EARTH-WEARY AND HEAVEN HUNGRY?

After four hours of sleep, I decided to write. My doctor re-prescribed steroids, and they steal my sleep, and that's after an Ambien send-off to La La Land. But they keep the brain swelling at bay—which causes unbearable pain and nausea. You wake up thinking, As soon as my fireworks-mind shuts off, maybe I can get a nap. It rarely happens.

Early this morning as I lay in bed sleepless, I formulated the order of this article/post. But they vamoosed. I have recall of magnificent words, don't you think? I'm winging it...

NOT TALKING MUCH

Milton says I don't talk much. When pain is hammering your head, what is there to say? Or, when your days are spent in bed or on the recliner? Or, when you go to a plethora of doctors' appointments and see that universal, pitiful, carefully masked look in their eyes, knowing what I'm facing? (There's also compassion.)

MY HAIR AND HEAD

My hair is still falling out, a nuisance to deal with. Another physical problem has joined the myriad. Radiation to the head fries/burns the scalp. Pencil-eraser-sized flakes gather on my shoulders. Stars in a velvet sky. Awful for someone of a my persnikityness.

Radiation to the head can cause tooth decay. Milton took me to the dentist this week. Fortunately, the problem had already cleared up. The dentist looked at me through compassion-filled eyes as he examined me. He said to postpone my long-held February appointment to start replacing several old fillings. Is he thinking I won't be here too long, a natural feeling for people, given my circumstances? At the receptionist's desk, the receptionist told me the dentist said there would be no charge.

CAN'T DRIVE

The neurosurgeon had a gripping way to give this instruction: if a little old lady is crossing the street and you don't see her due to your vision loss, you could kill her. And that was before the new vision loss.

MORE VISION LOSS

Monday, January 28, was my red-letter day. I was going to work on "the story of my heart" after the interruption of 30 daily radiation treatments and brain surgery for GBM brain cancer. But I struggled to read (and study) that day. I knew it was an eye problem and called the eye doctor. A field vision test revealed I've lost more vision--now 1/2 in both eyes. (Keep reading for what this entails.) I always had the idea peripheral meant "extra" or "not needed." Not so. Cover your left eye. Stare at an object in front of you. Slowly bring your right hand to your nose, counting your fingers as you do so. On the right side, I am seeing the width of the computer screen with the addition of a few inches, in the right portion on both eyes. It's a blank after that, unless I turn my head. "Is it a blackness?" my brother Terry asked me. "Is it tunnel vision?" I said, "No, it's just not there."

However, when I bring my head out of just the periphereal vision (where it was for the test), I can see better. But that part of your vision is so important. I almost walked into a woman the other day. I didn't see her. When I pick up a knife to slice an apple (or whatever), I sometimes cut with the flat edge rather than the serrated one.

My eyes have "floaters," what I dubbed "my angels." People-sized. Kitty-cat-sized. Chair-sized. I've discovered "angels" are what my eyes last see as they sweep across the right side of both eyes. Perhaps I "see" them that way because I'm a writer with descriptives ways. The vase of roses waved at me yesterday. The stack of books by my computer twirled and doci-doed like the dancers at my line dancing class. My kitchen cabinets hang open wanting to smack me the in the head.

WORD MIX-UP

Sometimes my words won't come out right, or they come out slower, which frustrates this tornado woman. As Milton drove me to the doctor, I pointed out a new neighborhood. "They have a lot of enemas," I said, then quickly added, "I mean, amenities." We got a chuckle.

Sometimes I see a "b" for a "p" or vice versa, as well as other letter mix-ups. Makes for some interesting reading!

SCRABBLE

Milton and I played Scrabble last night, one of my favorite games. After 15 minutes, I said, "Let's finish this later." It was too mind-wearying.

CHURCH

I want to go to church Sunday. Headaches and nausea kept me away for two weeks. I sit on the front pew. Will the congregation see the skin flakes on my clothes? Will they notice how thin my hair is? Will they notice my raccoon eyes?

THE MOST LOVING CONGREGATION

They won't notice those things. They are the most loving, gentle, caring congregation on the face of the earth. They have brought evening meals to us for three months. Their offers of help and acts of lovingkindness are unparalleled. Their prayers strengthen and sustain me.

MY BRAIN GROWS WEARY

As I write, it's the wee hours of the night. Will I catch some more ZZZs if I lie down? I already tried that for two boring hours. Or will I be wide awake for four hours, like last night, again? And now my head is feeling "tight."

SOME GOOD NEWS

The doctor said my best time will be one month from the end of the radiation treatments. That's the end of February. I hope to get a streak of writing done, and I will keep attempting until then.