I've Been Away

 

 

I've Been Away

I've been away from my blog and from my writing.

I am here now, yet I am not here--not fully.

My body feels like an alien creature, weary, uncooperative, aching from radiation burns.  It has turned on me, betrayed me with these cancer cells.  Still this body is mine.  I recognize myself in the mirror; my face, my fingers, my feet, my self.

Yet I am not here--not quite.  I struggle through the brain fog.  Is it Friday?  What happened to Thursday?  Will I write today?  Can I make sense?  Will I write and re-write only to quit in despair?

Depression and I have become well acquainted, more so on the days when pain and frustration are close companions.  I sleep 11 hours a night and nap during the day.  If I want to do dishes, or bake biscuits, sweep a floor or have a shower, I must do this in the morning before the energy dissipates.

It has been hard learning to be gentle and patient with myself.  Even though treatments ended last Wednesday, it will be weeks more before energy returns and the burns are healed.  I am recovering but want the process to speed up, to be done.  I want to be well...now, now, now.

This winter, I have been hibernating in the caverns of radiotherapy and sleep, caught in a haze of  depression and pain and medications.  But I am returning to myself, to clarity, to lucidity, to balance.  The "not here" times lessen as the "here" times lengthen.

I will be well again.

I am nearly there, back to "here", back to being fully present within myself.


Words and photo are copyright Carol Steel.  The photo is of the recent full moon through a haze of cloud and darkness.

Waking Early

Waking Early

It’s dark.  It’s always dark when I wake in the mornings.  I am a light sleeper, waking easily to the chirp of a cat walking by and saying hello in the night, hearing the clink of the mailbox as the paper is delivered, listening to the back-up beepers on the garbage truck, noticing the ruckus in the sounds of my bed mate snoring. 

Even when there aren’t sounds to wake me, I wake up at all hours.  The cat snuggles too close to my head for comfort.  I need to visit the bathroom.  My thinking is traveling too quickly to allow sleep.  I wake up easily.

I like the darkness.  I like the softness of being unable to see beyond my window panes, the feeling of being surrounded by woolly night, cradled in the arms of unseen possibilities.  There is a sense of the unknown and of being in a cocoon of darkness, of excited wonder at what the new day will bring, uncover, tear open and reveal.

Even if it is too early and still dark, I’ve learned to get up and begin the day rather than to stay in bed and fret about not sleeping.  And there are advantages to being awake before anyone else.  The house feels peaceful, softly lit with every creature asleep except for me. 

If I step outside, I appreciate the night and the darkness.  The stars shine brightly.  I can see them better without the light pollution of cars going by.  The moon is lovely, ethereal and round, misty and comforting of late.

The early morning allows space for my own quiet self to begin the day slowly, with silent meditation and fragrant coffee, with focused attention to every detail…the lights of the city sparkling through the darkness, the neighbours’ homes all asleep except one, the welcome cosiness of that one neighbour’s lit windows, the changing sky as sunrise tips the edge of night from black to indigo, then blushes into dawn.

It’s dark.  It’s early.  It’s peaceful…a good start to my day.

The words are copyright ©Carol Steel.  The photo is used with permission from Wikipedia commons images.

Sleep? What's That?

Do parents of young children ever get enough sleep?  The answer would seem to be, "No." 

I still remember being so tired, I was able to fall asleep anywhere, anytime, when my children were small.  They had erratic sleep patterns, often woke in the night, stayed awake for long stretches and didn't nap during the day.  Years of sleep deprivation; remembering makes me weary, even now, thirty some years later.

We have grandchildren visiting.  No naps today, except for parents, grateful for grandparents' extra help, so they can rest.

Brightly coloured leaves dropped into our yard (ours, plus contributions from neighbours) to cover the lawns.  We'll rake them into piles later, make them ready for leaping and jumping and shrieking with delight--once the parents awake.

The parents are escaping this evening.  Because they are here, they'll have the rare opportunity to get out by themselves and to experience a quiet, elegant meal away from home, without the company of persons under three years.

Luxury!

I remember those times, too.  The beauty of an evening together without any children, and the bonus of free babysitting.  Hope they enjoy their time together being a couple again, as much as we used to appreciate escapes by ourselves.

It is important to have balance between being a couple and being a parent, especially when there isn't enough sleep to go round.

This photo is mine.

Cats and No Sleep

The cats woke me early today.  5 am is not a time I want to be awake unless by choice.  Usually when we settle for the night, the cats settle too, blissful to have a great warm bed with two human companions.  Last night one settled with us; two played and wrangled until 1 am.  The result:  four hours of sleep for me!   Cats are all sleeping now, catching up?

It has snowed and snowed and snowed lately; six major storms this winter, accumulating over 235 cm or 93 inches.  The town is zealous about ploughing and snow removal, cutting back the visibility-blocking banks, clearing packed snow around the fire hydrants and salting the slippery narrow roads.  Heavy machinery regularly passes through this quiet neighbourhood several times a day; more often during the night.  Lights flash, snow buffets and ice grinds, engines strain and back-up beepers pierce the hushed darkness.

Bleary-eyed from lack of rest, I theorize that the cats are disturbed by all this ploughing commotion; their small kitty brains fear habitat and home destruction from this onslaught of grotesque machinery and striking din.  I suppose this is so because the cats behave far worse on snowy nights.

Cats being cats and creatures long associated with independent and fickle natures, I can’t be sure that this IS the problem.  Just for experiment’s sake, I will close some doors tonight to separate us from the disturbances of these three furry night prowlers.  Maybe we’ll get more sleep tonight; maybe it won’t snow again tonight!  What are the chances?