The Phone Rings Louder Than My Ears

Today started out so well. No cane. No dizziness. Easy breath. I hoped that the Prednisone really was working, and between the new treatment and my mom's arrival yesterday, I had turned a corner. Although every day is a new one, and I generally approach it with hope, this one started especially brightly.

Mom and I took my younger daughter to her bus stop and returned home by 7:15am. Excited that I might be able to surprise her by making a meal, I asked Mom how she liked her eggs. Then the dizziness and fatigue floated into my kitchen and settled into my body. The theme for the day had been set.

As the day progressed, my body demanded more and more of my attention, until finally, by the time my husband got home, I was not willing to have extended conversations. Breathing through pain and nausea was my top priority. Not the way I wanted to spend my day.

Then my phone rang. I stared at the caller ID and tried to make sense of it. I finally determined that it wasn't a bill collector and said a tentative hello. It really was a favorite cousin that lives two time zones away, and I managed to catch up with him for just over half an hour. And then I learned some things.

• I learned that it only takes a little breath to keep a conversation going, and I have enough.

• I learned that time and distance does not always diminish love, and I was blessed to remember that tonight.

Sometimes, as my symptoms multiply, my ears begin to ring at such a volume it is difficult to hear anything else. But tonight, there are some sounds that are louder: the Scrabble game going on in my kitchen, the quiet cursing of my visiting oldest daughter as she learns to crochet, and the voice of a beloved cousin, following up on the family grapevine. Thanks, Jerry.