It can sometimes be too easy to sequester oneself, but it’s so important not to.
I had a physiotherapy appointment recently, and as I rode in the car, I noted aloud how green the pastures and fields had become. Then I started to think back and realized that since I’d been released from the hospital on December 21, I hadn’t been more than 2 miles from our home.
Multiple sclerosis (MS) and other health mangles have wrung me nearly dry since that Christmas clemency, so it was both easy and rather required that I stay close to base. But even in a state of doubled fatigue, I was acquiring a moat between Milltown Cottage and even our closest neighbors.Click HERE to Register for the MS Beacon Newsletter
There’s Only So Much Online Solitaire One Can Play
I did have to amend my first recollection, as I had been further afield than 2 miles. That one time, however, we were away before light for a follow-on procedure under general anesthetic and home well after dark in a drug-induced haze, so I could be excused for my lack of memory of that trip.
Add to this the fact that my wife has recently taken on extra days of work to cover someone’s maternity leave, and my situation was teetering toward desperate. My mind was turning to mush; my ear for the lyric, local accent was beginning to numb; and there’s only so much online solitaire one can play … I had to figure a way to get out and around.
A Taxi Gets Me Out for a Shop, a Flirt, and a Pint
As most of us with chronic illness are wont to do, I found a work-around.
Even the ¾-mile trek into the town was too much for me, so a local taxi kept me from having to call on friends for a lift (though they have quite willingly offered such service). I can’t get around very easily in my current state, so I don’t do much when I get there, but at least I’m out of the house.
I pick up a couple of things we might need from the shop, which is never a lonely encounter in our town. It affords me a chance to catch up with a bit of gossip, show that I’m not at the undertaker’s yet, and flirt with the ladies at the cash. Never has a trip for a liter of milk been more satisfying.
Then, the best part of my new Friday routine: A few doors down from the grocery is my local pub.
A quiet back room where I can read the papers, complain about the price of wool with some of the regulars, and enjoy a self-prescribed Rx pint of the black stuff. Caryn collects me on her way home from work, and we grab a simple takeaway for our dinner.
CONTINUE reading Trevis’ story by clicking here .
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