1.26.25
Heading out the door the other morning, milker and Heidi’s wash bucket in hand, I made my way slowly towards the barn where the four-wheeler sat waiting for me. Darrell has encouraged me to drive the little truck to the milk house and back instead of plodding along on foot like I do, but the stubborn side of me refuses to give in to my dicky heart. So instead of making things easier for myself, I just take my time, focusing on each step, telling myself “You can do this! Just a bit more and you will be at the petrol pumps. Come on Rose, a few more steps to the shop!” Finally, walking as slow as an old crone with a heavy load on her back, I give in. Setting the milker on the ground I slowly walk the last little bit to the barn and out of puff, drive the 4-wheeler back to pick up the milker and so finish the trip to the milking barn where Heidi patiently waits.
It’s the little things in life one tends to take for granted that pop up when one least expects them to, reminding one how important they are. That is what I have especially noticed this week. So often we breeze through life, thankful for what we have yet at the same time, take so much for granted. I have taken for granted the simple act of being able to carry a 25-pound surge milker pail with ease the short distance from the house to the barn of a morning. Never have I had to struggle as much to accomplish some of the simplest little chores around the farm such as forking hay from the hay trailer into the cows’ feeders. Darrell of course wants to do it all, well other than milking Heidi, for she herself would put the kibosh on that – one person cow that she is! Yet that stubborn side of me refuses to just give in and let him do all the morning chores alone.
Instead, he keeps a close eye on me. Insisting I sit down when I turn white as a ghost, there to grab my arm when he sees me getting wobbly. Some days this past week he has insisted I stay in the house, only allowing me outside to milk Heidi and even then, fretting about me if I seem to have been gone too long.
Coming back to the house yesterday morning after milking, Darrell was right there as he always is, waiting to carry the milker into the warm house for me. On the edge of the woodstove sat a cup of tea on the brew. As I took my coat off and got ready to set about taking care of the milk, I found I had tears in my eyes. All these little things that are part of our morning ritual, always greatly appreciated, now seem to take on an even greater significance to me. Yes, they are little things, but ones I cherish for they are done with love.
Tuesday of this coming week I go back to Bend for an angiogram of my heart. My stress test a fortnight ago did not go quite as well as my previous one back in early 2024 did. This time, as my heart rate went up with the exertion of walking on the treadmill, my blood pressure went steadily down. Trying valiantly to continue on with the final stage of the test became impossible as my blood pressure dropped precipitously to 80/50 and I became awfully lightheaded. The two nurses helped me from the treadmill then gave me medication to increase my heart rate pharmacologically to complete the stress test since I could not do it physically. My heart rate stubbornly refused to increase to my target rate while my blood pressure continued to drop to the point where both nurses were a tad concerned!
Early the following morning, I received a call from the cardiologist’s office scheduling me for an angiogram. Finally, they are taking me seriously! Since completing the stress test, I have been struggling to keep my blood pressure above 90 systolic – the top number – and my pulse likes to hover between 45 and 50 beats per minute. No chest pain or other symptoms that would have me calling on my stellar ambulance crew for help, as I have promised both Darrell and them I would do, just extreme fatigue and frustration on my part. It is now more than ever one sees how much one takes one’s heart and health for granted.
Gone for now is the getting up of a morning and deciding to dispatch the steer in the butcher pen. Set aside is the urge to head out after feeding chores are done to mend fence or build a new one. Even climbing into the engine compartment of Darrell’s old truck to finish cleaning up some odds and ends before we set his new engine in place has been put on hold.
It is those little things accomplished in the past without a second thought, that now seem more and more like a major chore. I have taken my body for granted. Even after major surgery years ago when I had my bout with cancer, I bounced back faster than my oncologist expected I would. Now, to be forced to slow down a tad because of a dicky heart, I am impatient. I want to be fixed, to be made better, to be as I have always been.
Yet as always seems to be the case, this experience has made me look at what is truly important in life, and it is not the big things at all that come to mind. It is the little things. How Darrell, gentleman that he is, still hurries to hold doors open for me to pass through. The cup of tea that is always waiting for me when I get in from milking. Coming home in the middle of the night after an ambulance call, frozen to the bone and instead of moving away, Darrell snuggles me close and warms me. Each morning seeing the excitement of our dogs Bella and Bonnie, greeting me as if I have been gone for a week. Most of all, having my dearest beside me as we sit in our easy chairs, comfy and warm while a fire blazes merrily away in the woodstove. Yes, it is the little things in life we so often take for granted that instead, should be recognized and cherished beyond all else.
