Somewhere on my desk there is a piece of paper with the covid helpline of my employer, the opening hours of the free PCR testing sites at the university clinic (Monday - Friday) and instructions on what to do and what to mention incl. the information leaflet of my medication.
Two days ago, one of the regular rapid lateral flow tests I am obliged by my employer to administer at home showed a positive line. I went downstairs and told R that I would not be able to go to the farmer's market after all. Instead, I drove to the nearest testing center to get a conformation PCR test, only they refused to do it because I failed to bring my lateral flow test as evidence. Instead, they did another rapid lateral flow test which was negative. Back home, I briefly dithered between being seriously ill and who cares anyway, but as it was not Monday - Friday, I decided to get on with life and take it easy - my usual weekend activity as it were. This morning I did another test, again negative, and I asked google for information on false positive results with that particular test kit and it turns out that this is a documented manufacturer's fault that happens when the sample size is too small.
I cleaned the bathroom, kitchen and hoovered the hall and staircase, baked a blueberry-lemon cake without icing, cooked Sunday lunch (red peppers, zucchini and mushrooms with fregula and parmesan), had one cup of coffee and went on my usual 10 km cycle along the river.
Later, we will make tea and maybe have some grilled cheese on toast and some fresh strawberries and then watch the Sunday evening thriller on German TV and the late news.
The tendency to treat my imperfect existence as if it were a
shadow of my real life, the one I would be living without a chronic disease, this mental image of my healthy self, it slows me down every time as if all people except myself are healthy and fit and have nothing to worry about.
When you are not one of the seemingly healthy, you need to work hard sometimes so you don't
fall out of love with yourself as the illness tries again and again to run the show. At least I need to do that. Cycling, baking, strawberries, it all helps.
13 comments:
Crazy for imperfect tests to have the power to put you into a tailspin! Glad it was inaccurate though so you can continue to live and bake and cook delicious food and ride your bike and glory in that marvelous garden.
I'm so glad you continue to test negative. Covid is the last thing you need. And yeah, sometimes just forging ahead with the usual routine is the best response. Sort of pretending that your life or the world at large isn't going to hell in a handbasket. I mean what else can we do beside just melt into a puddle of despair?
Good to hear that you've been active and enjoying life!
"When you are not one of the seemingly healthy, you need to work hard sometimes so you don't fall out of love with yourself as the illness tries again and again to run the show."
Thank you for writing these words, Sabine, as well as reminding me how vulnerable we all still are to COVID. What a relief to know you tested negative.
I need to work hard to keep my balance when the parts of me that are not healed try again and again to run the show. Yoga, studying Spanish, reading, reading blogs and writing on my blog, walking alone and with friends, drawing with my left hand, listening to On Being episodes, listening to music, listening to guided meditations and being surprised on days like yesterday by the appearance of a flock of Cedar waxwings on the young alder saplings that are growing in the midst of the cattail pond I see from my porch. It's been years since I seen even one Cedar waxwing. All bringing balance and clarity.
37paddington: Reading your last two paragraphs I was suddenly weeping. Oh Sabine, how deeply you understand.
"The tendency to treat my imperfect existence as if it were a shadow of my real life, the one I would be living without a chronic disease, this mental image of my healthy self, it slows me down every time as if all people except myself are healthy and fit and have nothing to worry about."
It sounds like grief and thank you for sharing this. The difference between how we imagined our life and the reality, through no fault of your own, is hard to accept. My daughter has a new lesion on her spine. I was fine until I went to bed and then I cried so hard. I would trade places with her in heartbeat but I can't. I will share this with her, to remind her that she is not alone and that grief doesn't just end, you live with it.
Sending hugs.
I'm always so surprised by how much you accomplish there in one day. Baking, bike riding, hoovering. I love your energy and how you stay in love with yourself. That's the best description of a good life. I will remember that. Stay well, my friend.
You certainly pinpoint the challenge with which you cope. It's one thing to recognize the issue but quite another matter to live your daily life in spite of it all. You seem to be doing a pretty good job of coping though It sometimes may not seem like that to you.
Well, I'm glad you are (apparently) negative. Bravo for staying engaged and keeping up your challenging routines!
"...treat my imperfect existence as if it were a shadow of my real life...
Reacting to illness is full of assumptions. For a non-sufferer just the thought of certain dreadful ailments can make us shudder. How could I bear that? Wouldn't life be hopeless? My God I'm sure I'd be a total wimp.
For me, now a confirmed sufferer, such considerations were surprisingly absent. Various technical facts had prepared me. When the news arrived I was eased into my new state with great conversational skill by the dispassionate surgeon. Of course, I told myself, this was a possible outcome. Rather than dwell on the implications I found myself insistent - that, at 86, I could hardly complain. Strange that: don't we always complain at this personal revelation? Well, perhaps not. I became nonchalant to the point of being misunderstood by members of my family. Some talked about my torments, causing me to feel fraudulently uneasy.
Chemo was vaguely scheduled for six months. Suddenly it was being broken off after five fortnightly sessions with five assessments. Not only that but the PICC (a valve on my arm whereby the chemo fluid is conveyed to my innards) will be removed tomorrow. A scan is due in late July. Rather against my will I am forced to regard this as positive news. No, I'm not going to live forever but I may - with a following wind - witness the resignation of our wretched PM.
I'd like to say I demonstrated fortitude but the need for that never arose. The most recent singing lesson concentrated almost feverishly on how to start a song (Late in the day, you say, given the lessons have endured for six years.), an esoteric skill. But proof my thoughts were absorbed by Schubert and not fluorouracil
blueberry/lemon cake without icing. And a bike ride. Yes. In spite of all the shite. Those two things made me happy. XO
I've been lax on my blogging readings and have missed a lot.
Glad that you've tested negative but I noticed you haven't posted in awhile. Hope you are doing really well.
It's been 21 days since you posted the above. A longish gap compared with your average rate of production. Given the subject of the post I can't help worrying. I don't require a full-blown post, even a wretched emoticon - the last resort of the barely literate (which is a long long way from reality) - would suffice.
As to Diamonds on the Soles of her Shoes, it's a pleasing song but - of that particular album - I was most struck by Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover Although it would have required a significant shift in time it seemed to be the lodestar of the handful of young women I came into contact with during the 24 years I spent in my home-town, Bradford. Until, in desperation, I left for the Southern Paradise yclept London; two months there I met the woman I subsequently married, 62 years ago.
Saying this I am minded to adapt Anon's 17th-century folk song (very slightly) as a retrospective of my very long life:
Begone, Bradford! I prithee begone from me!
Begone, Bradford! you and I shall never agree.
Long time hast thou been tarrying here
And fain thou woulds't me kill,
But, i' faith, Bradford,
Thou never shall have my will.
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