Kabir Kadre
Kabir Kadre
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Fuller, quieter, farther…

Kabir Kadre|One week ago

Writing again from bed. I keep getting up in the morning, but the discomfort sets in by the time I’m through breakfast.

Tomorrow I will investigate further — MRI of the pelvis should reveal if we are dealing with a deep tissue injury related to pressure. With luck I can get the scam far enough up the torso to investigate the kidneys and region of intrusion for the suprapubic catheter.

Fortunately I am not yet convinced that is stay in bed will be extended enough to warrant a more functional workstation for this context. For now, writing each line is a bit labored as the function of the Voice software often Mrs., Miss capitalizes, and makes difficult Word correction.

Farther from my supportive technology my voice goes more quiet.

At the same time, this experience these last days has grown increasingly full of depth, intimacy, and wonder.

A cast of characters has been parading through my bedroom, different caregivers from the agency, nurses, old friends and new and the interactions I’ve been having seem as if touched buy some sacred thread.

I would right, undoubtedly at length of these encounters given the breadth of capacity. Each morning when I rise I long hopefully to write these words from the desktop. Clearing the morning email and tackling the Munding tasks of keeping the bills on track (Credit card fraud and replacement entered the circus a few days back and the bounce payments have begun– though I think I’ve Rangel that by now) takes the time to breakfast and then I return to catch the extraneous pets have important work and back to bed in a hurry to make sure I’m not making matters any worse for the weight.

Even now, as I leave these Voice transcription transgressions untended I grow distant from the willingness to persist with the exercise.

Intimate moments with these individuals Peel gently away the layers of leather from my heart and more and more the light pores in.

Development in Sue’s, and I gently resist where I can the vicissitudes of life. More light. More light.

Shirley some of these stories Will survive this quiet time come of this full-time, and will travel fuller into the scraps of memory and sharing.


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God gets to know things, we just get to ask questions…