I awake at five minutes after five, walk downstairs and turn up the thermostat. The kettle slowly heats and a few minutes later the coffee is ready.
This is my quiet time when I read digital newspapers and catch up on the Twitter feed as a new day dawns in Baltimore.
This is my alone time, but not today.
Yesterday was Kathy’s eighth chemotherapy session and the steroids they gave her make her feel great. I have just poured my first cup of coffee when I hear her slippers on the staircase.
I pour her a cup and we sit together for a while. It is like it was before and we talk about unimportant things as daylight replaces darkness over the back patio.
At times like these I wish her chemotherapy could last forever. It seems to be working wonders and, at least on Thursday mornings, she looks like she is cured. But it kills the good with the bad and she is steadily losing healthy blood cells. This makes her weaker as each day passes and we are not sure she will be able to complete the last treatment before her surgery.
But for now she is vibrant and healthy and full of hope about getting back to work and back to the way it was before.
We have breakfast and I help her with an injection before leaving for work.
When I return she has changed. The steroids have worn off and she is fatigued from the anemia. She goes to bed early and is asleep before I have finished tucking the blankets around her.
I awake at five minutes after five on Friday, walk downstairs and turn up the thermostat. The kettle slowly heats and a few minutes later the coffee is ready.
This is my quiet time, but I wish it was a Thursday.