We are officially in a drought. At least, portions of our country. Rochester is affected - you can tell by the yellowed browned grass in most places. While we are fortunate to have avoided the triple digit temperatures for the most part, it is a dry summer. Radio announcers tell us how to conserve water (please don't water the brown grass - it will spring back with the first rain. save your water for the important stuff that won't make it otherwise). Even the car is demanding more coolant these days.
Today is a day riddled by water. First, I managed to remember to schedule a port flush. I keep forgetting that between chemo treatments I need to have my port flushed in order to keep it cleared and working well. I knew I had to call, but just put it off. So busy. But, like my argument with Drew that you have to make time to take care of things like checking the oil in the car or else find yourself in a pickle somewhere when it is the least convenient, I know I must do this.
It is an end of day appointment. I meet - for the first time in the infusion center - a male nurse. He is a riot. Full of jokes and wise cracks. We hit it off immediately. I am in and out in minutes. But I am so parched that I break one of my cardinal rules. I am so dry that I don't think I can even make it to the car where my tepid (alright, probably downright warm) bottle of water waits. Besides, I want something cool. So I help myself to a plastic cup of water at the water cooler in the lobby. Usually, I avoid these like the plague because of germs. But today, I stand in front of the cooler in the now deserted lobby and drink cup after cup, the cooling water trickling through my system with needed relief. I must have been down at least a quart.
Refreshed, I head for the church to set up for tomorrow's chime choir workshop. I know this will take me several hours at least, and I know that the building has no air conditioning. It will be a challenge. I keep the lights off and lay out the 12 folders, stripping them of last season's stuff, then organizing, copying and refilling each one. The sweat drips off my face in steady streams. Then I set up the tables and the drum circle, having to cart chairs from the far end of the building. Sweat runs down my backs in streams.
I find myself parched again, and break into tomorrow's bottles of water I have placed in the fridge. I twist off the little plastic cap and guzzle like a newborn greedy for sustenance. I drain the whole thing and reach for another. Ah! Renewed. Now I pick up Drew from work. It is beginning to rain, a drop here and there. By the time we get to Wegmans it is pouring to beat the band. This is the only time I have to get the rest of the supplies for the workshop.
We sit for a few minutes, hoping it will let up. It shows no sign of relenting, and we are both happy for the rain. There is no help for it. We will have to run through the downpour to get to the store. I open the door and step in a puddle that covers my sneaker. Yikes! We have no umbrellas in the car as they are still mixed in with the camping gear. We hurry towards the automatic doors and the covered walkway. By the time we reach the protection of the roof, we are drenched. More than drenched. Water streams down my face. My shirt sticks to me. My legs are plastered. It feels good. Cool. Clammy.
Inside, the dry air sucks the wetness from us and within minutes we are dry. Alas! By the time we have gathered our few supplies and head back to the car, the small storm has already passed, leaving behind scattered puddles here and there. A mere drop in the drought bucket. My grateful heart is thankful that there is water available and that however brief, it still rains here. The grass will blush green tonight, if only for a moment. How delightful.
Today is a day riddled by water. First, I managed to remember to schedule a port flush. I keep forgetting that between chemo treatments I need to have my port flushed in order to keep it cleared and working well. I knew I had to call, but just put it off. So busy. But, like my argument with Drew that you have to make time to take care of things like checking the oil in the car or else find yourself in a pickle somewhere when it is the least convenient, I know I must do this.
It is an end of day appointment. I meet - for the first time in the infusion center - a male nurse. He is a riot. Full of jokes and wise cracks. We hit it off immediately. I am in and out in minutes. But I am so parched that I break one of my cardinal rules. I am so dry that I don't think I can even make it to the car where my tepid (alright, probably downright warm) bottle of water waits. Besides, I want something cool. So I help myself to a plastic cup of water at the water cooler in the lobby. Usually, I avoid these like the plague because of germs. But today, I stand in front of the cooler in the now deserted lobby and drink cup after cup, the cooling water trickling through my system with needed relief. I must have been down at least a quart.
Refreshed, I head for the church to set up for tomorrow's chime choir workshop. I know this will take me several hours at least, and I know that the building has no air conditioning. It will be a challenge. I keep the lights off and lay out the 12 folders, stripping them of last season's stuff, then organizing, copying and refilling each one. The sweat drips off my face in steady streams. Then I set up the tables and the drum circle, having to cart chairs from the far end of the building. Sweat runs down my backs in streams.
I find myself parched again, and break into tomorrow's bottles of water I have placed in the fridge. I twist off the little plastic cap and guzzle like a newborn greedy for sustenance. I drain the whole thing and reach for another. Ah! Renewed. Now I pick up Drew from work. It is beginning to rain, a drop here and there. By the time we get to Wegmans it is pouring to beat the band. This is the only time I have to get the rest of the supplies for the workshop.
We sit for a few minutes, hoping it will let up. It shows no sign of relenting, and we are both happy for the rain. There is no help for it. We will have to run through the downpour to get to the store. I open the door and step in a puddle that covers my sneaker. Yikes! We have no umbrellas in the car as they are still mixed in with the camping gear. We hurry towards the automatic doors and the covered walkway. By the time we reach the protection of the roof, we are drenched. More than drenched. Water streams down my face. My shirt sticks to me. My legs are plastered. It feels good. Cool. Clammy.
Inside, the dry air sucks the wetness from us and within minutes we are dry. Alas! By the time we have gathered our few supplies and head back to the car, the small storm has already passed, leaving behind scattered puddles here and there. A mere drop in the drought bucket. My grateful heart is thankful that there is water available and that however brief, it still rains here. The grass will blush green tonight, if only for a moment. How delightful.
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