Today was a day for lost things.
Mishaps usually dog me every day. But for some reason, I could not hold onto any item without spilling it, losing it, tangling it, spending hours fixing it. At one point, I looked up from my tangle of yarn, spilled green tea, and — where’s my cell phone?! — to find 11:45 p.m. had turned into 1 a.m.
At one point, I tried to carry five things from my bedroom into my office, forgot the cup of green tea tucked in the crook of my left arm, and leaned over to place the basket of crochet on a nearby bench. Everything came tumbling out.
I know I spend way too much time crocheting endless projects for nobody in particular, way more than the friends I can count on both hands. I do it, though, because I can and because crocheting new stitches fills me with a sense of achievement I don’t normally find in my everyday life.
I spend more time unraveling what I’ve done, but I guess that’s okay, that’s how you learn.
Last night set the trend for today. I had the worst nightmare ever.
I think what triggered it was my husband sitting upright in bed, then complaining of asthma-like tightness in his chest. Not wheezing, just the urge to cough, which he’s always suffered from, really. I made him put some doTerra essential oils on. Eucalyptus/Peppermint did the trick.
He’s currently on Qvar and a rescue inhaler, the same medications our son started off two years ago. Knock wood.
I’ve learned after his bladder cancer never to take any unusual symptom for granted.
My nightmare kicked off after a nice night at a friend’s special occasion out of state, maybe a wedding in Portland. I remembered that night as this strange, knowing man (I saw on TV) informed me that my husband was dying of a rare disease that will tear his body into shreds before our eyes within two hours, max. My husband didn’t know what was going on, only that he started to feel hungry for the first time in ages.
I picked up the innards of my cell phone, which I’d dropped, trying to put my mind together enough to punch in the number of the nearest hospital — about to close in three minutes — and Barbara, a friend who let us stay in her vacation home.
In the background, I could hear the man I have been married to for 26 years begin to shriek in outrage and growing pain, as he demanded to be fed, decrying the barbarism of keeping a man from his meal. “What kind of place is this?!!!”
My own mind began to slowly shatter, as I realized our son was probably napping at home after school. How would I tell him? What do I do for money? Is this disease contagious? Why am I only getting two hours with this man, how is any of this fair?
In the far distance, growing alarmingly closer, I could hear the sound of a street gang gleefully tearing my husband’s flesh apart as my grown son screamed at them to stop.
Just a dream, just a dream… I have never been so happy to wake up in my life.