Trust issues

I shuffled Dale off to Maine yesterday. The idea of Covid travel stressed me out, so I elected not to go, but then I had “cancellation remorse.” By the time I was semi-comfortable with the idea of going, it was too late.

Hmmm. Too late. How convenient.

My sister-in-law was incredibly understanding when I apologized for canceling and called myself out for overreacting. She said, “You are not overreacting. You are just taking appropriate precautions. I am immune-compromised, but I have not had my medical blinker on for possible death more than once like you have.”

She’s referring to my diagnosis of ovarian cancer in 1999 and breast cancer in 2015. She gets it. Right? She’s not just saying that to be nice?

It’s not that my immune system hasn’t recovered; it most certainly has. I don’t trust that something won’t get me again. Staring down cancer twice changes you, and I’ve decided to accept I will always be influenced by those experiences. I’m not crazy.

Dale, who was an absolute saint getting me through my illnesses seems to think I’m invincible. Like, what could stop me now? Covid schmovid! He said he was perfectly OK with whatever I decided, but methinks that was a wee bit of bullshit. He wanted me to go, and I wanted to go, but in the end, I made the best decision I could for my particular neurosis.

By coincidence, my key word of the year is trust. I didn’t make a formal announcement as other bloggers do, because I didn’t trust that it mattered or that I would even care about it six months later. Here we are at the mid-point of the year, and I would say I hit the mark with this one.

Let’s just say I have trust issues.

I want to trust others more and not assume I know what they think or what they are going to do … as in Nostradonna predicts. Getting out of the prediction business would be a good start. I cannot read minds! I also want to trust myself more and not always question or ruminate over all my decisions.

And so it has come to pass – I am reasonably happy with the decision I made, and I have a week or so to enjoy being at home by myself. Before he left, Dale said he always enjoys it when I go away, so we’re on the same page in that regard. I’ve actually never been in this house by myself, and so far, it’s kind of nice. Just me and the kitty, who I believe is mourning Dale’s absence and looks at me like I’m spoiled cat food.

But after a week of me piling extra kibble into his bowl, I believe we might be friends.

No big party plans. I played golf yesterday, but it was exceptionally hot, and I wanted to save myself for Wednesday’s league play, so I quit after nine holes. This is progress. The last time Dale went somewhere, we were living in Texas, it was exceptionally hot, and I quit after 27 holes, but only because I was throwing up.

But that’s the old Donna. The new, retired version is much smarter. Prudent, shall we say. I will swim or do my deep water running today, but that’s about it. Trying to stay hydrated.

One fun activity was tidying up the freezer. Dale saves little plastic-wrapped globs of pork and chicken fat for various dishes, and he just tosses them in the freezer willy-nilly. I guess he knows where they are, and I try not to mess with his space, except it’s my space, too. This morning I scooped them all up and put the individual globs in a Ziplock.

Oh, and orphaned sesame seed buns sealed with twist ties in their original bags. I found a home of them in the Land of Zips, and they seem much happier there, hanging out together in a neat little package.

I’m imagining Dale’s return and the eventual discussion about the fat globs not being where they were. How buns last longer in their original bags. Where are the used twist ties? We’re using too much plastic.

But I’m making this up.