Ah, anemia. No, sorry…Anemia. It needs to be capitalized. It is, sad to say, taking over everything. I cannot even walk around the store without looking like I’ve barely survived Lawrence of Arabia’s desert march to Aqaba…
It seems that there’s a normal level for ladies of my age. It seems I’m not only nowhere near that level, but I’ve drastically fallen short of any reasonable expectations. I’ve even fallen short of unreasonable ones. I am, in a nutshell, so anemic it hurts…
Here I go again with Lawrence of Arabia: “The trick, William Potter, is not minding that it hurts.” I mind. I can tell that it’s causing grief to Dada and J, and I mind terribly.
I am in earnest about feeling better. Going to the doctor twice in one month isn’t my idea of fun, but the second go-round helped greatly. It didn’t help the anemia per se, but it helped with helping. Does that make sense?
So unlike Nigel Tufnel, I don’t go eleven across the board…nowhere near, but I’m working on it.
J has been concerned. Seeing me walk up the steps (18 of them from basement to kitchen level) and realizing I am out of breath and ready to collapse isn’t something he could easily ignore. I am also pale, and the bags under my eyes have taken on a really dark hue.
J is helping a lot, people. He offers me his arm when we go for walks (which, granted, hasn’t been happening as often,) and he sits with me when I need to sit down. When I show signs of being a little more energetic than I have been of late, J gets very affectionate, wants to cuddle, and requests fish kisses. He is being very patient with his falling-apart mother.
Whenever someone tells me that a person in the Spectrum (as firmly planted on the severe end as J is) feels no empathy, I call bullshit. This kid has been worried, and empathetic, and helpful. This kid cares. This kid, when he saw me improve thanks to the doctor’s intervention, looked RELIEVED. So one bad thing opens the door to many realizations…J is very present in his own way. And I am grateful that he is, and so is Dada.
In the meantime, I am trying to be patient with myself. I don’t know how I got this bad, but there you have it. I am working on it, though. I won’t go so far as to eat liver (blech…double blech…super double blech…ultra blech), but I’m working on getting better.
And that’s all there is for now…