As the result of a recent surgery on her right wrist (outpatient procedure to repair a case of Mommy Thumb; aka: de Quervain’s tenosynovitis - look it up), Angie is temporarily unable to be my primary caregiver. It's not as though I need that much care at this point in my journey, as compared to those many months at the beginning of the process (ie: doctor meetings, chemo sessions, stem cell transplant, holding my hair back when I was driving the bus - *Mohawk of Sarcasm*). And so many, many people besides "Dr. Rosen" surrounded me with their care, concern and compassion. But for the moment, as life would have it, there but for the grace . . . and all of those other pillo-sophies - it is now my turn to step up (and I don't mean: #5 StepUp: All In). I have donned the nurse's cap and starched white dress (figuratively, that is!), and it's providing an interesting opportunity for perspective.
People talk about the "Lens of Life" (well, actually nobody talks about it, since I just made that up), but it is always eye-opening when life hands us a chance to see our own existence from the exact other side. If we are aware enough to realize that, it helps to understand how the other half lives, and contends with our kooky existence. Hey, I'm not trying to go all Kierkegaard on ya (ok, who just Googled: Most Famous Existentialists?!?). Just rumi-Nate-ing about how I deal with folks and how they deal with me. I'm pretty sure it's working out fairly well both ways, but I'm even more sure there's still rust growing on this old "copper" top that could use some burnishing.
If I haven't said it enough over the past 3+ years, then let me now extol it loud and long: thank you so sincerely to you all for your help and support - medical and otherwise. I well understood your sacrifices of time and patience that were being extended, and appreciated every effort; large or small. The demands so far during the surgery recovery period have been minimal and manageable (I'm admittedly not much of a cook; though my farina-and-chicken-broth is getting pretty palatable). The patient is responding well, and I'm sure that her life's little pleasures such as: driving, full-throttle two-handed texting, and #1 picking up (lifting) grandchildren - will return. I'll hang up my dress; but will always carry a little bit of Nurse Nat inside of me. Along with the point of view that "she" helped me focus.
