Monday was a perfect day (except it didn’t rain). It was 15° much of the morning and early afternoon—an ideal temperature for weed whacking the last of the yard left undone. The part of my front yard closest to my eastern neighbour (Colleen) I’d left undone for the pollinators. But now everything is blooming, so I felt okay about finishing off the clearing of the weeds.
We walked early in the morning at Rollo Park where she can walk on the grass. Her foot is clearly much better, but her diarrhea is still bad. My hope is to get a faecal sample this morning to take to the vet’s for analysis. I think she must have a bacterial infection in her bowel.
After walking her and doing half of the whacking I wanted to do, we had lunch and then went into the village for groceries. When we returned, we all had lunch and then I finished off the remainder of the whacking of the front yard. It does make the place look great to have all the weeds gone from the entire yard.
After I toted the cuttings to the organic dump, I rested on the recliner in the sunshine. But not for long. I took Her Highness for our afternoon walk. I took a stool sample collector and luckily, she pooped. Sadly, I saw blood in her stool, but it’s red and that usually means a lower bowel infection that can be cured with antibiotics. I will take the sample to the vet this morning.
When we got home, it had clouded over, so I chose to chill. I’d had plans to wash my filthy car, but that, I decided, could wait until today. Today will be a water day: I’ve to water all the gardens and then I’ll wash the car. It’s been almost a year since I last cleaned it; the car is disgustingly dirty, inside and out.
Instead, I did some SPACE work, and I believe that I have done all that I am prepared to do on the development of a media list for SPACE. I have listed over 133 contacts, and they are all ideal for a disability organization seeking media interest.
The evening was the usual, but I lit a fire for heat and comfort. I am anxious about Sheba’s illness. I’m so attached to her. It worries me to see blood in her stool. Stress makes my symptoms flare, so I’m thinking positive. It’s red blood; it’s brown blood that’s scary.
•
I see Dr. S. this morning. I’m going to suggest that we go back to once a month because although I still have a serious challenge to speak, my speech is consistent and has been for a few weeks. Whatever happened on March 28th changed me, but I’m comfortable with my how my speech is now.
I use my yard and the spa to calm myself. I can open my back door, walk out on the deck and look down onto the yard. It must be close to a quarter acre, and I’d guess 85% of what I see is of my hand, and it makes me feel blessed to be living here. It makes me feel fantastically happy.
•
I was such an odd duck when it came to confidence. I got the job to build the little civic theatre I designed and built by saying I could get grants to pay all the expenses, including my salary. They’d get a free theatre. How could they resist?
That’s how a fellow with an English degree and two hands that had never touched tools got the job. I had absolute confidence that I could do it, and I did. I then took over the gallery and made it successful as well. Yes, I’m proud of these accomplishments. I had total confidence in my ability to do as promised.
I was a regular at The Flame story-telling collective in Vancouver, much later in my life. I did full shows and appeared at The Flame eight times, plus I did a feature on TV. These are all things that I did. I was creative and I was clever. I’ve always had total confidence in the things I did. But all my life, I feel unworthy. I’ve felt insecure about myself, my person, all my life.
In movies and television, in music of every genre, in plays, poetry, literature, opera, at Christmas, on birthdays, there were stories of love, of mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, of family celebrations, devotion and support. I saw made me feel outside. I had no one—no support, no mentoring about life.
I focused on self-reliance. I kept busy doing things. And then I met Steve, and then I had a house, and then Dwight moved in, and without me knowing it was happening, my heart and soul made these two men my family. I didn’t truly understand this until, one day, realization came to me in the thread of rebuilding myself after my breakdown. My conversations with Dr. S. brought me to knowing.
There’s a saying: good things are bad for you. I had never experienced kindness, support, understanding as I had with Dwight and Steve. We were open books to each other. They know how much they mean to me; they are friendly but not close to each other. I bonded with them. That’s what Dr. S. calls what happened between me and each of them.
I didn’t mourn what I was missing as I grew up. Even though I saw so many stories about relationships in the media and literature, I never thought about what I was missing really, except I wished I could have had a child. I focused on earning friendships, but I was insecure about being worthy of a friend. I felt it was because both of mothers abandoned me.
After about three years of living with Steve and Dwight, I got into the bath one night and I had a “your life flashes in front of you” experience. I thought, at first, I was hallucinating the “slide show” of images I was seeing in front of my eyes, but then I realized they were snapshots of my life with the Tyrells. But the Tyrells were absent in the slide show. That’s how I saw how isolated I was, how solitary I was. I suddenly remembered everything I didn’t want to remember.
Not long after that, I started getting laryngitis that would last for a long time and then go away. I knew it wasn’t laryngitis. I’d had a swab taken and had no infection. This is when problems with my speech began.
First came bonding giving me a life-saving support team. And once I had the support in place, the truth came out. I had people to support me. I had a family and committed friendships to help me deal with it. Everything seemed to be working and then came my breakdown. Then I moved to Pinecone Park, got pets, made some friends, built a garden and lived in self-imposed isolation.
When I graduated from UBC, I signed a two-year contract with the high school I’d attended. I was hired to teach some academics, and two classes of drama. Plus, I had to put on two shows a year with my students.
I loved the putting on shows. When my contract was up, I left my job and went on unemployment. I negotiated a deal with my unemployment officer, that instead of looking for work, I used my insurance to pay for an apprenticeship at the Arts Club Theatre in Vancouver. My agent said I could do the apprenticeship if the theatre company agreed to hire me when the year of insurance ran out. And they did.
When I joined the Arts Club, the person who I am today was born. I, capital I, became who I was destined to be. I found a home at the Arts Club. I found community, a network of thespians. I found my tribe. Having a boss and being part of a team putting on professional theatre was what I was born for. I worked the first season of that theatre. There was purpose, structure, a leader, audiences and magic.
When I was young, I was asked by someone I respected, what image came to mind that expressed how ‘in control’ I felt in my life. It’s my answer I remember. I said: “I am a bubble floating down a river. A river with rocks and currents.”
Later in life, I thought of myself as a silver marble that gets shot to ricochet through a pinball game. Now, I think the image would be of me walking after getting off a life-long rollercoaster ride into Pinecone Park.
When I was a teenager, I met Jeannie Comber. Her father was a VP at the PNE, so Jeannie and I went to playland with silver passes that got us into anything we wanted for free. We rode the roller coaster sixteen times in a row, and we had the front seat every time. I fuckin’ loved it. But when we got off, we were wiggly for a while.
I earned the peace of Pinecone Park. I am in regular contact with both Steve and Dwight. I’m at peace with my past and with who I am, and I’m grateful that I live in paradise.
•
I don’t see Dr. S. until 11:00. I’ll be at the vet’s door at 9:00. I was up three times with Sheba last night. Today she begins her recovery.
No comments:
Post a Comment