The sound of the barking dog brought me to consciousness. The morning was spent watching my youngest’s football game in the company of my oldest daughter, son and husband. The alarm that morning made me jump. The very first breath unsteady and painful. My nostrils flared at the exertion. I sat up and reached for my inhaler. I sucked in barely able to get the two pulses in. “You must move.” I willed myself.
The walk to the field hurt. The oxycodone was hitting nothing. I held my husbands arm hoping for his strength. I was light headed. I smiled at my fellow parents as I took the stand. The fake smile I was used to giving. I was exhausted. I closed my eyes and made a silent plea. I calmly reached for my mental respite. The sun beat down despite it being early morning and a late September day. There was no escape. We baked. I was cold despite the heat but the ultra violet light was so toxic. I will not give in. I prayed my long sleeves would protect me along with the sunscreen. The game was so terrific and the shy look from my sun on the sidelines made it so worth it. A memory for my sweet angel. The best.
The walk up the path to my front door was unbearable. I felt myself weaken every step. I carried on the silent conversation with myself wishing each step. A made it to the couch and immediately fell into a deep sleep. Flustered six hours later I was conscious. Pain seared me and again I repeated the same routine I have repeated over and over. The inhaler and the pain pill. Just carry me through a dinner with my husband and oldest. Again the best.
I have been sharper and more vital. A thought of maybe things are better. An emotion getting out of my head. I feel the tick of the clock loudly again. My body feels like it is again messing with me. I hope it is different but I flinch. I am no longer interested in the worst. I force my body, like a challenge to hope for the best.