I wrenched my back in my sleep two nights ago and it still hurts when I sit down or stand up. This morning, my right leg is killing me for no reason. I feel like an eighty year old man. And this morning my sugar was extremely high, but I knew why and fought to keep from beating myself up about it. Amazing how eager I am to battle myself, and how tiring it is to do so.
I take my coffee and my computer and sit on the balcony. The weather has been mild and dry enough for me to start sitting out here in the mornings. I have until 9:30 before the sun sneaks its way around the edge of the building and into my eyes. Despite the roar of traffic, I can still hear birds sing. I see them peer over the ledge of the roof above me as well; usually pigeons but sometimes a junco or sparrow. Yesterday a junco landed on the hook I have sticking out of my pot of lavender, then saw me and instantly flittered off.
There are decorative shapes attached to the bottom of the ledge, about one every six feet. I’m not sure what they’re made of. They resemble four-leaf clovers with a flower in the center. Sometimes a junco will swoop up from below and cling upside down to them. The bird will hold there for a minute then plummet. I don’t know how they cling like that, or why, but Olivia is eager to catch one. I pray she will remain content with flies and silverfish; I worry that she will make a wild leap.
She has been cautious about joining me on the balcony, but she’s venturing out more now that I’m spending my mornings out here. I keep an eye on her when she does, and when I’m inside I place an improvised screen across the door. The barrier ir more symbolic than practical, but so far she respects it, though she could easily get through or over it. I fear she will jump up onto the flower box, onto the back of the chair and across to the next balcony, which is about six feet away. She could probably make it safely, but the ground is four stories below. They say a cat can survive a fall from that height but I hope not to find out. Sometimes I miss my little Spencer; I never worried about him falling or trying to get away. I guess I don’t actually think she’ll jump, otherwise I would make a more effective barrier. Or just keep the damn door closed.
Yesterday was my fortieth treatment, which ordinarily would be my last, but they’ve approved me for an extra twenty bonus sessions. I might not need them all; the doctor is very pleased with progress on the right foot, in fact she says that by next week, it may be healed up. I think about how black it was in the hospital, how certain I was that I would lose it.
In a month I theoretically should be able to return to work. My biggest fear is that my foot will get a wound right away from the new shoes, like it did last time. In which case I’ll have to get back on disability. I’m not sure how long the museum will tolerate it, or if they’ll even take me back. People tell me they have to, and maybe that’s so, but I’m skeptical. Of course, I’m skeptical about pretty much everything these days.
And then there are my eyes. I’m told it takes ten weeks for them to return to normal, but that’s not taking into account the cataracts, which I will have to have replaced at some point. I’m very nervous about it; not so much for the operation itself, which everyone tells me is quick and painless, but about how long it will actually be until I can see again. In the meantime I’ve gotten fairly used to my blurry world, though I’m not comfortable in the dark, or around crowds; I was tense through much of the Ethiopian music performance last weekend. While I’m grateful I can see at all, I’m also frustrated and impatient for all this to be over. I’m so sick of being stuck; I want to move forward. I want to see, I want to walk, I want to remove this barrier and interact with the world. I watch a flock of pigeons dive from the roof, down into the trench of the highway, swoop up and careen through the air before circling around and settling back where they left from. The cat, busy stalking a silverfish, doesn’t notice. I gather my things and go inside to get ready for treatment number 41.
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