Opening Doors…

At the end of a very long day (although at 10 pm I likely still have at least four hours of wakefulness ahead of me to fill) I’m physically exhausted but feel spiritually fuelled up.

A busy day in my world with a visit from a Personal Support Worker, one of my nurses, three deliveries (if you’re keeping track of my “step allotment” from yesterday’s post, I’m already well past my 100 in just answering the door). And then added bonuses – two visits from friends to round out my day. I love when visits from friends overlap and they have a chance to meet each other, it makes my world feel a bit bigger and warmer when these connections are made.

Even the people delivering somehow find a way into my circle. The Canada Post delivery person knows that I’m not able to leave my apartment and will personally bring up items to me that don’t fit in my mailbox rather than leave them in the lobby as he does for other tenants. I hope that I don’t come across as grumpy when I come to the door, he often rings the buzzer at 8 am – a jolt when I’ve only gotten to sleep a few short hours earlier. At the very least I’m always dishevelled and I wonder if he thinks I spend the whole day in my pajamas.The oxygen tube might suggest that, and it somehow bothers me that anyone might believe that I don’t clean myself up every day. He remembers that I have to pick up the cat before opening the door, a bit of an effort for me but it avoids Scrabble making a mad dash down the hallway. I can’t imagine what excitement he believes lies beyond our front door, the young lad has a pretty good life on this side. What is it with this quest for greener pastures?

The gentleman who several times a month delivers my medications from the pharmacy always has a smile on offer and a few words to say about what’s happening in the outside world. My apartment is far off his route (a favour extended by my wonderful pharmacist) but you’d never hear him complain about it. Another funny (or not so much) twist to being palliative, the insurance company only doles out a thirty day supply of each med at a time. Heaven forbid that they give me more and they go to waste should I pass in between! And I’ve given up on getting them all coordinated to be delivered once a month.

The volunteer who delivered a hot meal to me (tonight, spicy curry with fish and shrimp, so delicious!) is among a group who initially signed up for preparing a meal one or more times a month (a rotating roster that provides shut-ins like me – is there a more appropriate term? -  with fresh meals twice a week). The volunteers have each extended themselves in offering to do more than cook and deliver a meal; all have reached out to allow me to get to know a bit about who they are, introduce me to their children, offer to do things to help on top of cooking a meal for me. People who are essentially strangers offering to come clean my apartment, run errands, do whatever they can to make my life easier.

And so it goes. Day in, day out. Tough battles buffered by so much kindness around me.

My original intent tonight was to write on another subject, one that addresses bridging the extremes. I have two full days ahead of me this weekend without any visitors (I wish I could bank steps and syllables but it doesn’t work like that unfortunately). You might hear more from me over the next few days, or I might have fallen into a sugar coma thanks to the treats that K. and K. brought for me today. It could go either way…