Thursday, June 07, 2018

Giving thanks...


I don't know where I would be without Immitrex (sumatriptan) and Toradol (ketoralac).  There simply are no sufficient words for the pain of a migraine.  I often think back to back when I was caught in the maelstrom of chronic migraines.  Such misery.  I certainly could not cope with that now on top of everything else.

Climbing my way out of that black hole was one thing that I have done for myself that was truly good.  I read about the whys and wherefores of the chronic migraine cycle and began to work on what I could do myself, aside from finding the right medication for me.  What I can do is stop the stimuli whilst battling the migraine (turn off lights and sounds) and work on relaxing after the pain has ceased (my Sunbeam neck and shoulders heating pad being my big gun in that regard).

My original GP when I moved here helped me to figure out that I needed something immediate to help with the intense pain and gave me Toradol.  And she helped me to determine that I need a second dose of Immitrex with my migraines.  I take them two hours apart, so getting to that second hour is the hardest part, hard to hang on, hard to not fall into deep despair.  Somewhere into the third hour, the pain begins to ease and hope seems a possibility.  Hope that the pain might eventually come to an end.

Then, I could have migraines as much as half the month.  Now, I am closer to 2-3 a month.  That is a manageable number, though having none would be preferable.   What would be best would be: none. In any case, what makes them manageable is that I escaped the cycle of bounce-back and chronic migraines.

Thank you, Jesus!

When I was trying to figure out what meds I needed, the neurologist I saw was more interested in trying new ones rather than ensuring that what I was taking was helping me as best it can.  One of the new medications landed me in the hospital!  Now, I know there was a conflict with one of my other medications.  But I also know that it is oft important to look at what you are taking and how you are taking it and evaluate if an adjustment is needed before abandoning it altogether.

Think of the pilocarpine, my new saliva medication.  It is taking me a long, long while trying to adjust to the medication.  Truly, as I have told anyone and everyone, it is "kicking my butt."  However, with patience, I can now take two full pills, twice a day.  That is half the normal dose.  And yet half means that I have more saliva in my mouth than I've had for years.

It is so very weird!

I have struggled and struggled and struggled to take the medication, increasing my dose by a quarter pill at a time.  So often, I think why are you doing this to yourself?  But this is why.  Weirdness!  Saliva!

I am taking a break, though, for the interim.  I mean, I am pausing at the half dose before I start the long, long task of doubling what I am taking now.   Still, that's quite an accomplishment, if you ask me.

I do wonder ... how long until having saliva in my mouth is not longer weird?

Meanwhile, I am giving thanks for two other medications.  I am giving thanks because I have been battling a terrible migraine, brought on by the utter and absolute wretchedness that follows missing doses of gabapentin and baclofen.

Last night, I missed my midnight meds, which has doses of both.  It was the third dose of baclofen that I have missed this week already!  SIGH.  Anyway, there I was, growing more and more ill and then, in the wee hours of the morning, I realized that I had missed last night's meds.  That's why I'm so ill!  I'm in withdrawal! 

Sadly, it takes at least two doses before I start to feel better.  Being in withdrawal and battling a migraine is an awful combination of wretchedness.  And it is a terrible place to be, waiting on medications to start working for different reasons and being ill for different reasons, all the while struggling to get through moment by moment, being crushed by chronic illness despair.

So, I spent much of the day working on giving thanks for medications that I have, for the GP who was persistent in helping me, for the Internet for teaching me about bounce-back and chronic migraine cycles, and for friends who remain even when so very much of my life is focused on being ill.

Wednesday, June 06, 2018

Catching up...


[I started writing this last Thursday and have been struggling to finish it.  SIGH.]

Yesterday, I felt sucker-punched by my blood test results. My kidney function was the worst that it has been thus far ... not the temporarily “better” it was supposed to be having cut my arthritis pain medication in half in order to bump up my function so that I could have the contrast I need for my MRI.

Now ... crap kidneys and the very real possibility of not getting to have the MRI that I have been waiting for since December. The MRI that should help determine the reason for the constant shocking in my hands. If I miss this appointment, it will take between four and six weeks until I will be able to get another appointment.

That is bad enough, but the reality is that my kidneys are not tolerating the high dose steroid treatment that I am on right now and steroid treatment is par for the course with Sj√∂gren’s! I need to be able to tolerate steroids. Plus, I still have two weeks remaining on my current course. So, the kidney function results were both an immediate blow and a long-term concern.


There.  There I stopped because I my doctor walked into the exam room and we started my appointment.  My sucker-punch got worse.  Much worse.  

You see, the radiologist who has been dragging out the approval for my MRI decided, after FOUR WEEKS, of having an appointment on the books, that he was not going to do the MRI.  He wants me to have a spinal tap first, to check for banding.  It is an MS test I already had ... it was part of my diagnosis in 1994.  It is also not something normally done before an MRI of the brain.

I just ... I was crushed.  My GP said she would call the neurologist and try to talk with her about talking with the radiologist.  But I knew ... I knew this was the end of the line for me.  I just knew it.  Sure enough, this morning, my neurologist called to talk about the problem and to say that my cardiologist was out of town.  I spoke with her about his approval and she went to call the radiologist.  Shortly thereafter, she called me back to say that the radiologist was refusing to do the MRI because of the risk of DEATH.

I'd laugh if it wasn't so absurd.

I mean, my pacemaker has been on the market for years and has been MRI-ed safely in Europe for years.  No one died.  No one is going to die.  I am not going to die.  There is just no risk of death.  Maybe ... just maybe ... there could be a glitch in its programming, but that is why I'd have a pacemaker tech on site.  But Biotronik would not be the bazillion dollar company it is if there were even glitches on its pro-MRI series of pacemakers.  THERE IS NO RISK OF DEATH OR OTHERWISE.

ARGH!!!!!!!!!!

My neurologist is going to send the order for the MRI over to Lutheran Hospital to see if a different radiologist might see the matter more clearly.

Here's the problem in a nutshell:  When I received my MRI, there was no such thing as an approved devices list.  But then the FDA decided it wanted to create one.  Not content to rely on YEARS of proven data, the FDA wants its own data.  So, sadly, my device is not yet on the list.  My leads are.  The wires going from the pacemaker into my heart muscle are approved.  Just. Not. The. Pacemaker.

Back in January, my cardiologist told me that all he had to do was to make a personal guarantee for the safety of the device and I could have an MRI.  One to two weeks to arrange the matter was all that was needed.  MONTHS later, I heard that it was just a matter of getting one of the three MRIs my GP had ordered done first to prove the device was safe.  So, we whittled the list down to one.  Another month later, I learned that the radiologist wanted me to see a neurologist first, before having a MRI to ensure that it was needed.  Then, last Wednesday, four weeks after getting the MRI finally scheduled, he started a new round of objections centered on having a spinal tap first because of the RISK OF DEATH he is certain I am facing.

Basically, the radiologist is insulting my GP, my cardiologist, and my neurologist because they are all "needlessly" risking my life.  SIGH.

I was so very crushed Friday night.  So very despairing about my kidneys and about the shock of hearing the MRI was in jeopardy.  I am so weary of bad news and having to fight for what I need medically.  Insurance.  Prescriptions.  This darned MRI.

Of course, I have been crushed since the trifecta of how I was treated but the podiatrist, the colonoscopy staff, and the neurologist's nurse.  I have been so very hopeless, seeing no way forward other than to Shut up.  Be still.  Wait until it is over.   The radiologist wants me to do that ... to just let this man who has NO TRAINING in neurology be the deciding factor on what testing I will or will not have in order to assess my treatment options.

And, to be honest, a part of me wanted to SCREAM This is not fair!  Especially since Sunday was my birthday.  Why did I have to receive bad news on my birthday weekend?  It's not fair!  

I was looking forward to my birthday, to having my Facebook friends wish me happy birthday.  But only eight did so.  Is it so very hard to wish someone a happy birthday, especially since Facebook reminds you to do so??  I mean, I have a small group of friends because I want my interactions to be real.  I did start posting most everything as publish, so folk could follow me, if they want, but so that I could keep my friends—keep the ones who could write on my wall—limited to folk I know.  It is such an easy thing to do.  I just wanted to be remembered.  I wanted my birthday to matter.  But it was but a blip.

SIGH.

As far as my birthday goes, I had wanted to spend my birthday money on presents, on things for myself.  The past few years, for birthdays and Christmases, I have been spending the money on needful things, such as medical and bills and groceries.  This time, I wanted to enjoy the money.  However, I caved and spent half on medical and half on myself.



I had decided that the way I wanted to add flowers/color to my haven was to have planters in the back two corners.  For a while, I was contemplating Firewood Man building me ones that matched the fence panels.  However, I decided I wanted ceramic ones.  The evening of my birthday, I went looking, thinking only to window-shop.  However, I found two ceramic planters on clearance that fit my space well, I think.



I wanted to cheat and use pots in the top so that I didn't have to bring in the pots in the winter, lest they freeze and split.  However, I could only find red ones left.  Well, there was one GREEN pot and lots of reds ones.  Hopefully, next spring, I can get the GREEN ones that were a close match.

I couldn't decide which flowers I wanted, so my realtor, who was looking with me, talked me into buying a mixture of coleus.  I think that that was a good idea.  Once they grow up some, I think I will have what I want ... a riot of color brighting up my haven.

So, now, I am officially declaring my haven completed.

The other two birthday "gifts" I bought with my money are a top to wear with my skirts and a small bluetooth speaker to use when I am streaming out in my haven.  The speakers on my laptop are not quite loud enough for my ears.




I thought it rather adorable where Amos chose to sit whilst I was working on putting the pots together.  Look carefully.  Look between his legs.

Today, today I leveraged my anger at the radiologist, after getting the official call about the MRI being canceled, by working on needs in my yard.




I love my Rose of Sharons, but they started dropping babies each spring.  Thousands of babies.  Thousands of babies that I have to dig out of the long bed that is on that side of my yard.  It is grueling weeding work.



I actually started pulling them up last night and got about 40% of the bed done.  Today, I sat down and plowed through the rest of it.  If you look closely at the grass, you will see what is most likely hundreds if not another thousand babies in the yard.  Hopefully, Firewood Man will be able to put out weedkiller this weekend and solve that problem for me.

Frankly, I don't know how many more times I can do this rather grueling job.  Have I mentioned how difficult it is?  It is grueling.  I wonder if I should have Firewood Man dig up the Rose of Sharons and start over with some other barrier to block the rather unattractive back yard of my neighbor.

The soil is incredibly dry and clumpy, so as I worked I dug down about six inches.  When I was finished, I sowed in a healthy dose of gypsum to try and break down the soil a bit.  In the mail today, I received an unexpected $40, so I plan on getting mulch either Friday or Saturday.  Or maybe even tomorrow ... after my lung testing.  I've been trying to figure out how to pay for groceries for my mother's visit and mulch.  Now, I can have both!




Since this was the first window of reasonable weather and no rain, I also sealed the two raised beds.  This one has not been sealed since I put it in ... three or was it four years ago.  I cannot remember. It is looking ever so sharp again now!




The Raised Bed 2.0 back near my haven still has wood that is green!  I mean, the wood has been drying out for 14 months.  It should be ready now!  I think I might should have waited until the fall, but I did not.  I plunged ahead and took care of this bed, too.  I didn't want the raw wood look spoiling the visual rest of my haven now that it is completed.  You can see those green bits, but I still think the bed looks better overall.




The last "wood" task was to seal the back steps.  The lowest one (not quite in the shot) is much more rough than the others.  They could have waited another year or two or maybe even three.  But that step needed sealing, so I did the whole staircase for continuity's sake.  Now, I just have to remember not to let Amos trot outside and down the steps for the next two days.  

I was glad to have ticked off two large tasks from my homeowner list, even if it was because I am so very frustrated.  

And brokenhearted.  
And crushed.  
And despairing.

As far as being a homeowner, the tasks I still need to do is to power wash the airing porch deck, to wash the airing porch railing, and to paint the attic windows that I failed to paint last year.  I'd be mighty happy if I could tend to the latter.  Oh, yes, it is also time to clean the carpet upstairs.  The latter is most likely the only thing I will be able to get done before my mother arrives next Sunday.





The other task I started yesterday and finished today was to strip the leaves off of the dill that I harvested yesterday.  I let some dill go to see, because I was worried about it not coming up again this year.  Hah!  I have dill everywhere now.  I don't mind digging it up, because I have harvested all the dill I downsized from the spot where it is growing.  I was hoping to send some dill out to my dear friends, but I will have to wait and see how much is left once it dries out.  Of course, there is plenty more dill to harvest!

Plenty!

Thursday, May 31, 2018

What no one wants to hear...


I spent Sunday and Monday working on building up my larder again, which always makes me feel as if I accomplished something worthwhile.  It is rather amazing to me this way of cooking I have learned.  I mean, learning to cook is the only thing in my life that is moving forward.  The rest of me is falling back, losing ground, fading away.

With all the things that I have learned to cook, I have more than a dozen "staples" now that I like to keep on hand as my main meals.  When the mason jar drawer becomes full, I get out the pots and start cooking.  Usually, I just cook what I am hankering for, but this time I took an inventory of the basement freezer to see which of my staples were low.  That changed my cooking agenda and leaves me with a full freezer of my favorites with 14 different options from which to choose.

It was nice have forward progress for once.

Tuesday ... Tuesday I spent trying to say something first in therapy and second to a friend.  But the words I was speaking did not seem to translate from my brain to their ears.  I have been struggling mightily ever since the colonoscopy, the visit to the podiatrist, and the exchange with the neurologist's nurse.  All three instances of really crappy medical care.  But instances that drive home the need to be ... compliant and quiet as a patient.  Anyone who needs more, needs care beyond that which is not already scheduled and practiced and normal is someone to be crushed.  Crushed by callousness.  Crushed by cruelty.  Crushed by being crazy-labled.

Shut up.  Be still.  Wait until it is over.

More and more, I feel as if that is really what I need to do in the medical world and out.  That I should just ... live that way.  That crushes me.

So, of course, I thought about writing about what no one wants to hear as a means of turning aside my thoughts about the Sanctuary.  The torment and torture of my bowels.  Because I cannot escape them.  And I deal with them daily.  And the wretchedness and ... the shame.  Shame from the part of my body torturing and tormenting me.  Shame from where I am whilst being torment and torture.

I need to poop and I scream from the pain of my pudendal nerve flaring.
I need to poop and I struggle to not faint from the trigger of pain.
I need to poop and I battle nausea from pressure against my vagus nerve.
I need to poop and I vomit from pressure against my vagus nerve.
I need to poop and I battle pre-syncope from pressure against my vagus nerve.
I need to poop and I faint from pressure against my vagus nerve.
I need to poop and I grow weak from pressure against my vagus nerve.
I need to poop and I tremble and shake from pressure against my vagus nerve.
I poop and I scream from the pain of my flesh tearing.
I poop and I scream from the pain of my pudendal nerve flaring.
I poop and I struggle to not faint from the trigger of pain.
I poop and I battle nausea from pressure against my vagus nerve.
I poop and I vomit from pressure against my vagus nerve.
I poop and I battle pre-syncope from pressure against my vagus nerve.
I poop and I faint from pressure against my vagus nerve.
I poop and I grow weak from pressure against my vagus nerve.
I poop and I tremble and shake from pressure against my vagus nerve.

I take five different things just to try to poop every day, because my bowels are so very slow.  This leaves me feeling crazy, because ... well ... who would want to poop, when pooping causes such wretchedness in the body? 

Because my bowels are so very slow, the need to poop can start hours before the act can happen.  That means I am ill for hours.

When I do not manage to go, then I am stuck with the agony of constipation.  A while back, I went 19 days before I finally tried a medication that tipped me over into diarrhea for more than a day.  Violent diarrhea.

And then there is the gas from both a medication I take and from the slow bowels.  The pressure of the gas is enough to trigger pain, nausea, weakness, fainting, trembling, and shaking.  Sometimes, when it is particularly bad, I will mash on my abdomen to try to move the gas along.  But I can become so bloated I look as if I am expecting a baby and the pain of it leaves me writhing on the bathroom floor or flailing about in my bed as if I were a beached whale.

Daily, I deal with wretchedness in my body because of my bowels.
Wretchedness and shame and silence.

It's one battle amongst many when it comes to my body.
A lonely battle.
A shameful battle.
A silent battle.
A weary, dispiriting battle.

Sunday, May 27, 2018

If only...


I've been too afraid to open an email from a dear friend of mine. Or rather I have been too afraid to open her attachment. If I were able to truly trust anyone with my ... being ... it would be my dear friend Mary. I know that she will be gentle and always takes such care with her words and the ideas she would like for me to consider lest they tumble me off into despair or find me spiraling back into the clutches of my past. I even really like the idea of coming up with a collection of mantras for me to cling to when my mind is troubled over specific things. Still, I am afraid to see her first draft. To see the words she might have for me.

However, I did open a bible verse that she sent to me. Being ever so sweet, Mary tried to send it in a lovely font for me. However, it is not one I own and so was opened in the harsh font of Ariel. Font aside, I just loved the verse:

“While we are still in this tent we groan, being burdened—not that we would be unclothed, but that we would be further clothed, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life.” ~2 Corinthians 5:4

Now, here's the thing.  This is an example of something that I am no longer able to read.  It is the chief reason why I primarily only re-read now.  For I have been an avid reader since I was knee high to a grasshopper.  That I am losing my ability to comprehend what I am reading grieves my very soul.  I can hardly touch the thought.  So, I avoid it.

More and more, though, I come across things that I struggle to comprehend.  I look at this verse and read the first bit and think ... okay ... and then the next bit and think ... wait ... and then the third bit and think ... what? ... the bits are all confusing and seemingly unrelated and not a thought that can be built from beginning to end.  But I know, in my head, that they can be.  And that I used to be able to do so.  And that frustrates me, which makes the whole situation all the worse.

But I do know that this is surely a very Myrtle verse that Mary found for me.  And I am certain that there is great comfort in it for me to receive.  So, I loved it.

If only I could comprehend the words.  
SIGH.

Saturday, May 26, 2018

Exhausted...


Every time I look at the haven's fencing, I grow giddy.  However, I have spent the day doing nothing besides watering the pots on the three porches and the new plantings.  And I only did that because we are still in the throes of August-like weather.

I am very, very, very weary from sealing the fencing.
Weary, but giddy.

Looking ahead, I realized that I have a long week ahead of me, with appointments Tuesday through Friday and groceries needing fetching on Monday.  I am not sure how that happened, since I vowed, after April, never to schedule myself like that again.  And, the following week, I have another three appointments, chief amongst them being the MRI of my brain to see if there is an obvious cause for the constant shocking in my hands.  Day in.  Day out.  All day long.  Two hundred and twenty days now of said body torture.  SIGH.  And, of concern, that following week will also be the next round of testing on my lungs to see if the round of high dose steroids is helping.

I am already exhausted just thinking about it.
Exhausted, but giddy.


Friday, May 25, 2018

What I missed...


I've spent the past three days (today included) torturing myself by sealing the wood panels that Firewood Man built for me out in my haven.  I grossly underestimated how long it would take for me to do this homeowner's project and how much sealer I would need.  I know raw wood soaks it up in astounding ways, but I didn't remember that.  So, I had to take time out to fetch more, which is exhausting for me.




Every single time I lay eyes upon the fencing Firewood Man created for me, I am amazing anew at what he did for me.  The cockles of my heart are warmed and my spirit refreshed.  Since I pass by them turning into the garage, I am always cheered coming home from my appointments.

But!
But, oh my!!

My father taught me to use Flood's CWF sealer.  I have always used clear, because it leaves wood a rich, wet sort of look that I have found attractive.  However, I had several folk suggest that I stain the wood a color, most specifically GREEN. I thought about that, but I am not sure I really understand true stain colors and how they work.  However, I knew that CWF comes in a color called "honey gold" and I have been thinking on using that.  Finally, at the moment of purchase, I chose it.  And, I must say, that the end result really did except my expectations.

My haven just got that much prettier!
And peaceful.
And full of solace.

I have held off really adding flowers and plants to my haven, because I haven't been sure how I wanted to do so.  I mean, I am trying to not crowd the place.  And the fountain and the tulip window and the wind chimes all add a specific element that I have enjoyed.  I mean, seriously, now that the fountain is properly gurgling, I have soaked up the magic of the creation of water nearly every second that I have been out there.  I wanted the growing things to also be as good as a fit as those three elements have been.

Whilst I was working, I hung a basket from the tree in a half dozen spots.  I liked none of them.  And the fencing is so beautiful to me, I am reluctant to put a hanger on one or more of the posts.  So, I thought more about my options.  When I was fetching annuals (and on my failed searches for thyme), I spotted some really tall ceramic planters.  I think ... think, mind you ... that I would like to put a tall ceramic planter in each of the corners.  And, wild as it seems, I might just end up putting chives in them to have both flowers and herbs!  [Someone brought me a nice patch of chives on Thursday.]

The planters would need to be a color that complements the pots of my fountain.  And, I think, maybe a squarish sort of shape, so that they don't compete with the fountain in the space.  In any case, I am not certain, but I do think that that might be the way to finish off my haven.  At least, I have been thinking that before I've gone back to look at the pots I saw to see if a second look speaks further to me.




Other than tending to my fence (in four years time someone else is going to have to do the re-sealing), I also tried a new compound butter recipe:  Roasted Garlic and Bell Pepper Balsamic Butter.  Oh my goodness!  This is just plain amazing!  Who would have thunk you could put balsamic vinegar in butter and come out with something super tasty!!  I did make a significant change to the recipe:  I swapped basil paste for the parsley.  I think that it compliments the other ingredients better, especially the roasted red pepper.

I've shared it with my realtor and some neighbors I am trying to get to know better.  Both found it it be exceedingly tasty.  I do not disagree.  In fact, on the morrow, I plan to make another batch so that I can have more for myself, for I still plan to bring the other small portions to my doctors and my therapist.  This is as much a keeper as the Orange Cranberry Butter.  Or course, the Herbed Goat Cheese Butter is pretty spectacular atop steak.  My realtor and her husband had me make them up a double batch to serve at a dinner party atop some London Broil.  She said her guests raved over it.

I am tickled that others are enjoying the butters that I am enjoying exploring.

Now that my labors are quit, I have gone back to rest (and recovery) mode.  I have been shaking for hours and hours now, and my pacemaker is still keeping my heart rate high.  So, I do not feel as if I am resting, but I am.  Well, resting and watching a bit of television.  In this case, I'm watching the Roku channel, looking at the movies that are leaving.  I first watched "The Queen," which was not what I expected and caught me off guard.  So, after that, I thought I would watch "Dirty Harry."

I know that my father introduced me to "Dirty Harry," but I do not remember watching the movies with him.  I wish that I could.  Watching made me sad, for I had a thought that overwhelmed me:

I spent so much time avoiding the conversation that I could never have with my father that I missed the conversations that I could have had.

I feel as if I have been punched in the gut, hunched over and gasping for breath.  It is hard to believe that he has been gone now for five years.  It feels as if he died just yesterday.  That is, when I dare touch that part of me ... which is very, very, very rarely.  So, the idea of what I missed with him is overwhelming.

This evening, I have been struggling with loneliness more so than usual.  [I am lonely every day now.]  I was so busy looking at the forecast to find two consecutive days in which I could seal the fencing (foolishly thinking that I might only need one), I didn't realize that I had come up against Memorial Day.

For me, I often struggle to know what day of the week it is.  I am not good with time, nor do I mark the passing of the days well.  Since I am no longer working and am so socially isolated, I simply do not track weekends or holidays the way that I used to do so.  You could say that every day is a weekend, that everyday day is a holiday ... except for the fainting and the nausea and the neuropathy and the migraines and all the other wretchedness.  But, today, with all the family stuff I started to see on social media, it hit me.  Once more, when the rest of the country is gathering with family and friends (okay ... not the whole country ... it just feels that way) I remain alone.

Alone with the thought of what I missed with my dad.

So, I am giving thanks for the color honey gold and for labor finally ending and for tasty butter and for fluffy white puppy dogs, who are getting ever so much better at comforting.

Tuesday, May 22, 2018

Not felled...


I've been working on tending to things in the yard. I thought that I had just three things left, but I somehow had several more tasks that needed done as well.  And, in doing them, I have put my working, resting, working, resting plan in jeopardy.  For the fence panels in my haven need to be sealed and tomorrow and Thursday is the first real opportunity that I have.

However, I did knock everything else off my list (and the extras) this evening, finishing by 9:00, which is well before my usual midnight gardening!  I got the remaining annuals planted (though they look so very dweeby in a circle around my ornamental magnolia I might rearrange them), the stray sedum in the front bed relocated, the bushes in the front bed fertilized, the pavers lining the front bed raised and straightened, some ornamental thyme relocated, a row of coral bells that was four plants is now a more balanced row of five, and three spots that I had not yet gotten to weed are now cleared out again.  In a nutshell, other than maybe moving the marigolds again before they get started, I do not need to do anything other than weeding for the rest of the growing season.

Except for that pesky sealing.

I adore tending wood.  All wood.  It is just that I am not capable of standing the way that I will need to be standing to get the fence panels done.  Alas, I am slightly dreading the morrow.  I dread not being able to do the work needing doing in my haven, not being able to be a responsible homeowner. For I know that that time is coming.

And then what will happen to me?

But that time is not now.  Now is a time when I have done the best job I've ever done in trying to manage my strength and tend to the things before me as I am able without punishing my body and leaving myself felled for days or even weeks.  Now that is a most remarkable accomplishment on my part.