Since I hurt myself Monday I’ve struggled to be comfortable in any one position. This means poor-quality sleep: both sides of the bed, a pillow under my arm, no pillows, my recliner. Nothing has worked.
Last night I gave up and retreated to my arm chair, the only place I’ve been able to get comfortable, provided a certain formula of cushions and pillows is employed.
So I plumbed the seat cushion, the back cushion. I found a comforter. The Yankee dug my airplane pillow out of some closet. I wedged in a corner of the seat, put a throw pillow in place to support my arm, the airplane pillow around my neck and the comforter around everything else.
And I slept. I woke up at 8 a.m., after almost seven blissful hours uninterrupted without consciousness or pain. Of course I woke up feeling as if Jack Bauer was torturing my shoulder.
But I also woke up to this:
As far as I know she’d sleep on the arm of the chair most of the night, doing her part to nurse me back to health. She’s a good cat for the most part — despite biting my foot for no reason tonight. The arm I hurt is the the side she normally favors, but she’s stayed away from it all on her own.
Today I’ve resolved to sit perfectly still and do absolutely nothing. For the most part I’ve been successful. And my shoulder and collar bone have been grateful.
Then I compiled two pages of questions for my doctor. He might not like me as a patient when this is over.
So I’ve watched TV and read. I’ve nodded off. I’ve tried to stay awake. It isn’t most riveting Saturday, and unfortunately I don’t have a lot to share here. Let’s just try again tomorrow, shall we?
