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Yesterday i was distracted by the late afternoon visit with the surgeon. I do think i had a semiproductive day, and made it to the surgeon's office on time. Christine had parked her motorcycle at the corner end of street parking so i'd be sure to find the office.
We spent a long time with the surgeon in the pre-op meeting, He had all sorts of forms and final examinations to do, and i asked my list of activity questions. Fortunately, Christine's therapist came in before i asked my cat questions: the surgeon had a "Ew, animals, germs!" reaction, and the therapist said, "Pish, he's a surgeon, he doesn't know animals. Your cats will want to take care of Christine." We traded cat care stories.
Most of my exertion questions were answered: nothing to raise blood pressure for six weeks. No motorcycle for two months.
When we left the clinic, Christine's motorcycle had fallen over. The cars that she had been parked near were gone, and people were turning onto the street frequently on their way home. A nearby gardener helped lift the bike up, and the faring had taken most of the bike's weight with only some mild cosmetic damage. Uncertain of whether there was damage we missed, i followed Christine home in the rain.
My desire to use the evening for laundry and exercise was completely drained.
I'd spent the afternoon at work talking to all my team individually, and then there was the hour with the surgeon. That was highly interactive work and partly explains how drained i was.
Christine was exhausted as, on her way to the surgeon, she and another motorcyclist had a close call with an inattentive, cell phone using driver, and she'd had to execute an emergency stop. She says the other motorcyclist took care of chewing out the driver. I can't imagine, after the car accident just six weeks ago, that another close call wouldn't be triggering.
I fixed brown rice macaroni with a cheese sauce for dinner. I love making mac and cheese, with thanks to dairy cows and a twinge as i consider vegans' view of the dairy industry. This had the last of some aged gouda, some generic cheddar, and some shredded mozzarella in with generous amounts of mustard powder, pepper, salt, and the Italian parsley thinnings from the garden pots.
We watched a Nova Now documentary on travel to Mars and i quickly fell asleep, and had a hard time waking.
I'm not finding it easy being compassionate with myself. Intellectually, i can see the drains on my energy: work, the thought experiment of the care needed and risks ahead with the surgery, the surge of past memories of motorcycle issues with the looming possibility something new was wrong. It's the voice of the Survivalist in my head that says, "Buck up, don't let this tire you." My Dad's assessment, driven from his military service and connections, "You're not face down in a rice paddy." The ease of observing the odds of a huge quake here. Witnessing my mother's drive to have everything just so, to the point of consuming all her health. (What good is health when it's so bloody fragile?)
What else do i know intellectually? Let's say there was a real crisis, not just dirty floors. I do rally, and if i have reserves, i'll be that much better in a crisis.
We spent a long time with the surgeon in the pre-op meeting, He had all sorts of forms and final examinations to do, and i asked my list of activity questions. Fortunately, Christine's therapist came in before i asked my cat questions: the surgeon had a "Ew, animals, germs!" reaction, and the therapist said, "Pish, he's a surgeon, he doesn't know animals. Your cats will want to take care of Christine." We traded cat care stories.
Most of my exertion questions were answered: nothing to raise blood pressure for six weeks. No motorcycle for two months.
When we left the clinic, Christine's motorcycle had fallen over. The cars that she had been parked near were gone, and people were turning onto the street frequently on their way home. A nearby gardener helped lift the bike up, and the faring had taken most of the bike's weight with only some mild cosmetic damage. Uncertain of whether there was damage we missed, i followed Christine home in the rain.
My desire to use the evening for laundry and exercise was completely drained.
I'd spent the afternoon at work talking to all my team individually, and then there was the hour with the surgeon. That was highly interactive work and partly explains how drained i was.
Christine was exhausted as, on her way to the surgeon, she and another motorcyclist had a close call with an inattentive, cell phone using driver, and she'd had to execute an emergency stop. She says the other motorcyclist took care of chewing out the driver. I can't imagine, after the car accident just six weeks ago, that another close call wouldn't be triggering.
I fixed brown rice macaroni with a cheese sauce for dinner. I love making mac and cheese, with thanks to dairy cows and a twinge as i consider vegans' view of the dairy industry. This had the last of some aged gouda, some generic cheddar, and some shredded mozzarella in with generous amounts of mustard powder, pepper, salt, and the Italian parsley thinnings from the garden pots.
We watched a Nova Now documentary on travel to Mars and i quickly fell asleep, and had a hard time waking.
I'm not finding it easy being compassionate with myself. Intellectually, i can see the drains on my energy: work, the thought experiment of the care needed and risks ahead with the surgery, the surge of past memories of motorcycle issues with the looming possibility something new was wrong. It's the voice of the Survivalist in my head that says, "Buck up, don't let this tire you." My Dad's assessment, driven from his military service and connections, "You're not face down in a rice paddy." The ease of observing the odds of a huge quake here. Witnessing my mother's drive to have everything just so, to the point of consuming all her health. (What good is health when it's so bloody fragile?)
What else do i know intellectually? Let's say there was a real crisis, not just dirty floors. I do rally, and if i have reserves, i'll be that much better in a crisis.
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Hm, this really resonated with me, even though it's hardly the focus of your post. Sometimes people need things just so because that's the only way they feel safe--maybe. That it's a fragile kind of safety, too, only reinforces the cycle.
How in the devil did Christine's motorcycle get knocked over? WTF are people up to, anyway? And the near-brush with the car...ugh. D:
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Re the motorcycle: I'm tempted to think a car brushed it while turning the corner, but there could have been gusty winds. I don't think a person leaving curb parking did it, because of the direction the bike fell.