A PH kind of day

I woke up drenched this morning. Maybe I am improving because I seem to feel better and my breathing not as labored.

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Yesterday, a couple of flies made their way into my apartment through a door which was open briefly. This morning, Satchmo plays fly catcher. Pogo lies contentedly in the window allowing Satchmo to chant war cries and sprint after the prey. Satchmo's pear-shaped body probably prevents him from being an optimal catcher, but in his kitty mind, he captures and consumes all interlopers. Pogo, with his cheetah body and speed, makes mince of the marauders.

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Yesterday began poorly. I showered and then had to sit before drying off, sit after drying off, sit before dressing, sit between putting on each piece of clothing.

While making breakfast, I cracked an egg and missed the skillet altogether. The egg oozed into the burner dish of the burner behind the skillet, yoke intact. As I tried to remove the dish and egg, the egg slid out of the dish and down the vent pipe for the oven. Now I have egg all over the oven floor. I had put an English muffin in the toaster oven. When I grabbed the handle of the toaster oven, it came off. By the time I got the muffin out of the oven, the egg was overdone. I ate a few bites and tossed it.

I am scraping the bottom of the barrel in the appetite department anyway right now. I have lost 5 pounds because nothing tastes good, and I have a stomach thing going. I cannot afford to lose much more weight. You can see the bones in my leg beside my knee.

Connie tells me my nose finally has color again. She said it has been blue for awhile. She says I still have no color in my face.

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A man who lives in the apartment complex and rides a motorized wheelchair, yesterday tried to put a plastic bag containing two quart jars of veggies and some fresh ones on my doorknob. His friend, who lives two doors down, was not home. Why he chose my door, I will never know.

Anyway, I heard his struggles with my glass screen door and some thuds. I thought it probably was Season, my next door neighbor. She already had rung my doorbell wanting to know if I wanted an ad circular.

The man in the wheelchair rang the bell. I opened the door and see a sack of veggies, including a broken jar of green beans, on the concrete at my door.

Now I have to bend over to try to pick up the mess, which severely limits the intake of air. That in turn caused much gasping. I had to race to get the mess to the kitchen and myself back to the couch before I passed out. Then I lay there trying to get my lungs to draw in enough air.

* * *

I bet my doc wishes I did not play Doc Cindy. I think there must be a fine line between being advocate and patient. Perhaps I cross that line too often. Or maybe doc has not run across many patients like me, who knows something about her illness and asks non-routine questions. We actually discuss meds and he seems surprised at times. I am sure know-it-all patients could drive a doc nuts. I hope I am not one of them.

* * *

Pogo has joined the fly fray. "This, son, is how it's done!"

* * *

I saw on FB how my friends rallied to send prayers and positive thoughts my way. I have a very hard time thinking I deserve the show of support. I am conflicted. Not liking yourself: habit or what?

* * *

I still can see you saying, "who else?" I miss you, dude.

Later.