Bringing the Outside World In…

My nurse was here for her regular visit this afternoon when we heard the distant rumble of thunder. Although I was in the midst of my medication induced haze (which wears off after four or five hours, I’m losing my patience with this adjustment period!) I smiled broadly; she asked what had brought the grin to  my face.

I explained that with endless days looking at the same bedroom walls and a small patch of sky in my sightline through the window, a thunderstorm was something to be welcomed. A change of scenery as dark clouds roll in, the smell of the lightning, the crackle and boom of the thunder. I’ve always loved thunderstorms, since I was old enough to let myself out of the house I’d head straight for the front porch or balcony to take in the drama of a storm.

Of course I can’t run outside anymore when a storm approaches, but I love that if she’s here my daughter will watch the storm with me through that small patch of window hoping that we’ll catch a glimpse of a lightning strike.

My daughter does some truly amazing things in trying to bring the outside world to me. She’s always had a rich vocabulary, she uses it to describe with as much detail as possible what she knows I would have enjoyed seeing for myself, but can’t.

We have two cats now. Scrabble, whom I introduced to you when I adopted him in November, and Mia, who was Suzanna’s faithful companion during her second year away at university.

The two cats don’t get along. Plain and simple, Mia wants nothing to do with the younger, rambunctious Scrabble. We’ve had to get creative to allow each to have or her own space in this small apartment.

Occasionally the two find themselves in close proximity, often under some rather hilarious circumstances. Suzanna runs for her phone, documents the moment with a snapshot and comes running to show me.

It may seem like a small and perhaps insignificant gesture, to me these glimpses of the world outside of this room are very much appreciated. I hear the constant hum (in reality a whole lot louder than that) of life going on in a world that I’m unable to participate in. Normalcy can sometimes seem so very far away. Trying to remember what it was like to walk up a flight of stairs effortlessly, to drive to a photo shoot, to chop ingredients for a favourite recipe. What did it feel like to put on a favourite outfit and walk around in heels, to throw a ball back to the neighbour’s son, to sit at a table for a meal? Those moments seem so very far away.

I could allow myself to be miserable in remembering all that I can’t do, instead I try (and usually succeed) in appreciating what Suzanna and others can show me of their world. Please keep it coming, reminders of the outside world are what help me to cope with being confined within these four walls with my view of a small patch of bare sky.

And for those times when I’m not successful in pushing away the reminders of what is no longer possible? My daughter quickly comes to me with a kiss for my forehead, expressing her wish to make it all better if she could. At those moments, the outside world melts away and all that matters is right in front of me.