The Morning Tide
Twisted is my alarm that forces me awake. Silent is its voice yet determined is its obligation to alert me that I must start the day.
I reach for the button that aides in lifting me from my slumber. (I sleep in a reclining loveseat that doubles as my bed) Throw off the fleece throw that covers me. Scanning the side table I grab the container that holds my morning ritual. I swig back the handful of tablets required to halt the wave the tide has brought in. It will take time, almost an hour before the waves begin to recede.
The hour is early just before 4 as I make my way swaying (as if I were drunk) to make my morning brew.
“Ah, I think to myself, it`s going to be one of those mornings.”
The challenge is on, and I grin. My calves are tight as I dance the dance of the afflicted. (Torsion dystonia & Parkinsonism) Concentration and timing are the keys, as to not spill more than necessary to get the grounds into the filter.
“Damn”, half a point penalty I determine as the counter shows my miss calculation.
A laugh and a rag sweep up the mess, as I continue on. Water, I filter because who drinks that crap from the tap… not me, not anymore.
Now leaning against the counter to stabilize myself, accuracy is a must. I let this wave pass and rest in the tide. Then I attempt to time the next crest to help me raise the water to the level I need. A perfect pour equals a perfect score I equate in my mind.
Peeking around the corner I can see his light is on and hear he`s awake. The sound of his breathing treatment. Another day blessed has begun.
The next obstacle I plan ahead to make it from the kitchen to the living room. Pouring just enough coffee, an inch from the brim. Leave room for movement and grasp tight my cup, I make my way.
Once sitting I peer to see if there are any droplets that mapped my quest. Tally for this challenge a 9 out of ten.
I`ve grown accustomed to mornings where my body hears music and a dance gives into sway. The pain begins when the meds kick in. You would think it the other way, and that confuses me. As the meds take hold to calm the muscles that are taunt and to aide in the movement of ones flaccid in strength, the crawling pain begins.
It is not stabbing, it`s a sensation of its own, hard to describe the crawling aching under the skin. Maybe 20 minutes sometimes more, before it settles down. Then I look at the clock and mentally count the hours of calm I`ll get before it starts all over again. Sometime peace is 6 hours or so, other times I`m lucky if I get 4.
Bill got his breakfast from his fridge in his room, he planned ahead, bless his soul. He tries some mornings to fend for himself to save me some work. By eight am, his nurse has come and went and now he has settled off back to bed.
This is my time as I sit and read. I may comment here and there. I plot the day ahead on what chore I must do. Sometimes if things go just right, this becomes the time I sit and write.
If I find my mind is wondering and I feel out of sorts, I will get up and busy myself with a task until I feel more attuned to the moment. Sometimes it helps to get the blood moving as the mind wonders in thought.
I should go see my friend, it has been almost a week. But I dread getting out on days when there is no place he or I must go. I debate the dilemma of guilt and want. The traffic, the drive, I`d have to get dressed when I`d much rather vedge in be-tween Bills naps.
There`s lunch and dinner to plan and a basket of laundry I should tend to. That alone is not a small task. I hang dry everything in my bathroom via a rack and hangers on tension rods. All after using a small camper size washer. It only holds about ten pounds of clothing. You have to manually put clothes one at a time into the drum to ring out the clothes. It is a process for sure but saves money from going to the laundry matt.
Mail to open and dishes to do, it all gets added to the list. What ends up getting done depends on how much I push. I prioritize- necessary vs. stamina to see which one wins.
In eleven days, I`ll be 58! Do I feel old? Physically yes, mentally no. In my mind even in the state it is in, I still feel young. The misfolding protein that will one day cloud my thoughts have yet to take over. I do all kinds of things yet, upstairs where my imagination sets my body free, from gravity.
My dreams have been strange the last four days or so. I wonder if there is a message for me to heed.
One was of my old family doctor. (back when your primary was your only and they delivered your child too) He retired before I hit thirty and has long since passed away.
In my dream Dr. Poirer was attending to me trying to stop the massive bleeding I was having somewhere around my back and chest. I lay on a gurney staring at him with dread. I thought it odd even in the dream that he was treating me knowing he had long left this world. Then I awoke.
The next couple of nights my dreams are always of me in a hospital. I am either in the hall or being moved to some floor. Brief each one seems but they all make me take notice. What are they trying to say?
Then as the day progresses, I let the dreams fade. I don`t over think them because that just brings stress and stress will make everything self-propagate and I won`t be having any of that.
I`m going to finish this article here so I can take advantage of the time and energy at hand while Bill naps. (as I am proof reading he has awoke) Dang it`s almost eleven, time for lunch.
I`d like to get a few things accomplished and out of the way before the storm that is due in this afternoon. Here we never know if the power may go out each time a storm comes through. If it does that is immediate work hooking Billy`s machines to the battery bank that sustains his life.
A good day today even with this morning`s tide. Tomorrow is wound care so it will be tomorrow afternoon before I sit to write again.
Have a great day!
✨Be the Light
💝