I am laughing myself silly. Last night I emailed a friend. I was tired. I'm pretty certain I meant to write, Hello, my love. Instead, I typed Hell, my love. Both worked.


*****


Last week it seems I was either insanely busy with Hospice people coming to the house in a steady stream... or I was exhausted. The two were co-dependent - Hospice, exhaustion, Hospice, exhaustion, Hospice, exhaustion.

As one social worker entered my home, I blurted, "Hospice is killing me." It's my dark sense of humor - but last week was the second time I had to *frontload* Hospice - and I was pooped. (Is it still socially acceptable to say I was pooped? I know I can't use the word boink anymore or hook-up.)

I haven't written about last week - been too tired - but the first Hospice arrived Monday and the RN announced, "I have some bad news for you."

I swear to you, my inner dialog was, "What the donkey-nose bad news could you possibly give me. Are you donkey-nose serious!" I didn't actually say this, but I wouldn't be surprised if she heard my thoughts.

This is what the RN told me, "We're not certified in your county to give you Hospice services."

Ugh. Hours and hours of frontloading. I was given the option of revoking Hospice or transferring to the alternative - a local Hospice about 2 miles from me.

I'd heard iffy things about the staffing at the local Hospice, but decided to give them a try. What choice did I really have? It ends up I LOVE the new Hospice staff. My RN is a young woman I've known for years. Adore her. Simply and completely adore her. The new oxygen vendor is excellent and very professional. I even enjoyed the Chaplain who made a visit - I was dreading his visit but liked him a lot - the prayer he offered on my behalf w-a-s such a comfort. The weekend RN literally lives on the street behind me. AND I know the doctor affiliated with my new local Hospice - I saw Dr. Matt several years ago and thought he was fabulous - he's an excellent doctor but a total wingnut... he's my people - totally my kind of people.

So, it all turned out okay - though it exhausted me and the exhaustion then exacerbated latent loneliness.

I wasn't homesick for anyone or anything specific. I felt unproductive and when I fiddle-faddle too much I feel as though I'm wasting precious time. I have herds of amazing friends I could call - who would yak or come to my home to visit. It's not that kind of loneliness I felt.

When loneliness visits it's usually when I come face-to-face with my limitations that I can no longer stare down. Wielding the sword of defiance has been an empowering element in my life since my diagnosis.

Last night, out of sheer boredom, I poked around the Internet reading blogs. One blogger, a notable author, wrote about a writing workshop she's giving in Italy this summer. Tears started to run down my cheeks. Damn.


*****


Last week my book club met to discuss The Aviator's Wife by Melanie Hauser. It's about Charles and Anne Lindbergh - good book with lively discussion. But as is always the case, no matter what book we read, it's the women in this group I enjoy the most. They come from all over the Cumberland Plateau. They are people I never would've met if not for the way Nona and I structured our group in the very beginning. These women are so important to me. Though the only time I see them is when we meet to discuss the month's selection... I think of them often and with such fondness.





Book Club, The Steel Azaleas


*****


I feel I should explain why I'm tickled to have Dr. Matt as my Hospice doctor. My mother died in January 2010. I didn't do well. I shut down, broken. I sat in my home for months, grieving. It was suggested I medicate to relieve the suffering. I can't recall who prescribed it. I can't recall what I was taking. It was short term and a godsend. I'd stopped opening my mail. There was a stack at my feet beside my desk. One day I lost one of my utilities... I hadn't opened my mail, I hadn't paid my bills. It was a dark time for me.

Anyway, I took some happy pills and they helped me get through the winter. My friends became alarmed, though, about something else. I became even more reclusive and they were concerned I was having a bad reaction to the meds. They made me promise I'd see a doctor.

My doctor wasn't available so was scheduled to see Dr. Matt. I'll never forget his reaction after telling him the reasons I was in his office. He leaned over and said, "Who are these busybodies? Tell them to mind their own business! You're fine."

Isn't that a fabulous story!

And that's why I'm glad he's my Hospice doctor and that's why I call him My People



*****



Stephen and Michelle came to the mountain for Thanksgiving. They were a wonderful addition. Several weeks ago the most amazing wind-chime arrived as a thank you gift. The photo doesn't do it justice. It's completely gorgeous. I've chosen to install it indoors so I can better enjoy the light filtering through the stones. It's a wondrous creation.





*****

I recently watched a documentary about the slums of Mathare in Kenya. When clothing is washed, one goes to a murky stream and looks for an area that doesn't have feces. Of note, not only is the water used for washing clothes, it's used for cooking and bathing and drinking. Even with my challenges, put our problems in the middle of the room, and I'd yank mine back in a heartbeat.

Clarity of perspective reels in my concerns with better focus of my privilege, and renews my gratitude. I am one lucky woman.


*****


Thanks for stopping by. Love.