Got a surprising amount done today despite a late start. I couldn't sleep last night - went to be about 1, read until 2, tossed and turned and finally got up at 5 to watch a few videos and share a Twinkie with Hamish. I put on an audio book, turned low (because the murmur of voices will sometimes put me to sleep) and finally drifted off and slept until a little after 9. I did the usual housekeeping (litter box, vacuum, dishes) and worked on my rowing machine. But after lunch I went outside to plant the tomatoes and ended up putting in about 3 hours on the garden. Two major things - clearing masses of bamboo from around the compost pile (so I could get some compost for the tomatoes) and tackling the back of the garden. Bob had made a large insect habitat by piling up pallets and putting lengths of bamboo in between them. But they were all collapsing and I got them pulled apart and dragged to the fire pit. That was probably at least 100 pounds of wood dragged off.
And thinking about Gainesville. And how, at times, I was self-centered. As well as taking care of Bob, I realized that I had to take care of myself - and I did, even if I felt selfish at times. He was confined to his room, but I went out at least a couple of times a day, just to get away. There was a holding pond just outside of our building, nicely landscaped, with a lot of turtles and a little blue heron. I would toss food to the turtles, take a walk, maybe call a friend to talk. I found a place a few buildings over where people had set up nest boxes and food dishes for the feral cats, and I would take kitty treats over there. I sometimes felt bad, because Bob was trapped in his room, but I needed to do it for my sanity's sake.
I also had the hotel room. We had lived there for the two weeks Bob was out of the hospital, and he insisted that I keep it. He wanted me to live there and just come visit him - like that was going to happen. And it seemed like an extravagance. But it did become my escape. When he was in intensive care, or taken off for dialysis, I would head over there - to get some sleep, maybe swim (until the pool was closed down after Covid started). Take a long shower, often just sitting down on the shower floor and letting the water run over me. Get a break from living in the goldfish bowl.
And cook. I've never been a "foodie" or a gourmet, but somehow being able to prepare food gives me a feeling of some sort of control. I had some broccoli, onions, a few other vegetables. Eggs. I had wanted that particular hotel because it had a tiny kitchenette. I bought small bottles of chili oil, soy sauce, sesame oil, and a bottle of sherry. When he was taken to dialysis - I would head to the hotel and fix myself some "real" food.
Otherwise, I tried to eat as healthily as I could from the hospital cafeteria - a challenge. Mostly I lived on a pretty good premade salad (with chicken and cranberries). I had a decent supply of microwave soups in the hospital room (tomato soup was one of the few things that Bob could keep down). At the end of the hall on the ward was a small snack area with a microwave and a boiling water tap, so I could make us tea and soup and Bob's protein drink. I remember feeling so frustrated after Covid hit and they closed that area off to staff only. The staff were very nice, but I now had to ask them to nuke our soups or get my water for tea. It was galling; a simple thing, but it took away my tiny bit of independence, emphasizing my total feeling of helplessness.
Not sure where I'm going with this. Maybe just assuaging my guilt, although there is no cause for guilt. Bob was trapped in his situation 24/7, where I was free to come and go. He couldn't keep much food down; I made sure that I ate. He couldn't even get out of bed, and I would go take long walks. I need to accept that I *had* to do this, take care of myself physically and mentally. Because if I broke, who would take care of Bob?
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