17 Nov 22

wake up2pm -- “Another day...”, I say to with a sigh to no one in particular.

Waking up and getting up today was difficult. It’s not simply a matter of sitting up and standing up. As I lay on my left side, I am aware of Sandy cuddled up tight to the inside of my bent knees. My CPAP is ever-so-slightly hissing with the turning of my head this way or that. The cells in my arms and legs seem to cry out a dysphoric harmony, as I will myself in motion.

Twisting carefully, I liberate myself from the cat behind and the pillow between my legs. With a practiced flourish, I toss the edge of my covers, just so, to free myself and avoid my feline companions.

Swinging my feet around to the floor, I reach up with both hands and slip my fingers and thumbs up by my ears to free myself from my respirator’s bindings. This is a relatively new nasal-pillow style mask and I am still adjusting to the grip it takes about my face and head.

The mask hisses at me and my CPAP rumbles to a light crescendo. With a practiced hand, my left hand reaches toward the rumbling and my fingers slither through the cage and covers that protect the CPAP’s power switch. A cage and cover has become necessary after Max discovered he could easily (if not pleasantly) get my immediate attention by casually walking across the on/off switch that controlled my nighttime air supply. An airway facilitator quickly becomes an airway obstruction when the power is toggled; it is a certain kind of sleep disturbance.

Sitting there, the fingernails of both my hands track across and around my scalp. Imaginary rays seem to reach in and caress my brain as my eyes look about the room.

With one fully outstretched paw, her fingers fully spread, “Mmrrrr.” is all Sandy can lazily muster. I’ve succeeded in my attempt to avoid disturbing her. She needs only to roll her shoulder to and twist into the bed to return to her slumber.

Standing, I reach for my house-day-shirt. Left there from the night before, today my day-shirt is a blue-nylon sport shirt. It is soft. My fingers feel for something familiar, either the neck opening or the shirt tail. Over the years, I have become aware that most pull-over shirts can be orientated by feel. At the neck, there is often a slightly thicker band about the back and from the tail, there is a manufacturer’s tag that is typically sewn into the left lower-side seam.

My vision is still quite unclear; however, my fingers find and assist pulling on my shirt rightly as I short-step my way from the bed to the bathroom mirror.

Looking into the mirror, my familiar visage is seen by each eye differently. I cover each eye in turn and discover my right vision is very blurred while my left is clear. A semi-cogent part of my brain chuckles at the obvious political allusion. I wear a tube shaped fabric (neck gaiter?) at night that serves to cover my head, eyes, and ears. The headwrap blocks light and helps keeps my earbuds and nasal pillow mask in place. Typically, it doesn’t put any pressure on my eyes (which I find uncomfortable). Blinking and trying to clear the fog from my right eye, I suspect my gaiter may have fit a bit snug this past night. <shrug> I don’t know... I grab my eye drops and easily refresh my right-eye vision. If only the entire right could be so easily corrected.


Pragmatic Journey is Richard (rich) Wermske's life of recovery; a spiritual journey inspired by Buddhism, a career in technology and management with linux, digital security, bpm, and paralegal stuff; augmented with gaming, literature, philosophy, art and music; and compassionate kinship with all things living -- especially cats; and people with whom I share no common language.