I couldn't sleep. The pillow needed adjusting; the blankets were too high; my shoulders were creaking. Yet it was very dark still. The stars glimmered against the now still white snow. 4 am. The soft breathing of the children's resting stirred. An occasional "drip...drip" - the faucet? The humidifier?
I finally crawled out of bed at 5:30 succumbing to the early morning insomnia. A dull throbbing sensation rhythmically affecting my brain as if low in hydration or withdrawal from caffeine. "Oh, I need a cup of coffee!" I moan. My bare toes touch the tile on the bathroom floor. Brrrrr chilly. The outside thermometer reading -6 degrees. But still. No bitterly cold whipping winds to sting the face.
Today I have an appointment. It is one of the "required" educational appointments I need in order to discuss the systemic regimen I will be starting next week. I am strangely nervous. But Farmer Husband graciously attaches the oil pan heater to the gray Corolla before he leaves and then bundles up and heads off into the darkness and cold for an early morning appointment. A shower, breakfast, and a quick look in at my students in my online class. And then off to the appointment.
Sheila B., the nurse practitioner greets me in the patient room. She is friendly, to the point, but gentle. She covers the information well and allows me to interrupt. She smiles when I start acting like a health care clinician. She reminds me that I am the patient... that the priority must be centered on my care and needs....those of mother, professor, clinician...they are back burners. That I must take care of me in order to continue caring and loving those dearest to me. My mind understands that logic but my heart rebels. To be vulnerable like this is oddly disconcerting. The hardest part? Asking others for help. Of greatest concern: How do I get two children to school (and back) 17 miles in different directions - one on a bus; one driven typically by me? Sheila explains that I will be tired after 5 hours of chemotherapy and additional medications. I will not be allowed to drive home... at least the first day. How do I get there every week and get home?
I sign papers, pick up a folder of information, make future laboratory test appointments and leave the oncology office. The receptionist ladies are wonderful and helpful. I feel welcomed and cared for.
Educated today. A great beginning. The experiential to follow.
Today's Journey Joys: cars that start in subzero temperatures, warm homes, pizza in the oven, Snowy, our white cat, with frost on his eye brows, peach tea.
