I’ve got pneumonia and strep. Well, the strep is probably gone from my system by now, but the cough is hanging on, as is the rattle when I talk or breathe. I’ve been whiny because my brother is here and I’m trying to be all festive and hospitable when all I want to do is curl on the couch.
It’s not the end of the world, but I no longer have the level of appreciation I once did. A few years ago, any little cold was a big deal. Then I was diagnosed with cancer and anything else seemed paltry by comparison. I had a crappy immune system before my diagnosis and it’s worse now, but I’ve forgotten to be grateful for the fact that it’s not life threatening, it’s just an annoyance.
My father is experiencing the first scary strains of the symphony. He’s had some minor surgical procedures as he rests and recovers and gears up for the worst. I’m sad I’m not closer, to somehow coach him through the ugliness. To squeeze his hand and then wait in the assorted rooms with my mother as he’s wheeled away.