Thursday, October 11, 2007Life in the Slow LaneAfter more than four weeks, and not without some trepidation, I'm returning to work in a few days.The trepidation comes from a fear I have that somehow I will revert to the "old me." The me that doesn't have the perspective that comes from nearly dying. The me that inhales life without breathing it in. The me that is constantly confused about who is driving what in this mad race towards the finish line. Not that I'm exactly sure what the "new me" is all about. In my fantasies, four weeks off from work -- something I've never had, ever, in the last 36 years of my life -- would actually be enough time to relax fully, to watch all the movies in the queue, to read all the books, to sleep all the sleep, to do everything on the list so fully that I would run out of lists to make. Not the case. I haven't even scratched the surface of the things I'd like to do with my time. Not even close. Here's what I have done, though: I have dug in and read 2/3 of a good long book, this is true. Don DeLillo's "Underworld." It's long, it's literary, and I'll look smart when it's done and up on my shelf with authentic cracks along its spine. But it's just one book, and who knows when I'll finish it when I go back to my 30 second pre-pass-out end of day attention span. I did -- thanks to a malicious and self-serving friend of mine -- start cracking the code on those insidiously tricky "cryptic crosswords" that appear under the already hard-enough New York Times Sunday puzzle. I started to learn how to unpack those, and that was similar to starting to learn how to inhale crack cocaine... not nearly enough time to do that new addiction justice. I have started cooking, which is really the most compelling argument to the theory that they swapped me out with an alien being while in the OR. I'm actually cooking, and not just because I'm being protective of my poor sundered little intestines. I'm liking the process of it. I'm liking the control I can have over what I put in my body. I found myself reading the words "onion" and "garlic" the other day over and over, thinking about how beautiful certain foods are (not that I can or want to eat them, yet). I made a halfway passable chicken stock. I eat from different food groups. I love broccoli. I haven't touched caffeine since this happened. But there are signs it's time to go back to work. I'm starting to be one of those people who calls up utility companies to complain. A lot. I've called the trash people twice and am now engaged in a passive aggressive battle over trash can placement. I became good friends with the electrical company repairmen, on the day they had my electricity out for 9 1/2 hours while they swapped out a pole that was ridden with woodpecker holes. I've stopped short from yelling at city hall for turning off the water without forewarning us residents, causing debris to foul my washing machine valve and incurring a $125 repair bill that, you know, I didn't really need. I'm one of those people whom you run into while walking in the mid-afternoon and complain with about the shoddy state of customer service. I'm also starting to fix things. This is dangerous. My girlfriend Cindy came over and I gave her moral support while she swapped out my kitchen and bathroom faucets. We did the obligatory three trips to the hardware store and I felt the rapture of the deep of being in a huge retail establishment with the deadly combo of cabin fever, no money and a credit card. Ohhhhh, the things I could buy. Ceiling fans and drawer pulls and a new workshirt and ohhhh, paint chips... I could paint some new walls.... it was bad bad bad. But we got the faucets working and I'm happy as can be about that. My credit card could not take another week off work however. I'd be down to the studs in the kitchen within days. Let's not even go into the Target run. Slipcovers and sofa throws. And then there was the day I had the kids pull off every single dog hair from on, under, through, and around the sofa, prior to the cleaning people coming over. And yes, I've washed some curtains. Because, hey, when else am I going to find the time. Things I've not done: written any books, written any blogs, done much exercising, walked my dog. At the point when I'm actually about to do some honest creative work, fatigue sets in and I go to sleep. I've become an expert napper, knocking off one, two and even three a day at times. I have also learned -- and more about this in a subsequent post -- the difference between moving through life alert and exhausted, versus moving through life actually well rested. There is such a thing, which kind of surprises me. But it's true. You actually can rest enough, at least for an hour or so. And it's a different propulsion through life than one gets when aided by anxiety and caffeine and the blunt instrument of sheer necessity to get to the other side of the day. But... my great sleeping notwithstanding... I'm still often tired, and I haven't written anything great. I'm trying to let that just be OK. I mean, I have been sick. I'm giving myself a break on that one. I have more that I want to share, but will save it for a subsequent post. I want to put down all the things that I want the "new me" to remember when I get into my "old life." Lessons from the brink, and all that. But first, I think I'll sleep some more. While I still have the chance. # posted by Katherine Doughtie Nolan @ 10:40 PM  
Comments: Hi Kathy, I don't know if you remember me, but we worked on the Walden newsletter together more than a decade ago. I've been on a medical leave of absence for more than a year and am now recovering from a stem cell transplant. My greatest fear is that I'll forget the lessons I've learned. I'll look forward to reading about your revelations. Susan # posted by  Susan C : 3:58 PM
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