Almost There

Thursday, August 14, 2014

This morning began good. Without effort, or so it seems, I walked down the hall at home without once needing to grab a doorway or push off of a wall to correct an awkward course. This is not my normal "bouncing off the walls" situation, an expression I used that puzzled Dr. Jennifer a while back. To the kitchen, after a pause to hear the weather prognostication from Brandon Beck that Donna was watching on TV, where I filled up my customary glass of water (something close to, but not quite, a full pint).

My 'normal thing' is to try to drink the whole thing without stopping. I believe the old expression was to "kill it" which as a kid we referred to a bottle of pop, but considering the character of some 'older people' I suspect that some folks did that with a bottle of beer, or worse. This habit (I just stopped to shoo a bug away from my field of vision, then I stopped waving it off because it might have been one of those little black spots that pop into my vision from time to time as my eyes do their age-adjustment thing; Dr. whats-his-name from the Missouri Eye Institute said a few, now and then, was not a problem but when they swarm and the swarm keeps getting bigger, then I needed to call him quickly; this, however, turned out to be a real, live gnat that lit on the computer monitor a moment ago and it likely spawned from the banana I had left-over on my desk from yesterday's lunch; now back to figure out where I was in the previous thought; I suspected that this 'rabbit trail' contained information that needed to be noted before I lost it), habit, oh yeah, I started it several years ago with the hopes that the water would sort of prime-the-pump for my constipation-prone digestive system to start the day. I noticed in a moment of impatience, where I tried to speed the process up by "killing the drink", that I seemed to be substantially more awake when I drank it before taking another breath.

Today, however, particularly being a work day, I take a pill of Nuvigil. Usually, this is along with my recently prescribed vitamin D supplement but yesterday Donna gave me the bag from the pharmacy and it had the next installment of the super-dose vitamin D. I took the super pill instead of the OTC supplement--and carefully placed that pill bottle apart from the once-daily medicines that I usually take at night. Hopefully, I have learned (another of Dr. Brittany's 'stressors' I suspect) not to overdose on this batch of weekly pills. The previous installment I had inadvertently taken daily for four days, discovering my error when telling Donna I need to get this prescription refilled. I remembered reading how these super doses of vitamin D could do the liver damage if too much was taken.

Starting my bathroom routine, I opened a drawer by the sink and looked at what was there blankly. The toothpaste I use last, so that was not it. The hairbrush I use after drying my hair following its wash in the shower. Ah, now I know, just a simple process of elimination. I used to reach in the drawer and grab what I wanted without having to think about it, or sometimes even look.

Next came the shower setup. Bathmat down from the towel rack. Towels transferred from the bathroom cabinet top, where Donna prefers to find hers when she steps out of the shower, to the towel rack, where I prefer to find mine when I finish showering. Wash cloth draped over the shower door. Then a pause--it is like I don't know what to do next. Ah, turn the water on and get in. Maybe there is a touch of Dr. Brittany's stressors in the background of that moment of lost-ness over a simple and mundane matter that has not taken thought for most of my 60 years.

Wondering if today would be like yesterday and the day before where I lost track of whether I had washed, or rinsed, my hair, or whether my face was wet because I just gave it my post-shampoo rinse or that I had just soaped my face and needed to rinse that off before I opened my eyes again. Unlike the previous days where I had to touch the shower wall and hand hold to make sure I was properly oriented with my eyes closed, today I didn't feel so disoriented.

I started to hum a tune as I shampooed my hair and soon found myself trying to rush the music faster than my lips would go. Ah ha! Either the Nuvigil or super-dose vitamin D had kicked in! The rest of the shower likewise went more smoothly, and much more quickly, than usual in recent weeks. (I also noticed while typing and editing my sentences as I go that I am not getting lost in finishing a thought, by the way)

It was amusing, as I wrapped things up, that yesterday I didn't see my washcloth for a moment because I normally toss it over the door to the bathmat after wiping water off the shower door window. That was because I didn't remember to wipe the excess water off the door yesterday, but did today. Then a moment's reality check happened to dampen my momentary mirth--I may have remembered to wipe the shower door down but I have absolutely no recollection of drying my legs. Drying my legs is important because of the potential for balance problems. Donna does not like it when I lift my leg and rest my foot on the bathroom cabinet top in order to dry my legs, for fear of my losing balance. (I always, in recent years at least, also lean against the shower wall so I am firmly planted, in my own mind and sense of balance, on one foot and a shoulder on the wall) On the other hand, as she seems not to realize, I fear bending over to dry my legs. I quickly become unbalanced when my head lowers as I towel my lower legs dry. The catch today was that my legs were dry and I have absolutely no recollection of drying them even though I remember these other details with my formerly usual clarity.

As I went to write this posting, I discovered the draft of the one I intended to close yesterday with. Yesterday became difficult as the day wore on, but after a nap and dinner I felt better and began to write my recollections of the struggles, but nothing much came. I see I stopped in mid-sentence. I have no idea what I was going to say in that sentence but recall feeling frustrated. It seemed as if the note of that morning, which started this blog, was written with an almost entirely different mind than I then possessed. Paging back and forth, I tried to copy the style of phrasing in hopes it would refresh those prosaic juices but what was pouring out of my head seemed a comparative 'stick figure'. I erased what I had done and tried to start again, fresh, but simply shut it down in frustration. I now see where I stopped, although I still don't recall where it was going.

Today, meanwhile, is a much better start. Today is going to be good.