I made this quilt top–a spiderweb pattern from scraps–a few years ago during a mini-nervous breakdown while writing my last three novels (THE HUSBAND SCHOOL, etc.). My whining was well-documented here on the blog. Unfortunately.
This sucker measures 77″ x 77″ and it’s going to go on a huge blank wall down in the basement entry, which is also going to be our exercise room. Banjo Man and I have gotten rid of a lot of “stuff” these past few years in order to turn the room from a dark and cluttered storage space into an airy and pretty entry/exercise room complete with a painted floor, rug, heating and television.
I was thrilled when Banjo Man asked if I had a colorful quilt for the wall. Do I have a colorful quilt?
Oh, my, yes I do!! Take your pick!!!
So today I am going to attempt to machine-quilt it. There are a lot of layers of fabrics to stitch through so I’m not sure my sewing machine can handle it, but I’m going to try because I have no idea what to do with it otherwise. It has been pin-basted and ready to go since last winter. So after another cup of coffee I’ll get all my compression gear on and limit myself to an hour at a time–this thing is heavy–so I don’t aggravate the lymphedema. It’s a good project for a dark and rainy day.
My visits with my physical therapist and radiologist on Monday didn’t go as well as I thought they would. I’m losing the battle with internal scarring–from both the surgery and the radiation–and have to add different exercises into my twice-daily routine. I’d been diligent with stretching but it clearly wasn’t enough.
Janet–my cheerful, chatty, opinionated physical therapist–lectured me on expectations, mine and others. She warned that people would look at me and think I was fine because I look healthy, but she pointed to my chest and said, “But there’s a lot going on in there and you can’t live up to other people’s expectations. This is going to take a long time.”
It was a lot to take in. Especially the “long time” part. I want to be all better NOW.
So I was pretty dejected. The radiologist wasn’t all that helpful either. Banjo Man tried to cheer me up with a chicken dinner at Cracker Barrel on the way home, but that didn’t work. He even tried pointing out sweaters in the gift shop that he thought I should buy. I tried on a couple of furry vests so he wouldn’t worry about me, but they looked awful or weren’t the right size and then–thank God–we were on our way home. I needed my couch, I needed a pain pill and I needed a box of tissues.
I am still feeling very sorry for myself, but I’m trying to keep busy. Janet taught me how to start building up my stamina and I am now doing short amounts of brisk walking on the treadmill every day. It feels good.
One step at a time, I guess.