Cabin fever is starting to set in. I've left my house exactly once since the surgery last Wednesday. I really ought to find reasons to get out more. Tomorrow is Rotary, and it might be worth going, at least for lunch, if not for the program. I doubt I'll have the ability to sit quietly in a stackable chair for more than half an hour. I need to get out, though. Doesn't it seem like that at some point staying cooped up too long switches from being good for recovery to being a drag on it?
Going out today was problematic. The anticipated spring storm actually arrived, albeit a couple of hours late. At noon it was barely snowing. I went out to bring the dogs in, and made extended eye contact with a scarlet finch who wasn't about to let a pajama-ed human scare him away from the tower of bird seed he'd found. It wasn't really all that cold, and the snow was underwhelming. By four o'clock, it was snowing like crazy. The roads stayed completely clear, but all of our freshly-leafed trees and shrubs were thickly coated in heavy, wet snow. It should wash away tomorrow, but it kept me from venturing out for now.
I'm feeling particularly humbled through this whole experience of cancer. I've had a lot of people reach out with good words, and for the last two days, I've had friends come through with meals. I have provided them before to people I knew going through illnesses or welcoming new babies, but I don't think I've ever been on the receiving end like this before. I have to say it's an incredible thing, having someone take the time to cook from scratch for you, and deliver it to your home, when you need to rest and recover. I know I haven't done it as often as I had the opportunity, but being on the receiving end has given me a fresh appreciation for what a gesture of love and support it is. I'll be doubly committed to paying forward the favor when my chance comes around again.
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