My Day was fabulous. The sun shone all day. I Zoomed with my theatre friends, napped in the sunshine, walked Elder Cedar with Her Highness, and I watered the edible garden and front yard beds. The plants there were wilting after one day without rain. This is what gardening under trees is: endless watering.
It was nice knowing that no one would call me about asthma. Monday-to-Friday, I am always checking my phone and email to make sure I don’t miss any messages. I wonder when Avi is going to call, and when I’ll have to talk with my two insurers (with Avi). I wonder when the hospital is going to call. I’ve got to get a grip.
This whole asthma thing is taking up a lot of brain space. Today my plan is to keep busy doing things in the gardens and not think about asthma. It’s not easy to weed and aerate while not thinking about my health. Reading would keep thoughts of asthma and funding and insurance out of my head.
It’s been blowing like mad for two days, and just as I finished raking the yard of all the forest fall. It’s like I never raked at all. Half an acre to rake again. The work is endless. I reckon I’ll try to find a helper and get caught up. But that is now rather complicated.
I have a neighbour, Sandy. She has lived in this neighbourhood longer than anyone. She has a son who lives with her. I suspect he’s mid-twenties. His name is Dylan. When I moved here, I started waving to him. Waving is big here amongst neighbours. He never waved back, so I stopped waving. Once, I stopped and to ask if he wanted a ride (he was walking into town), but he wouldn’t stop walking as I slowly pulled up beside him and he didn’t look my way, so I felt uncomfortable and drove off.
When I advertised on our local Facebook page for help with my garden, I found Henri. But the day I posted the ad, Sandy came over to see me to ask me to hire Dylan. His idiosyncrasies trigger my symptoms. I think Dylan may be on the Autism spectrum. When I asked her, she said Dylan had no gardening expertise or experience. I told her I wanted to learn from whomever I hired. Now, I feel uncomfortable advertising for gardening help again.
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April 9, 2016, I woke up having a seizure. The ensuing year was the worst year of my life. People say that when a few things go wrong in the year. During my bad year, all day, every day, was a shit show. Half-way through it, I got my diagnoses. The next six months was modestly better, and then I saw an ad for this house I live in.
I saw it on a Tuesday afternoon, and my condo was sold by Friday of the next week. I had no plans to move until I saw that photo. It was the logs. Everything was emotional/instinctual. Seven weeks after seeing the ad, I moved in. My brain was not involved in the decision to move here. Snap. It happened. Some of my friends were worried I was being irrational as part of my breakdown.
When I told Dr. Shoja, she said, “That will do more for you than I can.” I thought she was incredibly generous and kind to say that. I feel some unconscious force within me helped me heal by getting me here.
Fuck. I cannot believe how my breakdown had a ripple effect, like a tsunami rolling through my life’s memories. Dr. Shoja has been my coach through tough physical and psychological rebuilding. It’s been enlightening and exhausting. This coming April, I’ll have been seeing Dr. S. for ten years. It made me cry to write that. She is my life ring.
Now, that all feels kind of ‘last chapter,’ and the new chapter is asthma. The end of the journey, as I imagine things, is the day I go to the clinic in Nanaimo for my first injection. An even better ‘end of story’ comes a month later, when I self-administer the medication for the first time by myself. Then I’ll be free! No more medical tests and appointments.
But there are hoops and hurdles to get through. There is ambiguity, at present, not certainty, about achieving the dream objective.
I believe that come Autumn, I’ll be wearing a mask in public. I don’t really do much with public events. I visit the market with Sheba, but we don’t stay long. But come Winter, I’ve decided to tell my friends here, with whom I socialize, that I feel I must reserve the right to leave, without offence, if someone seems sick at a gathering.
I’ve always been nervous about viral infections because of my asthma. I’ve always wanted to lead the pack when walking with friends to that I am upwind of everyone. But now, my fear of infection is even stronger. However, back to the logs, my solitary life here lessens the risk of infection significantly. Moving here was the smartest thing that I have ever done for myself.
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