Quality of Light and Quality of Life

Snow is falling this morning, in big fluffy flakes that remind me of my childhood in Ontario. Unlike most of the snow that we see here in the greater Edmonton area, the snow this morning has a feel like the softness of falling goose down. And being this far north, with the snow, the quality of light is fascinating… but it is exactly that quality of light, and the colour and texture of the sky which makes it so difficult to get a good photograph of the falling snow…

The quality of light in the kitchen this morning was not so fascinating. It was more on the annoying side as one of the florescent tubes began to flicker. With no one else around, and my generally impatient nature starting to surface again, I took the bulb out and reset it, successfully. But it took forever. The task is not that difficult, really. My shoulder complicates things. The damage to the spinal accessory nerve has not completely repaired itself, so there was a great deal of discomfort associated with the tube work.

I tried a few overhand swings, and windmilling motions with my right arm. I’m almost convinced that the motion is deteriorating, rather than getting better. Something is going wrong…

I have always enjoyed my height. I have always enjoyed not needing a ladder for some things, for being asked to get things from the top shelf at home, for being asked by strangers (or just doing it) to help get something off a store shelf. Not being able to is disquieting.

And the real question is how will this affect my sailing if I can’t get the range of motion back?
The same sort of qualify of life (have you noticed that on the medical sites they abbreviate it to QOL?) issues concern me when I think about my mouth, my tongue, and my speech. I had to make a phone call this morning and recite numbers to the person on the other end. I actually got nervous about clarity. My speech still sounds, at least on occasion to me, murky, muddied. When I look at my tongue I can see a marked difference in the left side and the right side. It lists to one side producing a lisp. Maybe only I am aware, being sensitized to what’s going on in my head and mouth.
I am generally very comfortable with my progress. But at rare times like this morning, I am reminded that I am not there yet.
Interestingly enough, I have stopped obsessing over the carcinoma, and have shifted most of my attention to the effects of the surgery.

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