Thursday Morning Update: 11/21/24

Watch the snowfall, the glimmer of tiny flakes reflected in the street lights and headlights of passing cars. Shiver as a northerly wind caresses the one tract of skin left bare while the rest of your body attempts to snuggle deeper inside a heavy coat. Even the dogs do not linger here. This first hint of the coming winter reveals how accustomed we’ve become to our planet’s warming temperatures. Like the proverbial frogs in slowly-heated water, we prefer that which leads to our demise. A snow shovel sits ready and waiting; it will see no action today, possibly not all season.

Tipper “borrowed” her mom’s heavy coat as she slipped out the back door. On a school excursion, she would visit Purdue University for her first glimpse of college life. Her mind goes back and forth in an argument with herself over whether she needs post-secondary education. Already tired of classrooms, she ponders a possible life as an artist. Surely, one doesn’t need a diploma to sell a banana for $6.2 million. But then, how long might the market for bananas taped to walls remain so bullish?

G does not harbor such fantasies. His mind struggles with the various choices that take advantage of his creativity and genius. Last night he bemoaned the imagined frustrations of a fashion designer interrupted. Today, he takes on the media world in a video interview. Perhaps tomorrow he’ll be nominated for a cabinet position. He is as well qualified as any of the others awaiting confirmation. Nothing is outside his grasp. Yet, so many choices create a different problem for his ADHD mind. He feels no rush in making a decision. There is still time to explore.

Kat struggles still with the limitations imposed by diminished breathing ability. She does not want the kids burdened with the knowledge of how close she came to no longer being present in this world. She powers on through the exhaustion. Her sleep does not last long. Both cold and hot, her body struggles to regulate temperature. Cats long to snuggle but their weight diminishes her breathing capability even more. G asked whether her lungs would ever recover their full capabilities. She had no certain answer to give him, only that time would move slowly as she inches back to her normal routine.

More poison arrives today. Only three more deliveries remain. Who knows my future after chemo? Will my energy return? Will my mind clear? Will I stand without falling? I sit here struggling to grasp at words that slip through my mind like water through a sieve. What were we discussing? Did I have anything important to say? Minutes pass into hours and I don’t recall my last thought. My coffee grows cold as it sits in the mug; I forget the most routine part of my day.

Kat asked last night if I am planning to visit the boys over the holidays. Her question caught me by surprise. No doubt, seeing the boys would be a wonderful treat. Two years have passed since I last saw Zach, Meg, and Ren. Three years without seeing Ben. Yet, I struggle to cover expenses until the end of every month. The lowest round-trip airfare is $542 plus taxes and fees. Lodging would be another $50 per night. Factor a reasonable amount for additional expenses and the total exceeds more than an entire month’s budget. My body cannot handle a long road trip; even from here to Chicago is too much. Train service to Chattanooga doesn’t exist. There is no choo-choo there. The idea has been planted, however, and a dream has begun to sprout. I fear that disappointment is the only yield.

I cannot tell if snow is still falling. With daylight, the delicate flakes become almost invisible. The thermometer warns of conditions below freezing. The dogs wait for me to return to bed.

Meanwhile, the universe asks, what is Google without Chrome? Does Jaguar still make cars? Does Campbell’s still make soup? What’s to become of MSNBC without NBC? What is rhetoric without meaning?

Solaris gently places his paws on my chest. He, too, wants me to return to bed. Still, there is food that must be eaten and meds that must be swallowed.

Will I remember to drink my coffee?