“She says, we’ve got to hold on to what we’ve got
It doesn’t make a difference if we make it or not
We’ve got each other and that’s a lot for love
We’ll give it a shot
Woah, we’re half way there
Woah, livin’ on a prayer
Take my hand, we’ll make it I swear
Woah, livin’ on a prayer”~ Bon Jovi
I woke up early this morning. As I laid there listening to Vic breathing, I thought about what made me so angry yesterday. I wanted so much for the blood work to come back and all of this to be one huge mistake. That the letter-c wasn’t real. I told you already I’m not one to sit idly. Patience is not something I do well.
It didn’t help my already frustrating day became worse. I love grilled kielbasa and corn on the cob. It tasted divine initially but then the pain began migrating to my shoulder followed by a bathroom experience like someone had given me an enema. If that wasn’t enough insult I had horrific heartburn and re flux that Prilosec didn’t touch. It was agonizing for over four hours. By the time I crashed I was exhausted.
My cure-all this morning was to get to my hands buried in the dirt in the garden, ground myself so I feel better. There is nothing sweeter smelling than working the dirt. I was relieved to see the vegetables survived the torrential downpours we’ve had the last two day. My roses and peonies took quite a beating.The large yellow one in the back yard had a broken limb in addition to all the blooms being knocked off. The peonies unfortunately had one of my neighbors tree branches on top of it, breaking part of the plant again.
Vic and I will prune her tree tomorrow morning when it is cooler. So tired of her tree doing damage on our property. She acts clueless when I talk to her about much her tree’s sprawl is in our yard and the damage because the branches overhang our yard. Sorry, Alice, playing clueless works for the male population but not me. I’ve watched her in action too many times. I have zero tolerance for women who play games to get things done!!
I was pleased to see my moon flowers, zucchini, and the basil doubled in size. The cucumbers have all hung on in spite of the chipmunks tunneling. I put the netting in place to keep them out of my garden beds.
A good friend sent me an interesting cookbook called The Cancer-Fighting Kitchen. I glanced through the book this morning after it arrived. Lots of good recipes to help nourish a patient during their treatment. Every possible anti-oxidant combination, woohoo! I love cooking.
Vic and I played cribbage over breakfast. I was able to eat fruit and an english muffin with only minimal pain compared to last night’s onslaught of pain, diarrhea and re flux . Minimal pain so you understand what happens is within forty-five minutes to an hour I get pain in my pancreas that radiates to my shoulder until my food is digested than it goes away which typically takes about 2 hours. This has been happening since January every time I eat or drink. Thankfully, drinking doesn’t hurt as much as eating does.
I chose this song because Vic reminded me again that I’m not alone. I can talk to him about anything regardless of how silly I may think it is. I didn’t think it was silly feeling frustrating not getting the lab results or my doctor’s nurse telling me that COVID-19 tests take all priority. I’m sorry her comment didn’t make me feel like my health was valued at all. Just another fucking reminder how screwed up things are… And like I often do I just held it inside versus venting my frustration with the medical field in general.