Did you know that pumpkins are berries? I didn't, and I just read that in this month's BH&G magazine
I also read something in there that I thought applied to how I feel. The section was comprised of tips for friends of women diagnosed with breast cancer. The first tip felt like it was speaking to me. It read that if you get a curt answer to the question, "How are you feeling?" that you should just accept that and not bring it up anymore. The friend will bring up how she feels or what is going on health-wise with her later on if she wants to talk about it. I think the tip was titled something like "Rely on your friend for timing."
I (and I may be different than other spinal cord injury patients) feel this same way. I will always answer "fine" when someone asks how I am. And I don't know how to avoid their question if they continue to press me for how I'm feeling, so I always end up giving a litany of what's going on with me. Which sort of depresses me, in a way.
I appreciate so much that you care, but just let me say "Fine" and let's move onto more pleasant topics!
Yesterday, when my new magazine arrived in the mail, it was like a small gift I'd gotten for myself (I usually do not subscribe to magazines and this was a minor splurge). It was sunny, breezy and cool outside, but I took my treasure outside with a home-made latte, pulled my resin Adirondack chair into the sunlight, fluffed the pillows for my back and neck and sat down, wrapping my legs in my "moose blanket" that my sister gave me years ago. I sat out there for 45 minutes and soaked up nature.
I was always "out in nature" all day every day in my (what doctors call) "premorbid state." Today, I grab time outside whenever I can muster up the energy. Either deadheading my cosmos and nasturtiums or lightly watering a few thirsty hydrangeas, I revel in every moment of fresh air, orchestral birds, and growing plants.
I read little yesterday, out in the back yard in my chair. I kept being drawn to the sight above me of towering pines, azure sky and clouds skating westward. September winds whistled through the pines and rustled the oak leaves. I felt dreamy and wanted to nod off, but when I shut my eyes, they'd fly open in a few seconds. The moment was just too precious to waste on sleep.