This painting by Jack Baumgartner portrays Jacob Wrestling the Angel from the book of Genesis. It’s a central metaphor for this blog – wrestling with life, health, urban issues, and even with God.
So I wrenched my neck. I wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary. It was Valentine’s Day and Erinn and I were having dinner together. We were reminiscing about how we got engaged on this day more than 20 years ago now. I had cooked what I thought was the most amazing meal ever; barbecued chicken legs. Who wouldn’t want to marry me with this kind of offering, I thought:)
On our 20th anniversary, one year ago now, I was so sick I could barely function. And I felt incredibly guilty to not be able to properly celebrate 20 years married to the incomparable Miss Erinn. When we woke up beside each other the very next day, January 25th 2018, I finally had to admit I cannot go on any longer without help. So I leaned over to Erinn and said it’s time to call an ambulance. That was the very last time I slept in my own bed and woke up next to her.
So, I’ve been made aware that my last blog can be read ad a bit deceiving when it pertains to me moving home.
The move is still close, but not as imminent as I fear I have unintentionally suggested.
I fear I’ve been a tad impatient and a little hasty.
The finish line is definitely in sight but the very last few steps are kind of excruciating.
“Happy new year!”
I hear it over and over again. And yes, I say it over and over again as well. That’s just what you say to each other I guess.
But really, if happiness is the measure of whether or not the year is good, I would say that last year was a bust.
I was taking the bus downtown. I left the neighbourhood I’m currently staying at, which I do like (though it’s kind of hipster-ville which admittedly creeps me out at times:), scooted aboard a bus and headed towards one of our SallyAnn shelters.
As the bus passed the very touristy Yonge Street and headed into the downtown Eastside of Toronto, we headed into ‘the hood’.
Hospital Beds and Beeping Machines (a guest piece from my daughter as to how she views life with MS)
By Cate Oxford
I woke to the sound of a knock on my bedroom door. I had been in that strange realm between asleep and awake, when the world is a foggy kind of grey. I looked at the clock, it was early, too early. Too early for everything to be okay. I look to see my mom standing at the door. She opens her mouth.
“Hey, sweetie. So, dad couldn’t get out of bed this morning. We had to call the hospital. I just wanted you to know before the paramedics show up.”
So I turned 49 yesterday. I am now one day into my 50th year. And yes; it’s kind of freaking me out!
So I thought I’d share another slight glimpse into what a day in my life looks like.
At the very beginning of each day I am completely dependent on somebody coming to me and helping me get dressed and out of bed. So if that person calls in sick or is late, I simply need to wait. I am utterly dependent on them.
AnyWho, now to day-to-day life stuff. Our lives are unbelievably full of ups and downs but this has been an unusual week full of extreme highs and lows. I won’t get into the details of either of those except to say that the lows hurt me deeply and the highs encouraged me greatly.
So my power chair has an odometer on it and it showed me that I crossed the 1000 km mark this week. For whatever reason I love that it keeps track of how far I’ve gone. I’ve gone pretty far. It’s a constant reminder that this bloody illness is not keeping me down as of yet…