What was she doing up on a chair? That,
brothers and sisters, is not really open for discussion given that
shortly before she fell Sheri was wondering about the advisability of
being up on a chair doing what she was doing,
We were actually winterizing some
windows, an act that was way overdue. We didn't expect a reward for
finally getting to it, but a punishment like this seems a bit
excessive.
It's been strange around our house
since it happened. Sheri is pretty much confined to the sofa, with
her beverages and electronic devices around her. My job is to hang
loose and fill her every waking need.
Now, in the wrong hands, that could be
a real pain-in-the-butt sort of thing. But, I must say, Sheri has not
been having me deliver her bon bons one at a time,,, as a matter of
fact, I haven't seen a bon bon since long before this happened. When
she asks for something, it's a genuine need and she tries to bunch
her requests so that the amount of up and down, and back and forth I
need to do is less.
Still, if you think about how dependent
we are on our feet and legs for getting about and reaching our stuff,
it still comes out to a lot, and I do it gladly. She has been living
with me and my cancer for over two years; two weeks doesn't seem like
much in comparison. And it isn't.
But part of the strangeness I've been
feeling revolves around my having cancer. I really have to be careful
how much I do. Fortunately, it hasn't been much of a problem so far.
I can fetch as good as any loyal family dog, and I can help with
position changes as well, which covers the bulk of the requests so
far.
We do have friends for the more
involved things. When Sheri had to visit the surgeon to determine the
amount of damage, and how the surgery would be managed, our friend
Rita (not her real name) took her and brought her back, and another
friend, Rip (not his real name either), carried her to and from the
car. I was absolutely worn out. I absolutely hated not being able to
be the one to take her. I know that sounds very caveman-like... me
drag mate to healer then me drag back. And that's why I let Rita do
it. I can't afford to get run down and sick.
Speaking of which- Sheri and been
telling me to be careful that I don't trip over this or that; or move
that thing so you don't fall; or make sure your shoelaces are tied
when you leave the house. (I guess that probably needs further
explanation but I'm not giving it.) My thought, naturally, was that
she was concerned that, having just broken her leg, she didn't want
me to do the same; that she didn't want me to experience the pain
that she was.
Well, after further review, I realized
that might have been part of it, but, more, I think, than that... if
I fall down and break something, we're screwed. Having cancer is one
thing- I can still fetch. Being laid up with a broken something and
cancer means there's no one but Wolfie, our cat, and fetching isn't
one of his best things. In truth, it isn't even one of his things.
It's also strange to see that Sheri has
more friends than me. I'm not complaining, just admitting the truth.
The phone rings constantly... for her. People are always trying to
come out to the house with groceries... for her. And now they're
offering to bring cooked meals; cooked groceries, in other words, for
her.
To show you what the pain and stress of
two ill people doing the best they can to help each other while
trying to remain positive can do, witness the following exchange:
Sheri: That's nice that she's willing
to bring out the chili.
Me: Yeah. Your friends are way cooler
than mine.
Sheri: Look at all the cards, emails,
notes, prayers that people have given you.
Me: Yeah. But none of it's food now, is
it?
In true fairness, I suppose I should
point out that I almost never have my phone on and let it go to
voice mail when it does ring, unless it's a doctor calling. As
something of a spinoff from the age-old, “Does this dress make me
look fat?” question, may I ask, “Does all this grousing make me
seem small?”
There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere
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