October 2, 2007

• Sundown, Sunup, etc.

  The dog took Doug for a walk yesterday as the sun was going down.  Doug took my camera.  Below are a couple of my favorites from among the images he captured then.

  

  

  This morning at dawn, Doug looked out a window and noticed that we were socked in by heavy fog.  He grabbed the camera and went out the door, pausing to stick his head back in and warn me to watch my step when I went to the outhouse.  It was ice fog.  When he came back, he stood by the woodstove to warm himself, saying that he had stayed out there longer than he had intended, to catch the rising sun.

  

  Part of his intent is to keep my photoblog updated while I’m convalescing with pneumonia, and he has done an admirable job of recording the seasonal changes.  He has also brought in images that I never would have.  His walking range is greater than mine, and he sees things that might escape my notice.

  

  This bluff is near the edge of the Susitna River, about a mile from here.  It is a place we used to go together when he was a small boy and I was healthier.  I haven’t walked that far this century.

  

  Healthwise, I guess I’m marginal now.  My condition is subject to ups and downs.  Some I can trace to my blood sugar levels, fatigue, atmospheric humidity, etc., and others come from causes I don’t perceive.  I know I am improving because I’m developing the cranky patient syndrome, no longer too ill to complain.  My chief complaint at present is the occasional anoxia, and the continuing need to focus attention on my breathing in order to avoid fading consciousness and other mental manifestations such as dizziness, memory lapses, and aphasia.

  This morning, when I was bitching about having to think about breathing, Doug said that when he thinks about breathing it messes up the rhythm and he tends to “do it backwards,” contracting his abdomen to exhale and using rib muscles to inhale.  I responded that I tend to fall into that breathing pattern at times, too.  I explained that I had trained myself to intercostal breathing as a teenager when I noticed that diaphragmatic breathing caused my belly to protrude.

  He looked askance at me, as if he couldn’t quite believe that his brilliant mother was ever so shallow and foolish.  He said, “At least you never wore a corset.”  Piling another disillusionment on top of the first, I said, “No, I wore jeans so tight I had to lie down on my back to zip them up.  It’s hard to breathe correctly in pants that tight.”

  Right now, I am practicing diaphragmatic breathing, and I’m not bitching about it.  Lovely oxygen… how sweet it is!

  

  • 8:38 pm
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