Hell of a Day
Late yesterday morning I sat on the bathroom floor and wept. The cats encircled me, their eyes showing concern. Bob stood above the three of us, for the moment at a loss about what to do next. These were not little tears dribbling down cheeks. These were deep down, shaking, gut wrenching wails. I was as close to an emotional breakdown as I ever want to be. “Please just let me sit here quietly for a moment,” was all I could hear myself say between my loud sobs and all the questions that rained upon my ears.
We had just returned from the Northwest Lab where they did a blood draw from me. My much-anticipated “improvement” still had not come and Dr. Hall wanted more information. Since the radiation treatments had begun, there has been a steady drop in my energy level. I even hesitate to use the word because while it gives others something to talk about and to ask me about, it is a meaningless word to me. Bob has to lift me off the couch; he has to lift me off he toilet seat. The walker helps me get off the bed by myself and back and forth in the Loft. Nothing but Bob’s lifting gets me up the two sets of stairs to the upper floor. And that is where it all fell apart yesterday. No more needs to be said about the incident. I already know all the cheery, optimistic “we’ll be turning the corner soon” news. THIS is what happened yesterday… perhaps it will help others who are undergoing what I am. And last week I wrote I wrote this piece in my Journal:
PLEASE don’t ask me how I feel.
However well intended, your words and mine
Have lost all comparable meaning
Fatigue, loss of energy, and weakness are the operating words
They are the words by which you
Search for solutions. “What can we do help with this?”
I am beyond caring if you understand what I am saying. I am beyond trying
To explain the strange state in which I find myself. I am finished
With the effort to self-evaluate. “Tell me how you feel.”
I have no more words. I have only feelings and they are my own.
P. L. Morningstar
We had just returned from the Northwest Lab where they did a blood draw from me. My much-anticipated “improvement” still had not come and Dr. Hall wanted more information. Since the radiation treatments had begun, there has been a steady drop in my energy level. I even hesitate to use the word because while it gives others something to talk about and to ask me about, it is a meaningless word to me. Bob has to lift me off the couch; he has to lift me off he toilet seat. The walker helps me get off the bed by myself and back and forth in the Loft. Nothing but Bob’s lifting gets me up the two sets of stairs to the upper floor. And that is where it all fell apart yesterday. No more needs to be said about the incident. I already know all the cheery, optimistic “we’ll be turning the corner soon” news. THIS is what happened yesterday… perhaps it will help others who are undergoing what I am. And last week I wrote I wrote this piece in my Journal:
PLEASE don’t ask me how I feel.
However well intended, your words and mine
Have lost all comparable meaning
Fatigue, loss of energy, and weakness are the operating words
They are the words by which you
Search for solutions. “What can we do help with this?”
I am beyond caring if you understand what I am saying. I am beyond trying
To explain the strange state in which I find myself. I am finished
With the effort to self-evaluate. “Tell me how you feel.”
I have no more words. I have only feelings and they are my own.
P. L. Morningstar
posted by Looking for Hope | 9:07 AM
3 Comments:
So sorry for your "Hell of a Day". It seems beyond the pale in regard to what anyone should experience. I am glad that day is behind you and that the following days will be better.
--PM
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I haven't been back here in a while, although I have intended to do so. It has been a daily thought of mine that you were looking forward to your birthday balloon ride in May, and I hope that's still on the agenda. Thank you for reminding me to think before I speak, and I hope...well, just that. I hope.
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