First things first

That's the way it is today. It takes all my concentration to stay on task, to do the first thing and then the next thing. I am in the exhausted part of my chemo cycle and I am glad it is a government holiday because I would be pretty worthless at work.

Karen is on her way to the airport to pick up her sister, Linda, who will be with us for about a week. Linda is fun and easy to have around. She was a big help back when I had surgery. This time she should just be able to hang out.  Karen and I spent the morning picking up the house, getting it  clean for Linda, and ourselves too. Funny how things can get away from you. All those little moments that we let pass pile up eventually until we have to devote a  whole morning, putting things in order again. This is usually a bigger chore for me; I tend to put things down and get back to them later, sometimes.

Besides being so completely tired, I am also running on empty. All I want to do is lay around, nap and eat. I even embarrass myself with my appetite. Seems that my hunger is never far away on days like this but Karen reminds me I am healing and my body is fighting to stay healthy against the chemo treatments and that I should not feel bad for eating.  So I nod my head and shovel another mouthful into my gaping maw.

We spent part of yesterday with our friend, Trish, out snowshoeing by the river. We headed down to what Karen and I call "the buzzard hole". Last autumn we spent an hour or so there, watching turkey vultures work the air currents above the river, sliding upwind before peeling away and down to do it again. Since then it has become one of our favorite spots on the river and I intend to prove to Karen that yes, one can catch a trout there.

The short trek down to the hole just about did me in. It has been an awfully long time since I worked that hard while wearing a pair of snowshoes. I broke trail on the way in and still sank about a foot with each step. I was glad to set the pack down on the bank above the open water and just catch my breath. We made tea and had cookies and crackers and cheese and salami and life was good. Until my bag leaked. Then it was time to go. I have to make myself get good info on how to manage the damn thing so this doesn't happen anymore. For a few minutes I despaired of ever enjoying the things in life that I love without having the bag seal fail. I cannot for the life of me conceive of me without paddling or hiking or ... and this bag is the thing I have to come to terms with or life could be ugly for the boy. On days like yesterday and even a few minutes ago, I sometimes have great difficulty not resenting the presence of my ostomy: I just wish it wasn't there.

Small  flakes of snow are dancing in the air. The wind sings in the chimes and blows like smoke across our open yard. I am content to be inside today, trying to get better, trying to pay attention, trying to do one thing at a time.

Peace and love,
Mike