January 22, Field of Grass

My ritual in the mornings includes scrubbing the fireplace window, raking the coals, and lighting the fire.  Rocky is typically back from his first exploration of the meadow by the time I finish.  I fill his bowl, and turn the tap on for Alice to drink.  Angela, in the meantime, waits for her morning pain medication to take effect.  "Crying helps," she reassures us.  Rocky now places his chin on Angela's lap when she cries.

The dragon, as we call it, is reliably most vicious in the mornings.  We are adjusting Angela's medications regularly.  We are glad that she is now sleeping peacefully through the night.  We have not been able, though, to avoid her morning pains.  It is the stabbing in her back that is most difficult.  She takes her time to raise from bed.  Bravely, though, and without fail, she is making the coffee by the time I am taking my shower.

I linger in the mornings to the point, each day, of being late.  My schedule, though, is becoming as full as it has ever been.  Sadly, in my work, I have attended to some uncommon, and unspeakable tragedies this week.  I have been, with colleagues and patients, deep in reflection on life's cruelties.  I dreamt, in the midst of this, that I was walking through a field of grass.  Foolishly, and despite great care, I kept dropping Angela's pill bottle.  I fell to my knees each time and searched desperately for her pills within the grass.  At first I gathered them easily, but gradually I realised there were pills everywhere, more than just Angela's.  They were of so many shapes and sizes that I could not tell which were hers.  I crawled around stupidly and was dumbfounded at how surrounded we are by illness.

When our good oncologist had told Angela that there is no cure for multiple mieloma, Angela reminded him, to his own apparent dismay, that there was also no cure for life.

When I am at work Angela, our great bear, is at home, most often, sleeping.  Her battle with the dragon each morning seems, before noon, to tire them both.  Although her pain seems to improve she remains, through the afternoon, quite limited by fatigue.  She continues to steal what she can, moments here and there, to get some things done.  Despite her pain and fatigue she rides a stationary bike for 15 minutes each day.  On one afternoon she rearranged some shelves.  She is now visiting the International Mieloma Foundation website from time to time because our good oncologist recommended it.  He said that it saves him from having to tell people "the bad stories" himself.

We both, upon our parting in the mornings, look forward to the evenings.  When I drive to and from work, passing the cows and snow covered orchards, I am now listening to an audio course on Renaissance church music and early opera.  This is a surprise to me.  I have no taste any longer, or at least for the time being, for popular music.   There are feelings these days that I have no expression for, an intensity of which I do not want to let go of.  Words and thoughts are not enough.  Opera, in particular, seems to help.    I am crawling around stupidly, but, amongst the horrors, I am uncovering some beautiful things.

Oddly, while I have lost the taste for popular music, Angela and I have acquired a taste for popular television.  We are still watching British sit coms.   We look forward to the evenings when with Perrier, clementines, and a box of chocolates we watch comedy on the big screen and, reliably, steal true, honest laughs.  We welcome, our friends, any suggestions for good television comedy or for opera that you might have.  We continue to trust in your patience, well wishes, and your prayers.  We will continue, of course, to be in touch.