Journal of a Living Lady #222
Nancy White Kelly
It is Tuesday. Outside I hear the sound of a banging hammer. No doubt Buddy is working on some new project. The roar of a buzzing saw awakened me just as sunlight began streaming through the bedroom window.
When I reached for his side of the bed, he was gone. It was strange for Buddy to rush out of the house without his usual morning preliminaries. Even though the kids are grown and the house is empty of guests, Buddy is ritualistic about shaving and combing his hair the first thing every day. I glanced at the black battery charger in the bathroom. His razor had not been touched.
A cup of fresh, but now cold coffee awaited me in the kitchen. I zapped it in the microwave before heading to the computer to check my morning email. Whatever has drawn Buddy’s attention must have been on his mind during the night. No doubt his mind was on lumber and not slumber because he was noticeably restless.
Before going outside to see for myself what was going on, I tied my flapping night robe and ran my fingers through my disheveled hair. No need to scare the newspaper carrier. Maybe she wouldn’t notice that I hadn’t shaved either.
Out by the gazebo, which is now the Kelly Chicken Harem Condo, was my Buddy demonstrating his love and concern in the most practical of ways. Beside the very spot I had fallen on Sunday, Buddy was finishing up the construction of a sturdy hand rail.
Recently Buddy screened in our aging gazebo to accommodate the dozen Easter chickens I acquired during my annual spell of spring animal fever. We hoped that maybe this enclosure would protect them. In the past, vicious unseen varmints have preyed on our innocent fledglings. The disappearance of our baby poultry has become a discouraging, but repeated happening year after year. We were determined to try one more time.
I had already fed the biddies on Sunday morning before church, but decided to treat them in the afternoon to some left over dry cereal in the pantry. As I made my way up the gazebo steps, I lost my balance and took a nasty fall. Had the grassy ground not been soft and my body well-cushioned, most likely I would have broken a leg if not a hip.
Upon gaining my composure, I decided to forgo going to the emergency room as I was already scheduled for chemotherapy the next morning. My oncologist could attend to my injuries. Dr. Stead noted that this was my third fall in recent months. Also, my blood counts continue to fall due to the cancer, perhaps explaining my repeated unsteadiness.
After x-rays surprisingly revealed nothing fractured, Dr. Stead sent me over to the hospital for two more pints of blood, my third transfusion in a year. I don’t like taking blood, but I do like living and greatly miss the energy that the necessary red stuff provides. Maybe I am good for a few more miles now.
It was long after dark before Buddy and I got back home. We were both exhausted from the slow mountainous trek. I hobbled into the house on crutches and Buddy gently assisted me to bed and hooked up the oxygen.
Now, only hours later, he was outside trying to prevent another fall, at least not for the lack of supporting rails.
I am not an easy woman to protect, but Buddy tries. Previously he has installed railings in our bathrooms, inside the shower, down the hallway, on the front porch, and along-side our handicap ramp to the back door. I give that man of mine an A+ for trying to love, honor, cherish, and protect this lady he married for better or worse. I hope I never need to reciprocate his unselfish and faithful service. Nobody could match the caregiver God gave to me.
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