissa reminded me of life beyond Pearl Jam by finding a copy of Green Day's "American Idiot."
It all comes back to Melissa and it has throughout our marriage and the events leading up to it. Without Melissa, I might not even want to go see my favorite band. I'm terrified of crowds and I was raised to be paralyzed by my fear of disappointment. She finds joy in my joy and vice versa. If I were condemned to sit and watch the grass grow, it wouldn't be so bad as long as she were with me. There are great events in life like Pearl Jam concerts but most of it is pretty routine. There's no one out there I'd rather have with me through the good, the bad and the impossibly boring. That might be one definition of love.
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