Me: "Do you want me to bring anything to the cookout?"
Aunt: "Your great sense of humor and wonderful smile."
Me: "So, if I show up with a watermelon, you'll know I woke up cranky."
~~~~~~~~~
The Fourth of July is my favorite holiday because people tend to forget their views of how bad things are in this country and take the time to CELEBRATE how great it is to live here, free to have their own political views and stuff their faces with hot dogs and lobster tails. In the past we have even joined in a day early to celebrate the third of July, a tradition that has gone on here every year since the 1800's with exception of the WWII years in which lighting the Massachusetts coastline wold have been like painting a bulls eye on our little piece of heaven. This year was to be no different, as the weather was holding and work hadn't been too stressful. But as I wound down the (92 degree-90% humidity) night, settling into my newly acquired central air conditioned home (not the home, but the AC), I realized I lacked the energy to go anywhere.
And I died a little on the inside.
I love the bonfires. I had planned it out in my head... the chairs... towels... snacks... flashlights... and when the time came, I couldn't work up the gusto to walk down to the beach. And while Youngest had interest in going if it was low tide (to search for hermit crabs and new starfish),Tony did not share in my enthusiasm and Oldest was content chillin' in his room. So I stayed in, reveling in friend's Face Book photos of their beach's bonfires, squirt gun fights, and ceremonial burning of the Christmas tree.
The town's festivities have been rescheduled for a later date, which I can honestly say I can't remember ever happening before. Hurricane Arthur is breezing by, stopping barges from docking in the harbor, and thus preventing any launching of fireworks. The rain did not move in until later in the afternoon, allowing the 5K that Tony was running to go off as planned. Even after cortisone shots to the heels, I still can not run or walk the way I used to and this is slowly eating away at my soul. Not because I loved running, but more because when I ran I was mentally disconnected. No one could bother me to find a lost iPod, ask me what was for dinner, or complain about their missing National Enquirer. I could be lost in the music, my feet hitting the pavement, the satisfying pain of my lungs filling with air and exhaling it all out, completely.
It's hard to be supportive at 8am. Waiting at the finish line for Tony is bittersweet for me, I love seeing him cross the line, but the music and adrenaline of the moment gets to me. I want that to be MY finish line, OUR finish line, like it used to be. And right now it just can't be. Instead I watched, snapped a picture, and held back the tears of what was.
The doctor circus has become more complex than when last I posted. Doctors now a days seem to be really good at running tests and not as good at diagnosing. I am still off sugar, (minus Tony's birthday "cake" and a impromptu Hershey bar) and I will say that I my joints are feeling MUCH better. The pain in my hands has woken me only twice in the 6 weeks I've stopped refined sugar, and the cravings are gone completely. I meet with the Rheumatologist in two weeks to discuss my results, symptoms, and no doubt run more tests. I meet with the Podiatrist Thursday to discuss my feet, that upon further investigation, may no longer be a podiatry issue, and more a symptom of a larger picture.
I had two "emergency" visits to the doctor last week in which they pulled 11 (total) vials of blood to sample, test, and retest to reveal semi-conclusive results. Nothing says party time quite like being inverted on a table so they can get the last two vials from you before you pass out. I meet with the new specialist to determine if this new issue can be waited out or if it requires intervention. Trying not to worry Tony, I tried to simplify it the best I could.....
Basically, my insides are bursting like small roman candles... like my own personal fireworks display that no one else can see.
And trust me... that's a Fourth of July tradition that no one wants.
