Spring certainly seems to be dragging its feet here in mid-Michigan. Or, maybe it just feels like it was so long ago that we had our last spring that I've just forgotten the frustration and the fact that maybe this is the way it always feels. Still-bare branches with barely a touch of budding, fierce winds (and I don't remember winds nearly so strong as they are this year, and actually have been ever since last summer), and lots of rain.
But there are buds. And even a bit of green is beginning to show. And a surprising high-60s, sunny day.
And then there are the daffodils!
Yes, April showers bring May flowers. But they also bring torrential April rains that last for hours on end and only serve to create ponds in yards and potholes and a mess in my basement. My computer weather guide tells me to expect more rain tomorrow and next week. I'd rather not.
I took a long walk the other day -- actually, I've been trying to walk more these days when the weather isn't horribly cold or windy. I realize how out of shape I am. I'm never sure when it's my lung issues that make me more breathless of if I'm just out of practice. On this day, my walk took me to the Ditch and all the way around its perimeter. (Last time I walked, I went down and back, not around.)
It wasn't much to look at. In fact, parts of it look downright sick. I ran into a neighbor who said the pump is broken. If they don't fix it before June, it will be a standing water haven for mosquitoes. I've seen ducks and some geese, sticking close together in pairs. It must be mating season because it seems if anyone gets too close, there is an attack as the male (I think) chasing the other off (Also a him, I presume), making all sorts of racket. It's actually kind of fun to watch.
I mentioned the daffodils. I don't know who planted these -- I can't imagine they sprung up by themselves. But they were so cheerful and lovely. They made me smile and think maybe, just maybe, spring will stick around.
The mind wanders on walks like this and mine wandered back to the past eight months or so, all of which have been physically challenging with one issue after another -- or simultaneously. I realized that I had three surgeries over four months and prior to that had been laid up with tendonitis and very limited walking for eight weeks; two MRSA and pseudomonas infections; two ear infections and AFib issues.
That's a lot. Too much. But no choices. Well, some choices. (Next time someone writes on your face in Sharpie, do NOT use Mr. Clean Magic Eraser to get it off. Yes, it does. It also leaves chemical burns. Just sayin'....)
Don't get me wrong. I am very grateful that this hasn't been worse. I have several friends for whom these months have been far more challenging. One is in long term care, another in rehab after two very bad hospital scares and who hasn't been home since (I believe) January. Another friend is home and having to recalibrate her life after six months in skilled care and realizing that life will not be the same, that everything is changed.
Oh, I'm grateful, all right. Believe me, I'm grateful.
But, I realized, I'm also depressed. No energy, fatigue, almost daily headaches that may or may not be after effects of my sinus surgery. I told Rick, "I feel so inadequate." And I do. I shouldn't. But I do. I always try to be the happy one -- and I usually am. It's my nature. When people as me how I am, I say "Fine!" Even when I'm not. (Rick says to stop that, and he should know because I do it to him, too, and he doesn't deserve that!) I've walked the depression route before and I've always been able to get out of it. But this time seems harder.
I think it's because I realize -- not just through my own experiences but especially by observing my friends -- how very quickly things can change. The other day Rick and I were at lunch and our companion mentioned the death of a cyclist in Florida who was cycling in an area Rick considered riding while he was there. It threw us both, for different reasons. For Rick, as a cyclist, it was a reminder that no matter how careful you, the rider, may be, drivers go fast, are distracted, don't always look. And that's scary.
We were both reminded of our friend, George the Cyclist, who lost his life on his bike in South Carolina when hit by a Mack truck. And every story like that throws me, too, because I worry about something happening to Rick that could -- if not take his life -- change it exponentially.
We've talked recently about how "you can't take it with you," and it's time to do the things you want to do, see the places you'd like to see, be sure you are having the life you want. (While still having enough resources in case you end up in the "home.")
But -- and I know this adds to my depression -- what if you don't feel like doing those things you want. You're not up to it. You can't do it the way you want?
My answer, at least for now, is "Do it the best that you can." That may mean that you don't cram as much into a day with a relentless travel schedule as you did five or ten or twenty (or two) years before. It means that if you need to restore, you pace yourself. Perhaps you turn down invitations you'd like to enjoy. You pick and choose. You try to let go of the guilt for not being everything to everyone. I will get out of this, because I always do. And there will be those who never realized I was in this hole -- because that's what I do, too. Store up the tears and share them with Lizzie. She doesn't tell.
I'll do a puzzle. Maybe read a book. Have lunch with a friend or visit one. Make the important appointments and evaluate the options for other things. Easier said than done, but I'm working on it.
Meanwhile, till the headaches are resolved, I'm laying relatively low. They say it takes a few weeks for sinus surgery to heal and who knows -- it could be eye issues or, as the ENT suggested, migraines (can you get migraines every day?) We dyed Easter eggs and enjoyed our traditional "Life of Brian" viewing on Good Friday with friends. Two of us are dealing with medical issues. Two fell asleep during the movie. Tradition!
I had a wonderful lunch with my two "monthly" friends, Jane and Susie, where our conversations go deep, personal and cover the gamut of topics. Rick and I went to a lovely concert version of the musical "Mame." The next day, we celebrated Greg's 40th birthday.
Where did that time go? So many memories. He's got the turning 40 thing going on with all that weirdness zero-birthdays bring. Rick and I are just reminded how much older we are ourselves.
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See? Much for which to be grateful. And remember, when all else seems to fail, just remember.
Tea and scones fix almost everything!
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