Tuesday, June 7, 2011

A whole lot of nothing

Deb Waroff comments "You know the trouble with this disease? All this time goes by with nothing in it. You don't get a chance to put anything in it. It's just empty time."
 
Someone who doesn't know how sick I've been – doesn't need to know – observed that I talk a lot about what I did as a teenager, rarely about what I've done as an adult. 
 
It's hard to explain to a healthy person that you haven't actually done much as an adult.  You went to work, then came home and collapsed until it was time to go to work the next day.  On three-day holiday weekends when your friends went skiing or shopping or to a nearby city to do sightseeing, you thanked God for an extra day to rest up on the couch.  Very few Monday holidays that I budged off the couch for more than essentials like bathroom and food.
 
And that was when I was well enough to go to work.
 
I recently saw that someone had graduated in 1995 and dismissed him as a young'un.  Till the next time I saw the current date and realized that I've lost a whole decade.  For me, time stopped in 2000.  I spent most of the next several years horizontal, doing nothing, going nowhere, because a trip to the grocery store was enough to send me back to bed till the following weekend when I again was driven to the grocery store (if I was up to it, which I sometimes wasn't).
 
I was too sick to go to movies and if I turned one on on TV, odds were I zoned out before it was over, and next morning didn't even remember what little of it I did see. 
 
Books?  Too sick to go to the library and if I took one off my shelf, I'd get to page 5 and have to look back at page 1 to figure out who Sue was.  Oh, she's the main character.  I couldn't  remember the plot any better than I could remember the characters, so it was pointless to read anything more complicated than the comics page. 
 
Needlework?  I did a very simple piece and when I looked at it on a rare good day, it looked like something done by a beginner.
 
Mostly I laid in bed and prayed to either get better or die, rather than endure more of this endless Night of the Living Dead.
 
I've improved to the point I can occasionally go out and do something more than shop for a few basic groceries, come home and collapse.  I'm feeling well enough this week that I should be able to go for groceries one day and to the pharmacy on another day, instead of having to choose between them, which is the most crucial errand this week?  You'll note the two excursions I have planned are essential errands: not a concert, not out to lunch with friends, not meandering around the mall. 
 
Nothing worth telling anyone about when they ask what I've been up to.  But nonetheless a vast improvement over 10 years ago when sometimes I went weeks between excursions out of the house because I passed out when I got off the horizontal. 
 
 
 

 

No comments: