“Frank,” I said, “we’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
Frank glanced over my way and gave a curt “meow” before going back to lapping water from the running faucet of the bathroom sink.
Some days, all I want is to be able to go to the bathroom unaccompanied. I swear Frank can hear me think about maybe going to the bathroom and makes a run for it in order to get there first. By the time I’ve hobbled the five steps it takes to get there, he’s sitting on top of the, um, throne, staring at the faucet and waiting for me to make the water magically appear. It seems to have something to do with my hand, but he isn’t quite sure what. Frank is not the smartest cat in the litter.
His sister, Yuki, also has her water moments. She used to be a faucet cat, too. At times, she could be seen lapping water from the top of Frank’s head as he lapped water from the bottom of the sink. Of late, however, she’s taken to drinking from any glass or cup sitting around.
She started off this year by knocking over a glass in her attempt to quench her thirst by drinking some watered-down soda at the bottom of a glass. My continuous glucose monitor receiver was lying on the table. It is not waterproof. What it is now is toast. Soggy toast to be sure, but toast all the same. It’s in the process of drying out. Hopefully, it will have a full recovery, since it’s out of warranty and I really don’t want to buy a new one.
But my own personal favorite water story is this: WooHOO! For the first time since April 8, when I had surgery to repair my ruptured Achilles tendon, I got to take a nekkid shower! I’m so excited! (It also doesn’t take much to make me happy.)
I can ’splain the “nekkid” part. No, I do not shower with my clothes on. However, I’ve been having to shower with a plastic thingy over the dressings on my foot and leg. While I’ve given it a “bird bath,” my left leg has not seen running water below the knee in nearly nine months…until now. I cannot tell you good it feels — not only to let the water run over all of me, but to take a shower without dressing my lower left leg in rain gear.
And there’s more! I’ve now graduated from gauze pads, gauze rolls, and an Ace bandage over that, to…two little bandage strips. It’s also the first time in nearly nine months that my lower left leg hasn’t been covered up (except for dressing changes). Well, I have a sock on now because I slathered Bag Balm all over my foot and leg to get rid of the crocodile skin. (Bag Balm comes in a square green tin and I get it in the pet section of Wal-Mart or at a farm supply store.)
My excitement at being able to do silly little things like take a nekkid shower and to just slap two bandage strips on my heel and leg has me thinking that’s it’s not the big things that drive you nuts: it’s the little things.
For example, it’s not that you can’t get around that well; it’s that you have to have somebody carry your dinner plate to the table for you because you can’t carry your dinner and use a walker. (In other words, you’ve lost your independence.)
It’s not that you have diabetes; it’s that people feel free to tell you “you shouldn’t be eating that.”
It’s not the insulin injections; it’s the frustration of having your blood glucose whack around all over the place.
I’m sure you can think up some of your own “little” frustrations. (Feel free to share them.)
Speaking of which, I reached another milestone just this morning: I walked into the kitchen, made a sandwich and got a glass of ice, and then walked back into my office/den — carrying them — all by myself. No walker; no cane. WooHOO again!
Now all I have to do is keep Yuki’s snout out of my glass.