We're still not home yet. Phil was surprised, and not pleasantly so, when I confessed yesterday that I'm in no special hurry to be home--I've been gone so long, it doesn't seem to matter how long the 'end' lasts.
Phil's triceps tendon is under the surgeon's knife as I type this, and his patienthood and upcoming reduction in activity have been the main focus of attention.
However, I--or we-- meet with my therapist tomorrow, and my patienthood, which has been comfortably stealth for at least the past couple of weeks, is about to receive some scrutiny again.
Darn it!
End without end--wasn't I gone all that time in order to get over all this?
Why am I so triggered by long and perseverating jokes about weight/weight gain/weight loss, directed at someone else--this isn't all about me, do I know?
Why do I get so upset when it's mealtime and someone else doesn't want to eat yet: what would be so bad about eating alone?
Why, after a seven-mile hike, do I focus on convenience and my post-exertion lack of appetite to the point of being affected the next day by yesterday's deficit?
Of course, none of these scenarios were covered in treatment. Of course, right up until we flew into Anchorage Saturday night, most meals were communal (at the residency and at the farm) and happily so. This aspect of 'the end' wasn't covered in the manual.
A more important 'of course': all this seems to me to be normal operating conditions. Getting out of treatment is not the end, I still roll the way I roll; but now I have better mechanisms in place to correct for foibles, behave more graciously, maintain my physical presence. My bottle of coconut cream/soymilk mixture is good insurance, although I'm going to have to phase out the soy; and when we hit a meal, I don't just eat lettuce and spirulina anymore. I'm no longer convinced that I can run on 300 calories a day with a maximum of 800. That whole concept seems such a long way away.
End without end, and the ends are tied together--but perhaps there's something of an upward spiral in there.
