Saturday, March 11, 2017

Nails

Biltmore Sprite


I need to trim my fingernails.  I've been telling this to myself for about a week.  I look down and think my niece would say first thing if she saw me, "Heather you're nails too long."  Funny, most 4 year old girls you would think like long nails.  Not her.  But I don't paint them.  I don't like polish on my fingernails' toes always.  I'm not sure if it's the fatigue or depression keeping me from the nail clipper.  It seems like a momentous task. I haven't been out much.  Canceled the doctor on Monday; I was so dizzy or lightheaded the thought of riding in the car made me nauseous.  When I talked to my doctor by phone she said just try moving a little.  My mom's college friends were in town and they were at the resort pool; so with the steady resolve of going to a doctor appointment my care helper drove me the 3 minutes and waited in the parking lot.  I got a lot of smiles and cheers.  It felt exhausting and demoralizing and apathy all at once.  I put on a good smile, a red suit and fancy sunglasses and returned the feelings of joy that my mom's friends extended.  But I didn't feel it, I faked it...This use to be my domain; queen of the fancy.  Now I robotically made it here, get in the water walk a little, swim a little, and get out and look from the pool to the main entrance thinking you can make it back.
Entrance
You would think it would elevate my mood.  I hadn't made it to the pool all year yet.  It seems to do just the opposite; because there is no momentum with this illness.  Just because I made it today means nothing for tomorrow.  In the evening my legs ache with abandon.  My body doesn't want to eat.  The food, same food I've been eating for 3 plus years now I can barely glance at.  I should be grateful.  I made it to the pool…the should's they get you every time.

I talk to my friend on the phone and tell her this feeling of depression is new and I don't like it.  It's my birthday, it is looming in front of me, I normally love my birthday…but this year turning 45 just reminds me that I thought this would be over by 45 not still in the thick of it.  And nothing feels luminescent as I glance forward.  I'm aging; which means my parents are aging; and my beloved dog is starting to clearly show the signs of her almost 14 years.  The next day I text the same friend and declare, "I'm going back to being a glass half full person, the half empty is a drag and it's the same amount of water."  Or something like that…maybe if I declare my optimism it will be forced to comply.

I was watching the pre-game show for the Bucks, and one of their stars Jabari Parker had just completed the second knee surgery in 3 years.  Means of his three year pro career 2 he will have been sidelined for…and he said "the glass is half full" and I laughed to myself.  Okay, you and I have that in common.  Then he went on to it being bigger than himself and God only gave him this challenge for a reason and he's going to come back a better player.  And that's when it gets to me…the choice to work hard and get better.  Now there are no guarantees he can work really really hard and maybe this second injury he will never be the player he could have been.  But the act of working; that's what has gotten to me…how do you work hard with an illness that punishes you for trying.  What am I trying for?  Have I gotten so use to being sick I don't even know how to be well?

All I know right now is around 6pm I got up and got the nail clippers and trimmed my nails.

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