Slipping?
This morning I realized I had forgotten a day on the calendar yesterday. Hmm. Am I slipping? No . . . I think I am finally healing from having the days, weeks, months, years riding on my mind 24/7. I need to explain.
In the last days of February, 2021 my old farm girl lifestyle was turned over . . . ass over teakettle. A stroke. Not the worst that anyone had ever endured. Enough of a stroke that caused me to work each day to be able to settle in with my children, my home and Dennis. Same day-to-day items to deal with, just perhaps in a different way. I remember the thumb on my left hand catching on everything. If it could spill, it would. If it could hit the floor bouncing it would. I was indeed a work in progress.
I did work hard each day, as I knew in a few months, June would bring open heart surgery. Hello! My mama and daddy didn’t raise any sissies. June came and went. By the time fall brought leaves tumbling to the ground, I was getting the old oomph back. Me . . . Raymond and Lena’s kid could take in the sweet life, though still healing, that had been given via God and great surgeons.
In early October our little home awoke to life-altering amazement. Wait! What! Dennis was in trouble with his health. His left foot indicated osteomyelitis, an infection. Nothing that had happened to him recently. He remembered how painful it was when the bitter cold in Korea allowed his feet to again have feeling. Dennis needed surgery, but with covid, there were no options right off the bat. With the threat of gangrene spreading, the saga of the toes removal began, one toe at a time, one metatarsal at a time.
From the first day realizing that Dennis was in trouble, my phone never quite ringing with appointments. I had a calendar with me 24/7. Surgical and doctor appointments could begin at six in a given morning with us not getting home until the late day. Road conditions were not important. Dennis was never kept overnight in a hospital. The instruction after surgeries was to keep the incision clean and dry. Invariably, the dressing would be soaked through by the time we got home. My picnic basket was always prepared with all that was needed. I never gave dressing the wound a thought. It was every day from the October event in 2021 until July of 2023. Check, check, check . . . keep it clean, keep it dry to make sure all was as it should be.
It is such a relief to not have the phone ringing constantly. The ire I would feel when it rang I am sure spiked the blood pressure. No longer making contacts with medical personnel when appointments were double booked. It is true. Now, the calendar on the dining room table can be seen with fresh folded laundry on top of it. Sweet.
There are now days when I do sit back and do much of nothing. I no longer feel the need to be busy all the time so as to not fall short of the medical needs. I am not slipping. I am healing, allowing myself some “Me” time. The surgeons and I knew that if the left foot would not heal 100% by July, proving that there was not enough blood supply from Dennis’ peripheral artery disease, Dennis’ leg would be coming off right below the knee. For Dennis, it was ignorance can be bliss.
Yup. I may forget a date on the calendar sometimes, but I do remember that there is a date in this August’s lineup that Kersten is excited about. Special and sweet.