Plume In A Box
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I have been feeling very bad today. Yes, I’m afraid it’s going to be one of those entires. But feel free to skip to the end with its slightly hopeful message.
It’s not been a good day, though. Everything is getting worse. I feel like I am trapped in a box. A shrinking box. And for a long time I have been able to go about things fairly normally while in this box. But now it is so small that it is suffocating me. It feels like the breaking point is near.
I called the hospital today. To see if there was any way I could get an appointment sooner. But there was not. I have to wait two weeks still. I can just sit back and wait until I’m blind, that’s what I can do.
I know some of you have said that I am strong and brave, but I’m really not. I am weak and scared and sinking. I want to be brave and optimistic for you guys, for my family, for myself. But the box is all I can see, closing in.
Today I watched the last couple of episodes of The King Of Queens. You know how I get attached to TV shows. I have watched their 9 seasons over the last 9 months more or less. Nine years of shows in nine months. My lunch sitcom. I cried a little when the last episode was over. Partly because I’m going to miss them. But mostly because I’m almost blind and don’t know what to do.
I wernt to bed with the intention of sleeping the day away. I failed, obviously, since I’m up and writing. I even managed to get on my exercise bike. I haven’t done that since the acupuncture. I was too tired during those days. But I guess I’m trying a last ditch effort. Exercise again. Try to get out more. See the goats tomorrow. If I feel good enough. And instead of that plan I had earlier today of buying cake and staying in bed until I’m blind, I’ll eat my nuts and berries and raisins. They’re all supposed to be good for your eyesight. Along with the fish and the carrots. And then we’ll see. We’ll see how long before I cave. Because as I said, I am not strong. All I want is to give up and give in. Have my cake and eat it and let the end come as soon as possible. That is all I really want. But I can’t, I know. So I’m trying again. A little. For now. Exercise, vitamins, nuts and berries, getting out. All the things that have done me no good so far. I’m sure it will work.
On Friday I go back to the acupuncture. To have my sight tested (sigh) and a free treatment. In two weeks I have the hospital examination. Four days later I have the cataracts operation. A week or two later I have diabetes blood test at the my own doc. That’s the schedule right now.
I am trying.
This entry was posted on Monday, May 25th, 2009 at 22:00 and is filed under Blogging. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
6 Responses to “Plume In A Box”
1. Valja Says:
May 26th, 2009 at 0:31
Trying is all we can do, Mr. Plume. The thing is to keep trying, even when we feel like it’s no use. That’s bravery: to have the will to keep going. The fact that you do, that you get on your bike, that you eat your nuts and berries and still write entries — that’s what makes you brave. I understand the weight of your fears and doubts, but to be able to continue on in spite of those — that’s true courage.
And, according to that measure, you’re doing really well. :)
*hugs*
2. Katrine Says:
May 26th, 2009 at 14:03
Being brave isn’t about not feeling scared, it’s about doing your best even when you are really scared. So yes, you are brave! Goats are good against dark hours, as you know-and the babies must surely be coming soon?! New generations of goats are waiting to climb the mighty Mt. Plume ;)
3. Milla Says:
May 26th, 2009 at 20:29
Much love, good vibes and hugs coming your way from Belgium!
4. Debster Says:
May 27th, 2009 at 3:37
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change
the courage to change the things I can
and the wisdom to know the difference.
The Serenity Prayer can help. You’re about at the acceptance stage of your vision loss. It doesn’t mean you have to like it or be happy about it. You just accept it and go on.
You change the things you can like exercise, eating right, getting some fresh air, seeing the goats, keeping in touch with your family, talking with your doctors, learning how to stay independent and in your own apartment, and asking questions on how to improve the quality of your life while living with your vision loss.
Mine was always a deep, deep well and I was falling, falling, falling, and coudn’t stop. There didn’t seem to be a way out and I could only see a tiny light up above me as I fell deeper into the dark well.
What could I do? Nothing seemed to help. But I knew I wanted to get out of the well. Then I noticed a rope as I fell further and I reached out and grabbed it. And I held on. That’s all I did for a long time. But I did stop falling.
That was something, not to be falling. So I just held on a little while longer. When I was comfortable with that, I thought I might try looking up to the tiny light above me. And I felt that I could climb up the rope just a bit.
Some days I didn’t climb the rope at all, hanging on was all I could do. But that was enough. On the days I could climb, I did.
I have reached the top of the well many times just as I have fallen many times. I have learned to reach out and grab on to the rope to save myself. And to know I’m doing the best that I can do at the time. I’ve learned to slowly accept that I can’t always be at the top of the well, and that’s ok.
My dear danish goat boy, you are doing the best you can right now. Just sit in your box for awhile longer. You’ll be alright and when you’re ready, you will open up the box a little bit and look around some.
Then maybe a little bit more until you can step out of the box. And if you get scared, go back to your box for awhile and then try again. You can be brave and scared and courageous all at the same time, you know.
5. Desirée Says:
May 27th, 2009 at 17:53
You ARE brave, Plume. And like all brave people, you are frightened. Because in order to be brave there’s gotta be something frightening to brave. So, brave and frightened goes hand in hand.
I understand how hopeless and horrible it must all be for you. As I have said to you many times before, my grandmother lost her vision to diabetes the year I was born. Se wasn’t even 60, so like you, still had many years in front of her. She also lost two babies to that horrible illness. And I know how bitter she was about her fate. But she was also the most tenacious and brave woman I have ever known.
There really is only one choice and that is to keep fighting with everything you’ve got – even when it seems you have little to fight with and for.
You are in my thoughts more often than you know, dearest Plume, and you are in my prayers every single day.
6. Plume Says:
May 27th, 2009 at 19:45
Thank you all for the support and kind words. I really appreciate it. You deserve some longer responses, but I’m not quite feeling up to it right now. But thank you.