How Do You See It?

While we continue to whittle down the time until the results of the last test to date on Miki’s biopsied lung arrive, perspective has been on my mind a lot.  Since Miki was admitted to Centerpoint Hospital through present time, my perspective and attention to everyday folks facing their own dilemmas has become more acute to me.  Miki has been so damned positive since the onset of whatever it is that has invaded her body and that she will “walk through this,” that I have been trying to keep up as we go down that road together.  In fact, I feel like it doesn’t matter what I think is happening or how it should be treated, I need to support whatever attitude she adopts and help prop her up as needed.  I probably wouldn’t make a very attractive cheerleader, but it’s a hat that I’ll wear (better a hat than a spandex leotard!)  And because of that positive forward thinking, I keep comparing others to her.

It is all about perspective.  For example, when I ride my bicycle, part of my loop is a stretch of about 3½ miles on a trail that follows the eastern shoreline of Blue Springs Lake.  As I was riding this evening with the sun getting close to the horizon, the shadows were long and every twig lying on the trail was a snake in my mind.  A poisonous snake, that was waiting for the chance to take a shot at my muscular calves… well, okay… my calves.  Now of course, logically I knew better, but where do those thoughts come from.  Maybe it was the 4 foot snake that I saw a few days ago, slinking off the trail as I whizzed by it.  I saw about 3 feet of it still on the trail, so there must have been at least another foot into the brush already.  But if perspective is how you see or view things around you, my take on snakes is a bit paranoidal (yes, I made up that word from my perspective).

This morning, while Miki and her congregation were convening for “couch church,” I headed out for a motorcycle ride for my church.  It was relatively cool, considering it being the middle of summer, and I was just out cruising without a plan or destination.  At this point in my worship service, I was in Independence, close to the Truman Library, and I came across a man standing on a street corner.  He had on a shirt too small for his size, hair that had not seen a comb for some time, and was facing a brick retaining wall with his back to the intersection and to me.  Normally when I see people in a similar location, they would be waiting for the light to turn, cross the street, and be on their way.  Not this guy.  As I got closer and was able to glance across to see what was on the other side of him that had been previously blocked by the overstuffed shirt, there were 6 bottles of what appeared to be Bud Light, all lined up on top of the brick retaining wall.  Lined up as if sitting in a church pew.  I could have seen myself staring at such a spectacle too, but he was carrying on a conversation and was pointing at one in particular.  By that time I was motoring passed, repeating…”Please don’t break down.  Please don’t break down.  Not here, not today!”  I’ve never had a monologue with a beer before, but if I had, I’d hope some serious help would follow.  I continued on.

This evening I ran to the store to pick up some grocery items and to grab a quick bite to eat while Miki was sleeping.  Taco Bell.  Not high on Miki’s list of acceptable fast food joints, so I don’t get to Taco Bell very often.  I was ready to get crazy.  I am all excited to order 3 Taco Supremes as I pull in behind a woman in the drive through lane.  The evening is cooling off nicely, the car windows are down, and now I am lucky enough to witness the ordering of  a meal that does not exist at Taco Bell.  The woman is ordering her dream meal by describing it to the poor guy on the other end of the microphone/speaker.  I can only imagine viewing his reaction, as he politely explains for the 3^rd time that they have no meal by that description… as he begins to beat his head against the cash register.  And then as if a light comes on above her head and the previous 5 minute description of a meal with Spanish rice evaporates, she orders a Nachos Bell Grande and dejectedly pulls forward.  At this point you could have taken her car from her and she would not have cared.  She wanted her Spanish Rice Taco Bell Dream Meal, that she was sure they had, but that is all it was…a dream.

Everything is relative and we all wear glasses that shape our perspective.  Since this journey began, my perspective has evolved from thinking this won’t take long to fix (comparatively speaking) to… what the hell!  A good day is when Miki’s body is in sync with her meds.  A good day is when I get the mail and there are no medical bills to confuse me.  A good day is when I don’t imagine snakes all over the bike trail (it is really not that bad, I am making myself sound like I may be the brother to the beer preacher or cousin to the hallucinating Mexican meal woman).  Miki would probably tell you that all of her days have been good since this all started.  Me… I will just nod my head in agreement.

My Zen from Home:  A nice perk to being the husband of a “sick” wife, is that people ask how you are doing too.  How are you holding up?  Is there anything we can do to help out?  If I were a smart man, I would make a list and pass it out to those friends and family that know better than me, that there are things I should ask for help with.  Why is it, that I want to do everything I possibly can for Miki?  I don’t need any help right now, I tell those that inquire.  I can do it all, I am thinking.  That thought has lingered in my little head since the first few offers of help came in.  A few days ago I figured it out.  An epiphany (I’ve not had many!).  By definition, an experience of sudden and striking realization.  While washing the dishes from the last two meals after putting in a load of laundry, while taking a break from vacuuming to get Miki some more water and some fresh ice chips, it hit me… I can control these things!  I can determine if I do whites or dark colors today.  I can wash the dishes after breakfast, lunch, or dinner…or not at all.  I can control the level of the water in her water mug and the amount of ice she uses to keep moisture in her mouth, since the painkillers have a funny way of eliminating it.  BUT, I cannot control her pain or the distance she can walk without taking a break.  I have nothing to do with her appetite or the muscle atrophy in her arms and legs that carried sheets of plywood onto the roof of our old house.  And I cannot control the “drop foot” and cramping that prevents her from riding her motorcycle on a cool summer morning.  So while I am able, I will control as many things as I can, until she can join back in the fun.  So for those of you that have offered, it is and will always be appreciated, but for now, no thank you.

P.S.  You have just finished the 100th post on Walliebloggin'!!!  You have got to find something better to do with you time, but thanks for coming along!