And so this week’s moment of happiness despite the news.
I’m late writing this because I was out searching for a heated sinus pain mask to hopefully give me some relief. That might tell you how this week went.
One thing that has been amazing to me (among many things) are all the events and activities and nudges that grief brings that no one writes about. I’ve been inundated with books about grief, and while I read the first few, I gave up after that, and after paging a bit through some of the new additions, most have gone out into the Little Free Library. They’ve all disappeared too, leaving me to think that grief is a pretty pervasive thing, that nobody is writing about very well. My favorite of the batch was Debbie Weiss’s Available As Is, which I alternately wept and laughed through. But while I loved the book, Debbie and I are enough different that there was a lot I didn’t see happening to me. And it’s the little things you just don’t expect that seem to have the biggest impact.
I’ve been sick this week. From the time of Michael’s accident until his death, I wasn’t sick once, I think mostly out of absolute determination, because I had to take care of him. Since his death, I’ve been sick several times, enough to knock me out for a day or so. My body was reacting to stress, and once I let my guard down, everything I missed seemed to move back in.
But this week, I’ve been really, really sick. Whatever this is, it’s worse than Covid, which I’ve had twice, despite vaccinations. It started with a sore throat on Saturday, moved into massive congestion, then an unstoppable cough and sneezing and wheezing and sinus headache and laryngitis and fatigue, and you name it, I’ve got it. I was supposed to return to teaching this week after a 2-week holiday break, but after meeting with my first 3 clients on Monday morning, my voice absconded for good, and no one can hear me.
One of my first thoughts, of course, was that there was no one to help take care of me. Michael was gone. My kids live on their own. There was a dog and two cats, but while they were sympathetic, the lack of opposable thumbs kept them from being very helpful.
On Tuesday night, I decided to take a bath. When we built this place, we put in a jacuzzi tub with jets. It’s wonderful. And so, late at night, I decided to climb in.
And then the bad thoughts hit. What if I slipped and fell as I got in or out? No one would hear. I could lay there for hours, conscious or unconscious, and not be rescued.
Some times, more than others, I feel very, very alone.
But I didn’t want to give up the nice hot water bubbling all around me, the steam clearing out my lungs, the heat easing the pain in my joints.
So I sat and thought about it. And I came up with a plan.
I let my daughter know, via Facebook Messenger, that I was getting in the tub. If she didn’t hear from me in a certain amount of time, she was to try to reach me, and if she couldn’t, she was to get the hell out here. Good. Then, I made sure my cell phone was within reach of the tub. Great. And then, I had the thought that I can’t dial my phone without my glasses on. So the glasses came into the bathroom too. I would deal with the steam if necessary.
And then…I filled the tub and got in. Heaven. Nervous Heaven, but Heaven. And all went well. I didn’t slip, I didn’t fall.
The next day, I dragged myself to Walgreens to pick up a prescription for Prednisone, which was supposed to calm my asthma, exacerbated by the illness. While I was there, I saw a Vicks display, and I stopped to look. Lo and behold, there are now Vicks Mentholatum bath salts! I absolutely love Vicks, and I love Menthol and I love eucalyptus. I bought some and planned another bath, which I took last night. I followed the same plan. Heaven, a little less Nervous.
I’m going back to the doctor tomorrow, because I’m not any better; I’m worse. I went to Urgent Care early in the week, which I shouldn’t have, as I’ve learned too many times that they’re useless. Among things they did this time: when I asked if I should be concerned about RSV, I was told that RSV only affects children. Um…no. I’d been running a fever of about 101 degrees, and I took ibuprofen before I went in. One of my favorite comedians is Steven Ho, an ER nurse who does fabulous shows about what happens in the ER. One thing he repeats over and over to parents is that they should go ahead and treat their kids for fever, instead of waiting to “show” the fever to the doctors. So I took him to heart, for adults too. Instead, the NP who saw me cheerfully said, “Well, you don’t have a fever now!” and wrote down no fever on my chart, as if it never occurred at all. So this morning, I made an appointment with my doctor, even though there was nothing available until tomorrow. No more Urgent Care.
But my Moment? My Moment is that I figured it out. I figured out how to soak in a tub full of Vicks bathing salts, sigh with relief, and know that I was relatively safe, even though there was no one else in the house except for an eccentric dog and two crazy orange cats. I hadn’t read about this in a book. I learned on my own.
My high school creative writing teacher emailed me last week, and he said, “You are capable,” which is what he told me over and over again when I was seventeen years old. And guess what?
I am.
And yes, that helps. Despite. Anyway.
