Pulling at Reality

The days follow one another. The routine becomes monotonous. It becomes as one. Indistinguishable from other days. Messages are received and processed as though they are the same. The sameness of a routine gone mad.

Once we lived each day as unique. Because each day was unique. We saw the differences one from another. We recognized the significant from the insignificant. Some messages were news; some not.

And so, we rose with the sun, went to bed with darkness, ate three meals on a wobbly schedule, but three just the same. Rent was due and paid. Same with phone and internet bills. The desiderata of life happened without notice.

What changed our outlook?

I suppose it could have been anything of significance, like war, or pandemic, or serious illness, or loss of job. But in our case, it was a health scare. First the ER, then hospital, now nursing home for temporary care. Almost came home, but a last-minute problem arose to bar that progress. Yes, more tests. Yes to yet another doctor. Meanwhile remain in nursing home for physical therapy and nursing routines.

When the newer diagnosis is known and treatment designed, the decision to return home will rely on what then are the needs for nursing and medications. Will home health teams be enough? Will family be enough? We don’t know. We don’t know the specifics upon which these consequent actions rely. Such is the nature of health matters.

So we go along with the days as presented. Nothing much changes until the big bit of news that will change the pattern again.

What seemed inconsequential is now a big thing. The big has become small, the small transmuted to large.

Humdrum. Beat by beat the clock ticks seconds and minutes away. We wait. And wait some more.

This is not fun.

March 8, 2023

 

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