Sunday, February 05, 2017
I watch the seabirds flying close to the stormy bay, eyes alert for fish. I throw out some seed for the littler birds. It's cold and windy and bitter out here.
I've lost water in my house. Yesterday I lost the woodstove too. Leo sorted out the chimney for me so I have heat again. But the water? No idea what's going on. I turned off the pump. I do have a container to make coffee or soup.
I'd like someone to come and take care of me. The downside of living alone is when things go wrong. As they will. Or two or three things go wrong. And there's no one to worry-share.
It begs the question: How many of us are brave and stoic on the outside and crying in fear on the inside? How come the chin-up and chest-out manifesto is our fall back scenario?
Is life just a performance for most of us? Be brave, we're told since childhood, don't cry, this won't hurt a bit - the first Big Lie apart from Santa Claus.
In an odd way I found out how really brave and uncrying I have been.
"You've had this disease for at least 10 years," says my vascular surgeon, "And you've completed how many distant road races?"
"Seven, eight, nine?" I say.
"You must have been in terrible pain at the end of them all?"
"Yes, I was," I admit,"I felt like fainting."
"The vascular system in your legs from the knees down has deteriorated by 60%. The thing is I could surgically intervene, and the odds are not good, or you could work on creating an alternative vascular system in your legs. It' going to hurt like hell and there will be many tears but it can be done."
I'm too old for this shyte, I think. I'm tired. I'm not brave anymore.
And then so many are worse off than I. And I feel small and selfish.
"I'll see you in six months" he says, "But if you sustain an injury or notice blackness or bruising in your legs, you are to call me right away."
"Remember," he adds, "Forty-five minutes a day of brisk walking through the pain and tears. It can be done!"
They're not your effing legs and pain, I think meanly, as I smile at him, his father born in Mayo, his pin-striped 3 piece suit right out of Central Casting: Mr. Surgeon.
Can I do more pain?
And continue writing this shyte on a blog, when so many like me are giving up blogging?