In the grey hours between 5 am and about 8 I usually take my morning (no food for 1 hour) meds and spend the next hour intermittently dreaming of breakfast and my plans for the day. After my major triumph yesterday when the therapist showed me that I can go down the ramp out the front door on my walker and get into the car without having to navigate it in the power chair, and then garage the chair, switch to the walker and finally climb into the car I was feeling quite liberated. Then, wonder of wonders, it occurred to me that, having been give the OK to put my full weight on the mending leg (and since that is my left leg anyway and not much use in the process of driving a car) I might just be able to begin to drive myself. I nearly fainted from the idea of such freedom, then nearly burst into tears when I realized that the more liberated I get, the more likely it becomes that I must either give up or curtail the wondrous services of my amazing caretaker, Consolee.
I may or may not have confessed herein that I had secretly been waiting all my life for the opportunity to be waited on hand and foot.........my Disaster finally gave me the chance to taste that delight and I have been relishing every blessed moment. The idea of having to give that up is almost unbearable, but the financial facts indicate that I had damned well better get used to the idea of waiting on myself, the cats and the hummers again ........(possums and raccoons implied). So, sob, I have relieved my Hummingbird sitter of duty and will do the same with my cat sitter at the end of this week. From Queen of the May I will go back to being Cinderella among the ashes, scraping kitty plates and sifting debris out of kitty boxes........oh the ignominy of it all.
All of these plans and realizations have my head spinning so I had better go off into a corner and impose some structure on all these new ideas. Needless to say......I will be back......don't go away.
The New Yorker covers: February 10, 1968
7 hours ago