My life has changed remarkably since having pneumonia and being diagnosed with interstitial lung disease.
Ever since I was little, summer was my favorite season. We were out of school; I could swim in our small, above-the-ground pool, which felt like an Olympia-sized pool when I was nine.
I really loved summer when I was a teenager. Being out of school and my house was vital. When I was 15 & 16, I worked as a summer camp counselor at a YMCA and as a lifeguard. It was fun with lots of cute boys at the Y.
As I got older, I would go down the with my girlfriends. Every year, I got to stay at someone’s family’s place or chip in for a shorehouse. It was great being away, even though I had to call my mother from a payphone every night to check-in.
I called her early, long before the partying started. My mother would lay a guilt trip on me. While she was talking, I wasn’t listening; instead, I was puffing away on a cigarette, deciding what I would wear that night and where to eat.
For the record, I quit smoking in ’93 when we tried to get pregnant and never picked up another cigarette. I haven’t smoked for 30 years. Nothing makes me want to punch someone more when they find out I have lung disease and ask if I smoke. Mind your own fucking business, Karen!
Those were the days, laying on the beach, getting tan in our tiny bikinis, wearing our high heel Candie’s shoes while walking the boards, eating boardwalk food, flirting with guys, and drinking our asses off. It was so much fun!
Of course, I thought of Edith and Archie singing, “Those were the days,” imitating their voices in my head after I wrote that last paragraph. Also, for the record, I love doing impressions of people.
When Marty and I were dating, I went down the shore with him every Saturday & Sunday morning. He was a DJ at a club three nights a week until 2 a.m., so he looked forward to catching some zzz’s on the beach.
Back then, he had a white Alfa Romeo convertible. We would fly down the Garden State Parkway with the top down and grab a quick breakfast to-go, usually donuts and coffee.
We got to the beach super early to have the beach to ourselves before the droves of assholes showed up. You know, the ones who have the whole damn beach to pick where to sit, and they would plot their stupid asses right in front of us, blocking our view of the ocean.
We would move, and I would mutter strings of curse words the whole time. We would leave before the busiest time of the day to avoid the people and the horrific shore traffic on the way home.
A 20-30 minute drive to the shore could take hours coming home if you didn’t plan it right. Traffic and my mother were the reasons we left NJ and moved to Vermont. True story.
When our kids were small, I was a stay-at-home mom; I would pack lunches, snacks, drinks, extra clothes, blankets & towels, beach toys, my chair, and a bunch of other shit for the day.
We would get to the lake around 10:30 a.m. and not leave until close to 5 p.m. Marty worked a lot to support us, and he spent time at the rescue squad, so there was no rush to go home.
When I returned to work, it was at the kids’ schools as the Food Service, culinary instructor, and lunch lady. I still had the summers off and took the kids to the lake or other places whenever possible.
Then, the kids grew up, and I worked two jobs seven days a week for several years. At one job, I worked outside at a hotdog wagon, so at least I got to be outside. You have to do what you have to do; I was lucky enough to have all those summers with my boys.
We got our pool three years ago this month. I loved laying on my floating lounge in the sun and relaxing. I blocked everything out and would focus on the warmth of the sun and rolling off my lounge chair when I got too hot.
I could take myself back to when I was 11 or 12 when I used to do the same thing; the only thing different was not having to listen to my mother yell at the other kid they adopted, who behaved horribly and lied about everything.
Then, I became ill this past winter, and everything changed. I found out I couldn’t take the summer heat; I sweated all the time. On humid days, I couldn’t breathe. The Canadian wildfires made matters even worse.
Marty and I battled all summer over the temperature in our home; he was constantly cold in the living room where he sat, where the mini split is. I was in other parts of the house, especially the kitchen, which left me miserably hot, sweaty, and cranky.
I went into the pool when it was shady and not too hot. I took the coldest showers I possibly could because warm water made me feel too hot. It is possible to sweat in the shower, people.
I still don’t know why I was so overheated. It wasn’t hot flashes like people immediately would suggest to me. I would say to them that ship pulled out of the port a long time ago. Again, mind your own business, Karen.
The breathing issue was still new to me this summer and scary at times. Not being able to breathe would stop me dead in my tracks, making it hard for me to keep up with people, especially my sister Jen when she was visiting for the fourth of July. I could barely climb the stairs, which made me stressed and sad during her visit.
This was the summer that rained, was cloudy or hot and humid. We had very few nice summer days. The summer was horrible for everyone in our area, but it was a summer of “what the fucks” for me. No one understood how horrible I felt and how depressed I was.
We’ve had a few crisp and clear mornings with no humidity, and it felt heavenly. I can breathe easily and am not winded going up and down the stairs. I have not been tired and sluggish like I have been all summer.
I worked very hard and pushed through the depression and remembered what Hawk, my power animal, told me when a hawk flew over my car when I was driving to dance class.
I went back to looking at everything from a different perspective, to look at the beauty around me and live in the moment.
Once I started living in the moment again and stopped worrying about everything by giving my worries, doubts, and fears away, my happiness and positivity returned. Being happy is a choice, and so is being miserable and negative.
This morning we had our tea and coffee on the front porch with Klausie and Nelly. The sun was warm, I had to take off my long-sleeved shirt over my T-shirt. The sun wasn’t brutal; it was warm and lovely.
When Marty asked me what I thought the temperature was, it was unbelievable; it was 42 degrees outside, but it felt like it was 70. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, which was a brilliant blue.
Marty looked at the time; it was almost 8 a.m. We had to pry ourselves off the porch to start production. I got Klausie and Nelly inside by asking them, Who’s hungry? They are always hungry, but they didn’t have their breakfast yet.
After feeding them, it was time for me to go to work. Afterward, we ate lunch on the deck, under the umbrella with the pups at our feet. It was glorious; it was 73 degrees, perfect for me.
After a summer that made me even more depressed than I have been, I realized that summer isn’t my favorite season anymore, even though I waited all year for it. That was a giant WTF for me.
That is as hard a pill to swallow as being unable to dance fast anymore. Things change on a dime; you have to roll with the punches like I am trying to do or curl up and die.
It’s going to be clear and chilly tonight, in the upper 40s. The sky will be filled with a million stars and planets. Star gazing is fantastic here since we don’t have light pollution.
Getting a good night’s sleep on cool nights like these is better than having our bedroom air conditioner on the meat locker setting, which Marty doesn’t mind since he is hunkered down under the covers.
Well, I guess summer isn’t my season anymore; fall is. It isn’t the end of the world with gorgeous days like today.
Happy Friday! Enjoy your holiday weekend, guys.