Ditat Deus

   

Oh happy joyful! They’re beginning to process my discharge for Friday!  I’d do backflips and cartwheels except that I’ve never been able to do those even in my extreme youth and childhood. I’m just thrilled!  My palliative care team says that they are pleased with how I’ve engaged in my recovery and that I’m actively participating in planning my rehabilitation. I was explaining that I’m trying to establish a routine that I can easily maintain and support at home. Frankly, I’ll probably sleep better since I won’t be shaken awake at 6am after falling asleep at 3am and then told to go back to sleep when people are being roused for 7.  I will miss the easy access to the greenery, but it’s not worth it to stay longer.  I did some cooking in the “Independent Living Unit” which is a fully equipped apartment that the occupational therapy unit keeps for patients to practice returning to normalcy.  I demonstrated yesterday that I could manage in a regular bathroom, with a tub… somewhat challenging, but my bathroom is better equipped, so it’s more straightforward for me to use.

You’re getting pictures of sone of the garden decorations in the courtyard.  Just some cheerful items to give everyone something to smile about.  I was able to go out walking using just a cane today for almost half an hour outdoors.  That has the advantage of me getting used to walking on city sidewalks, complete with cracks, potholes and other instabilities.  I’m happy about that, since it means that it will be that much sooner that I can go out with the tiny monster puppy, who will be happy to have someone to drag behind him as he goes exploring. He’s even happier if there are hills to climb and bunnies/squirrels/pigeons to chase! Of course, I’m perfectly pleased  to trail behind him as he explores.

  I’ve really enjoyed being out in the trees, just enjoying watching the birds and listening to the leaves.  As you’ve seen, I’ve been returning to the same spot practically every outing.  I find it surprisingly comforting to be there just looking at the flowers, and I’ve got photos of the tree outside my room practically every morning.  I was looking at the photos today and they are largely indistinguishable from one day to the next, except that this morning was cloudy.    I have a lifelong love-affair with trees. They are our oldest neighbours, so it is not surprising that they can speak to us. They are our great teachers – strong and silent, dependable, able to endure great storms that would blow us away. They are all beautiful and they can all illustrate many things for us. More than that, they have many things in common with us: like us, they bear good fruit and bad, or a lot of fruit one year and little the next, or none at all (some are all leaves and show-off). And like us, they are incapable of producing fruit that is not in their nature to produce. To understand ourselves we could do worse than sit under a tree for an hour. 

Since the beginning of our race, human beings have been sitting under trees, looking up at them, climbing into them and hiding, playing around them as children, eating their fruit, resting in their shade, relying on them to be there. Even over 40 years later, I have fond memories of the big tree in the schoolyard of  my primary school, under which we passed several hot afternoons playing ring games aged 5 or 6.  Amazing, too, I remember those games and the rhymes that went with them far better than I do other songs.  I don’t know why I’m wandering those memories in particular, but it’s heartening.

Incidentally, everyone knows that I am not a carnival fan, right?  But I’ve been listening to Machel Montano’s Famalaylay almost on repeat for the past week, and I’m loving it!   I was amazed by my reaction to it… the lyrics (few as they are) are powerful.  “Everybody… jumping up together.  We don’t see colour, we see strength, we see power” I love it! It’s wonderful and uplifting, and I understand why it spoke so strongly to so many people.   

Actually, I do know why I’m seeking out reassurance.  I’m wallowing in self pity and teetering on the edge of depression.  I committed to being honest here about what I’m dealing with, so I am sharing this with you.  I looked at my pictures and at my reflection and I realized that my spine is very twisted due to the fusion of my vertebrae.  I described it in a moment of honest anger as turning me into Quasimodo, and not the funny Disney version, but the mentality angry one. I know, in my rational self, that my looks don’t matter, that the important thing is that I’m alive and working on being healthy.  But I am still a vain person who thinks that she’s reasonably attractive who looked in the mirror to see a caricature of herself looking back.  She will need a moment to regain some equanimity.

My vanity is seriously injured, and I’m terrified of facing people I know to see pity in their looks.  Or worse, facing the looks of strangers who don’t know what I’ve been through who filter their looks through disgust before reshaping to false condolences.  I don’t want to smile bravely and explain that I’m ok, when I can see the reactions that polite people will try to mask, while others will mock.  I’m afraid of scaring my baby niece and nephew who will not know me as normal, just the contorted body of their aunt who is sick.  Logically, and the doctor did point it out, I’m still close (it’s been a month) since the surgery, and I need to give myself and my muscles a chance to heal.  I was reminded as recently as today that my body needs time for the muscles to regain strength.  But logic, cold, dispassionate, rational, collapses in the unwinking eye of heated, irrational emotions and my brain goes to overwrought mush and I want to pretend that I have few visible signs of the disease that has been ravaging through me.  I don’t know why I think that I should escape reality, but it seems that I do think that.  I remember after my first surgery, when I felt well enough to go out, I went to a favourite spot accompanied by my family.  The manager saw me and asked me what happened to me, because I looked pale, sick and awful.  My mother and aunts went into battle mode - how dare she say that when they had been careful to stress my healthy appearance and my improvement!  But that was just it!  She didn’t know what I’d been through, all she saw was a friend returning after a long absence who looked like she’d had a tough time.  My mother had an unpraiseworthy tendency to hold a grudge, but she overcame the unintended insult to me and forgave her.  I’m weak enough to want to avoid even facing it once.  Please forgive my vanity and my failing and help me to accept the things I cannot control. 

I’m going to listen to some more comforting and strengthening music and hopefully I’ll sleep through the night.  I look forward to hearing from you tomorrow- thanks as always for the photos, notes and emails!  Good night 😘🥰