Thursday, February 26, 2009

"Spring Will Be A Little Late This Year"

My poet friend Mary Ellen and I lunched yesterday and she was singing this old song to's supposed to be about losing an old love. But I take the lyric very to heart literally. I had told another friend just a day or so ago that I'd climb up on the roof and jump off except the snowbanks are still too high so it wouldn't do any good.

I hate snow. I hate winter. And this has been a bad one, not just in actually weathering the nasty weather but battling everything else that has been tossed in with the blizzards and frigid temperatures. All around me people I love seem to have lives collapsing -- for no reasons you can point a finger to really -- and I feel their pain. And I've had my own pain to try to deal with. I've not been successful with that. Every time I use my left arm it's as if razor blades are slicing me I've basically stopped knitting or typing. In other words, stopped doing anything.

The good news is my husband still loves me, after somehow putting up with all the ups and downs of dealing with someone battling with constant pain and the ups and downs of pain medications.

For too many years I worked in the bowels of the health care industry and my trust in that industry is weak at best. However, now, after three months of finding out what is NOT wrong with my arm, I'm going to try another round of docs who might be able to find out what is wrong. It will turn out to be something very simple; it usually is. And then maybe I can return to writing and knitting again. And maybe spring will come.

1 comment:

garnett109 said...

Hope you get to a good doctor soon.