I was so very grateful today that I was not ill that I was practically giddy. I wouldn't be surprised if my counselor's notes read: MANIC!!!!
My tweet from early this morning: The cessation of the pain of a migraine is almost as visceral and overwhelming as its presence.
Just after 3:00 AM, twenty-five hours after my flare (I have learned that is what I should be calling my illness episodes like that) ended with the end of my migraine. I did not fall asleep until around 5:00 and could not sleep past 11:00-ish today, but I was so infernally grateful I was bouncing off the ceiling all day.
Worried about the non-economical meat I thawed for the stew, I made it tonight, filling up the last of my non-colored single meal mason jars. [I used the colored ones for pasta meals.] Braising the meat, I was so very pleased with the stew skill I have acquired. Filling the jars, it was hard not to eat a bowl, even though I had two main meals today to make up for not eating yesterday. But the stew is even better once it has been frozen for a while.
What was one of my meals today? Stew!
I also made Maple Chili Roasted Pumpkin Seeds. I REALLY do wish that I could remember the things that I like. Since my stash of Red Bob Mill's products in is the basement on the shelves there, I forgot that I had pumpkin seeds. I made a double batch and filled two jars of them. They are so very good for me. And tasty.
[Mary, feel free to remind me about these the way you periodically remind me about deviled eggs ... which I would like to make soon.]
While I was cooking, I took courage and ... well ... joy from two small things that cheer me.
Emily's FROG card has traveled about the house with me, kept in eye-sight, ever since I received it. I left it on my cutting board with Amos' bit of mail since Sunday as a bolstering tool to help me get through doing the dishes. Standing wearies me. And stresses my heart. And drops my blood pressure. Plus, I see it each and every time I fetch fresh ice packs.
This was Amos' mail that arrived in a package for him. His beloved Aunt Becky finished the last resting pad so that he now has a place in the bathroom upstairs. When the package arrived, his SIXTH SENSE just knew that it was for him and he dragged it about the first floor until I opened it, since I had left it in his reach on the deacon's bench.
[Becky should NOT be inculcating my Fluffernutter regarding the boring sport of baseball!]
Both pieces of mail were such small acts of mercy, but they have reaped profound, on-going merciful blessings to me. I have such positive thoughts when I see them and, let's be fair, I oft need bolstering. And, despite all the visual rest I need, I do not actually mind that there are "things" on the cutting board. The cooking cloth reminds me that I accomplish tasty culinary activities, the tea back holder reminds me to actually make more tea, and the bits of mail remind me of the mercy of my friends.
Tonight, as I was cooking, I took a break to take out the trash (with the meat packing in it). A young man came running up to me and frightened me. I screamed. He immediately backed away, but was begging me for help. I must have had volumes written on my face because he said if I would help him, he would lie down on the floor with his hands on his head if he had to just to prove he wasn't there to hurt me.
He was so very frightened and young, though clearly a teenager. I actually have never seen someone so frightened in person before. Someone not me. I wanted so dearly to bring him inside my house, but all I could manage was to direct him to come into my fence once I took Amos inside and to rest in the GREEN rocking chair on the back porch. I told him I would call the police and then watch over him from the kitchen window. I also asked him want he wanted to drink and poured him some Gatorade.
Thankfully, the police came very quickly, only having THREE MEN outside my kitchen door was disconcerting for me. I just peeked from behind the curtain and half waved at one of them. The police must have sensed my fear because they called for a female officer who came to my front door and explained that they were taking the young man home. Three males had "jumped" him in the park down the street, but the young man had gotten away without serious injury. The policewoman thanked me for looking out for the young man.
Emily made such an encouraging comment on Facebook. I had posted about the young man because ... well ... I was hoping one of my very few friends would pray for him if they read of his distress. I felt so bad for not doing more and for not offering him the hospitality of my home. Emily reframed my guilt for me telling me that I had done what I could and had been helpful. The policewoman's remarks underscored Emily's comment and helped relieved my lingering guilt.
When I was little, we had these standard signs (some color and shape I am forgetting) that folk could put in their front window to let children know the house was a safe place to go if they needed one. I think that that practice should be revived and revived in our neighborhood. I am even (rashly) considering trying to go to the next neighborhood association meeting.
A dead body on the porch down the street on Sunday. A young man attacked in the park two blocks down tonight. A house broken in two doors down last year. I think it is time for a crime watch in our neighborhood, eh?
Not related, but I wondered if you wondered just want a really, really, really ill person does as the day of misery drags on into the night? Well, if you are me, you will decide that getting rid of the very scraggly ends of your hair, which you have not cut in well over a year (or was it two???) will make you feel better. Despite your trembling body that stands for very little time without fainting, you will grab the scissors and lop off those scraggly ends.
Don't they look better? I am most certain that no longer having scraggly ends (which were embarrassing when I actually looked at my hair when getting ready for the symphony on Saturday) was part of what propelled me to survive the bodily misery that was this latest flare.
[Yes, I am lying down in the GREEN chair ... as per usual.]
Where was Amos?, you were asking. Sometimes he is in my lap. Sometimes he is squished behind my back (don't ask). And sometimes he is perched up top checking out the activities in front of the house. He becomes a very, very, very large Fluffernutter when perched up there. I have to be careful that he doesn't tip us over.
[Yes, that has happened. Yes, more than once.]
I really did too much today, given how much (how long) I will be paying for yesterday's flare. The cooking. The rescuing. The dish cleaning. The trash and the recycling carried to the bins in the alley. Getting dressed, venturing out, and going to counseling. And I also unpacked (and cut down the boxes to take them out to recycling) the bi-monthly Amazon Subscribe and Save order. It is all on the deacon's bench at the moment. Maybe tomorrow I will work up the strength to take Amos' food to the basement, distribute the toilet paper about the house, put away the herbs, and make up some more gorp with the Reese's Pieces that arrived.
Or maybe Thursday.
The order is stacked all neatly on the deacon's bench.
And I cannot see it from the GREEN chair.
Or Friday.
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