Adrenalog: Journal of a heroic wimp
The usual sleep pattern: took two hours to get to sleep. Slept maybe two hours. Woke up and stayed awake for duration of night. Felt awash in several dry hot flushes. They are depleting to the point that they make me too tired to sleep.
7:30 a.m. My husband is up. He is washing the Cat’s food bowl, preparing to feed him. This distresses the Cat. The Cat comes into the bedroom, mewling pitiably. He sits down and looks directly at me and mewls again. He’s having none of this. I am to feed him. I bound up to my true life calling. My head feels expertly packed in cement.
8:20 a.m. My alarm goes off signaling it is time for the Cat’s insulin shot. I check his blood glucose; he’s high. This is not surprising, as he was lower yesterday and so received not much insulin. I give him his insulin shot and brush him and sit down for several minutes to rest. I record his glucose value and see emails from two friends. One subject line reads, “You’re my kind of heroine.” I am mystified but grateful.
My husband has picked some Canadice grapes. I have some grapes and tea with him. We decide it would good for me to see a naturopath to try to get some help with my symptoms before December when I see the endocrinologist. I have a relentless sinking feeling that I am waiting to be told that this is all in my head, so 81 days isn’t very long. I plan to read a calculus book.
My husband prays for us and I see him off to church. My head begins to clear and soon I can even move the arm that woke me up, throbbing as though it would burst and expel my hand. I cheer this improvement.
The shower of the convenient bathroom is still under reconstruction. I walk 70 feet to the other shower. I surge with triumph; only Sir Edmund Hillary could know such elation. I make a note to contact a friend in Houston, a NASA statistician, to see whether they have any surplus moon probes available.
I walk 70 feet again, back to the bedroom. I note with alarm a huge crack in the bedroom wall, on the other side of which is the bathroom where my husband demolished the tub with his sledgehammer in order to remove it. I can’t help how many prepositions this has taken to explain. Discouragement threatens to overwhelm completely as I note further that my red capris are shot.
10:32 a.m. I need to rest now.