Friday, December 9, 2022

I tell my daughter that I don’t eat fish. I just can’t.  She says really?  Yes, I don’t eat fish.  She said what about all the salmon the tall man brings you?  OK, I do eat salmon.  She looks at me and stays silent. Well, salmon aren’t fish because I don’t eat fish.  And we both start laughing.  The eight year old mouthy girl is back.

My illness is not my life.  I do have a life outside of dealing with medical people and systems.  I live and I breath everyday.  This morning as the light comes into my room I wiggle my toes, stretch my legs and carefully look at the wonder of hands that move. But I tell better stories about my medical encounters.

The dead looking oak tree in the front yard has a few more green leaves but it is not out of danger yet. We are partners in struggling to live.

My two former roommates visit in the early evening. We get to talking medical stories and vacations and life.  We laugh a lot and listen deeply to each other.  I do love them a lot.  We are all a little nuts after three years of covid living.