The loose countdown of days before the end of the year has begun. 9 as of this morning…
There’s a pain in my collarbone, in my lower back and thighs, in my fingers, my body has started leaping into spasticity this evening, just shortly after dark.
The day was filled with a mostly debilitating autonomic dysreflexia. This follows the bimonthly catheter change this morning, though doesn’t necessarily flow from it. It is a possible source of the anxiety, though the lower spine compression and sprained ankle are also viable candidates.
Goodness me, I sound a wreck. I must say, I’m smiling as I write this. After all, with an infinite points of view to be taken, it seems a cosmic mischief to tumble into an attitude of negativity. As I sit here at the desk this evening, turning into writing through a body that seems poised to jump out of the chair at any minute, I can’t help but feel like I’m getting the joke, chuckling a little to myself inside.
Nurse Heather this morning came round to recertify my need for support for catheter changes from the nursing staff. Smart and bright, a suburban mother of two, married to an out of work nuclear physicist, and Generation X, her sense of humor on our collective situation is properly dark with a wit often concealed just beneath the surface.
Vanessa arrived an hour before her, and we made our way slowly through the early routines of the day. In terms of GTD, everything was downhill from there.
I barely remember breakfast, oatmeal at the desk, I assume I was clearing the morning email and handling the miscellaneous clerical tasks. The discomfort in my body at that time was really just starting to pour it on.
I tried rolling across the room to sit in the morning sunshine coming through the window. The heat felt good, but not quite enough to eclipse the distraction.
My mom had recently run a fundraising campaign on my behalf and I had seen the $808 come into my online portal. I called to debrief, but found myself too limited in my capacities to navigate the wider diversity of conversation she was interested to entertain a time. I let go of the call and moved outside.
The morning sun and fresh air felt better than it had indoors and through a window. I put my foot up, to take some burden off the swelling, and sipped a cup of coffee, chatting up Vanessa as to the nature of her 2020 holiday experience, with family all the way across the country and familiar gatherings quite so terribly not in the cards.
We stayed there, just nursing the discomfort, while Nova worked in the garage at my back. After a bit we started listening to my friend Kim’s recent holiday offering, a narrative of his, rather enlightened views on matters of loving relationships.
After 90 minutes, attempting to rest in this way, I surrendered and headed back to my bed to recline in search of some relief. Three Tylenol and a handful of Billy’s contributions had failed to squelch the discomfort.
I rested for some time, floating just a bit on that liminal threshold between sleep and sense making of Kim’s melodic words. I had a care interview due at 1 PM and so made a point to rise just before. Laying down did still the discomfort, and getting back up did bring it back on.
I made out to the office just in time for an episode of low blood pressure to nearly knock me out. I texted Ms. Miller to let her know I would be a few minutes behind. “No problem,” came the reply.
With a little massage teamwork from Nova and Vanessa I was able to find my Chi once again and reached out to conduct the interview. The young woman on the other end of the line had come through a previous care conversation I had had many months ago. While an apparent synergistic fit, our friend and I had decided the distance was just too far, but that we would keep one another in mind going forward.
It was that relationship that had called Terra and I together and we been playing some phone tag for a few weeks leading up to today. The conversation went very well and we decided to go ahead and work together starting the new year. Slowly but surely, the care aspect of the previous years turbulent transitions seems to be coming into a new harmonic.
After the call the discomfort continued prompting another late afternoon gobbling of Tylenol, to some effect I suppose, though not quite enough to allow any productive focus to come through.
In that state I was able to accomplish two things, scrolling Twitter, and doodling a little further learning in the graphic design tools I use quite regularly to put my thoughts down on “paper.”
Fortunately for me, Molly’s energy was much brighter than my own and through her industriousness, it seems we may be on the verge of a complete fountain repair. Now just to let the glue dry for a few days and we’ll try filling it up on Sunday and see what we get.
I think we will try taking the little volume out of the catheter balloon which may be crowding the bladder and leading to the discomfort, and hope for brighter energy and less distress in the morrow.
God gets to know things, we just get to ask questions…