Ruth in Vegas. A friend of hers got tickets to K-Pop sensation BTS. Took Ruth along. Nice. Got a text from Ruth last night, Good night from Vegas!
Shadow’s winter coat blew out a month ago. But in this peculiar May it’s 31 degrees this morning. She doesn’t stay outside long until the day heats up.
Friend Scott says he and his wife, Yin, protest every Friday afternoon in Minneapolis. He joins a group of drummers. Yin, he says, “smiles down” each passing car. Yin’s in her eighties.
Meanwhile, here on Shadow Mountain, the aftermath of my five sick weeks continues. Now my O2 sats run consistently in the low eighties without oxygen. Means I’ll need to dig out Kate’s Inogen, a portable O2 concentrator, for trips outside the house.
Picture me with my neck brace and the Inogen slung over my shoulder, nasal canula in. Such a fine sight to see. I mean, geez.
My big challenge lies in my weakened muscles. Still no joy on the p.t. or o.t. I need to get working. Diane, my cousin, says I gotta move. She’s right. Too easy to sit it out. And, too damaging.
Deep funk, which I experienced starting in week 2 of my illness, has passed. A good thing. In it I found each new symptom a prelude to my death. I didn’t care. Just let it go, let it have its way.
Mostly came from a profound weariness with being a patient, a man of disease and pills. All ends. We know that. Why not now?
Because friends. Family. Shadow. Reading. Writing. The Mountains. CBE. Because life is already short enough.