You can tell when someone is really into an activity because no effort is too small or unthinkable. Like Drew working as an intern at Post Central. He is excited for the opportunity to see what happens in this field and made his own arrangements for transportation. His idea of how to make that happen?
He plans on walking/jogging from school the 3 miles to Post Central for the one day a week when he is allowed to be there. His last period is a study hall and he figures he can cover the distance in an hour so as to be in place by 3pm. I am not crazy about this idea. But I cannot take off work to drive clear over to the east side of the city and drive him, and he does not yet have his license (or a car for that matter).
His idea for getting home since he will be there for an undetermined amount of time? After he completes his work, he will walk to a plaza where there is a Burger King (about 2 miles back towards school) and sit there until I can come and get him. That might be late since it is a choir night and I am not able to come until after 8:30. Hum. This is definitely not what I had in mind. Good thing he is young and full of energy and strength.
In some ways, it is healthy for him to be put out a bit - this will help him understand more about the problems people have to overcome to accomplish things. It will stretch his own level of commitment. On the other hand, I do not like the idea of him wandering about on major roads. We talk. Next time we will find better arrangements. But for today, he is stuck with his plans.
And judging from his glowing face when I picked him up, it was well worth the effort!
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Sleep Study
I knew it! The doctor has reviewed my study and proclaims that I do not have any sleep disorders or anything like that. I beam. Good news. He glowers. It would have been easy to fix a sleep disorder. Now we have to dig deeper to find out what is really wrong.
Hah! That's his perspective. Personally, I am happy that I do not have to deal with a sleep disorder. Of course, I don't want something else more serious to be wrong either. But I have always slept well and had no trouble doing that.
Then he mentions that he is somewhat concerned that during the night my oxygen levels drop to 89 or 90 on a regular basis, but not due to any obstruction or collapse of the throat area. While that isn't horrible, it is concerning. He suggests that I see a pulmonary specialist. Of course! He makes a note in his report to the oncologist and my primary doctor.
Personally, I still think it is the chemo cough and the multiple trips to the bathroom and the hurting of all the bones and joints that are of more interest, but OK. Might as well follow every lead. Just hurry up and do it before the year ends and I am back to shelling out $6,000 for every little medical thing.
Hah! That's his perspective. Personally, I am happy that I do not have to deal with a sleep disorder. Of course, I don't want something else more serious to be wrong either. But I have always slept well and had no trouble doing that.
Then he mentions that he is somewhat concerned that during the night my oxygen levels drop to 89 or 90 on a regular basis, but not due to any obstruction or collapse of the throat area. While that isn't horrible, it is concerning. He suggests that I see a pulmonary specialist. Of course! He makes a note in his report to the oncologist and my primary doctor.
Personally, I still think it is the chemo cough and the multiple trips to the bathroom and the hurting of all the bones and joints that are of more interest, but OK. Might as well follow every lead. Just hurry up and do it before the year ends and I am back to shelling out $6,000 for every little medical thing.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Sad Little House
Across Orchard Street from the library sits an empty house. The blue siding is faded, the grass overgrown, the windows vacant. It has sat thus for some time and I have often wondered to whom the house belonged and where they have gone. How sad to confront abandoned dreams and memories of someone's life now left to the imagination of the uninterested and uncaring.
Today I noticed a couple of men circling the property, chatting to each other. Perhaps they have purchased the property! But no. Their pickup truck tells me they are workmen come to begin the process of dismantling the poor little place. They begin with the faded blue siding. How easily the house sheds its cover, giving it over without protest. Beneath the shiny aluminum lies brown shingles, an immediate flashback to the fifties.
I suppose over the course of the next few weeks more of the structure will disappear as they remove all traces of what once may have been a happy life. I will be the first to admit that we need more parking space on this campus, but this feels too high a price to pay. I want to capture the value of those who once were there loving, living, caring, doing, being. I cannot. I cannot even name their names or conjure up their visage.
I can almost see the leveled ground already despite the building remnant still standing. It is almost as if they are taking me apart, removing my protection, dismantling my own dreams and security. I take a moment to acknowledge the fleeting nature of life, to think about how quickly the mindless grass will cover any awareness of our time on this earth. Who will remember after I am gone? Who will care that once I was here, that I did things, that I loved people?
Good thing there is an eternity of otherness that will more than compensate for our brief if somewhat frenzied life here. I touch my heart, making sure my ticket is secure just as the workmen throw a pile of siding into the back of their truck.
Today I noticed a couple of men circling the property, chatting to each other. Perhaps they have purchased the property! But no. Their pickup truck tells me they are workmen come to begin the process of dismantling the poor little place. They begin with the faded blue siding. How easily the house sheds its cover, giving it over without protest. Beneath the shiny aluminum lies brown shingles, an immediate flashback to the fifties.
I suppose over the course of the next few weeks more of the structure will disappear as they remove all traces of what once may have been a happy life. I will be the first to admit that we need more parking space on this campus, but this feels too high a price to pay. I want to capture the value of those who once were there loving, living, caring, doing, being. I cannot. I cannot even name their names or conjure up their visage.
I can almost see the leveled ground already despite the building remnant still standing. It is almost as if they are taking me apart, removing my protection, dismantling my own dreams and security. I take a moment to acknowledge the fleeting nature of life, to think about how quickly the mindless grass will cover any awareness of our time on this earth. Who will remember after I am gone? Who will care that once I was here, that I did things, that I loved people?
Good thing there is an eternity of otherness that will more than compensate for our brief if somewhat frenzied life here. I touch my heart, making sure my ticket is secure just as the workmen throw a pile of siding into the back of their truck.
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