Read Online The Dogs Were Rescued (And So Was I) by Teresa J. Rhyne - Free Book Online
Authors: Teresa J. Rhyne
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return to my apartment and make my backup instant Starbucks coffee while checking for emails from Chris. I wanted to crawl back into my little cubbyhole of a bed. But there was no time for that. Terri was explaining the schedule to the group and, I learned, I’d have about twenty minutes, half an hour if I was lucky, to get showered and ready to go out for the day’s tour. There was barely time to eat the banana. I raced back to my apartment.
During the daytime tour of temples, I met the other members of the Delhi Dozen. Most of the group was much younger than me—in their twenties and thirties—which is tragic when you consider this was a group of cancer survivors. And, though naturally the first connection the twelve of us had was as cancer survivors, I quickly found I could not hear the word “cancer.” I couldn’t tolerate a discussion of “stages” or treatment, or, worst of all, fears of recurrence. I was barely holding it together and still feeling very strongly that I should be home with Seamus, yet I was also aware, of course, that I was grieving for a dog, and not everyone—perhaps least of all human cancer patients—would get or respect that.
I’ve never been much of a “group person.” I hate crowds, noise, and anything that confines me to a “majority rules” situation. I much prefer one-on-one engagement and conversations. I thought this trip would be different simply because of a shared, traumatic experience. I could already sense how wrong I was. I wouldn’t be able to talk about cancer now. I shouldn’t have come .
At dinner, my concerns increased when I learned that I had to be up, dressed, and waiting at the office by seven the following morning to be driven to Mother Teresa’s Home for the Destitute and Dying. Immediately, I began to worry that I wouldn’t be ready in time and that even if I were, I wouldn’t be able to handle my assignment. I am not a morning person, and as far as I know, I’m not much of a caretaker either. I’d done plenty of volunteer work, but it was more in the fund-raising, board of directors, big-picture sort of way. Also, I was really wimpy when it came to medical issues. Well, human medical issues.
I hoped sleep and an adjustment to the time-zone change and jet lag would adjust my mental state. Until then, I’d just keep to myself; I’d keep taking deep breaths and holding on as long as I could. But it did not feel like that would be long. I did not need my cell phone alarm to wake me in the morning.
Chapter 7
Namaste
I awoke at four a.m. and was unable to return to sleep. Instead, I got up and tiptoed out of the room, taking my iPad with me. I sipped my coffee alone in the living room. Chris’s email telling me Seamus was doing well and seemed to be improving helped my mood. It wouldn’t be like Chris to make that up or try to fool me, so I relaxed a bit. Then I went to the bathroom and clipped my fingernails down to nothing.
We’d been told lice were a problem at Mother Teresa’s, and in order to avoid getting the lice caught in our fingernails, we should cut them as short as possible. My nails after chemo had more ridges, were weaker, and frequently broke or tore. After changing my diet, that was finally improving, but I still willingly clipped my nails. Never had there been better motivation to give up vanity.
I showered quickly, as we’d been told to do, and I remembered to preserve the water in the large bucket kept in the shower stall in case the water ran out. I was also careful to keep my mouth closed and not swallow any of the water for the same reason we were told to eat only cooked food and fruit we peeled ourselves. Delhi belly is the more aggressive Indian cousin of Montezuma’s revenge.
I couldn’t dry my hair—the noise would have awakened the house (they all didn’t report to their volunteer positions until nine or ten a.m.), and I couldn’t find an outlet near a mirror anyway. I hadn’t counted on the wet weather—my
During the daytime tour of temples, I met the other members of the Delhi Dozen. Most of the group was much younger than me—in their twenties and thirties—which is tragic when you consider this was a group of cancer survivors. And, though naturally the first connection the twelve of us had was as cancer survivors, I quickly found I could not hear the word “cancer.” I couldn’t tolerate a discussion of “stages” or treatment, or, worst of all, fears of recurrence. I was barely holding it together and still feeling very strongly that I should be home with Seamus, yet I was also aware, of course, that I was grieving for a dog, and not everyone—perhaps least of all human cancer patients—would get or respect that.
I’ve never been much of a “group person.” I hate crowds, noise, and anything that confines me to a “majority rules” situation. I much prefer one-on-one engagement and conversations. I thought this trip would be different simply because of a shared, traumatic experience. I could already sense how wrong I was. I wouldn’t be able to talk about cancer now. I shouldn’t have come .
At dinner, my concerns increased when I learned that I had to be up, dressed, and waiting at the office by seven the following morning to be driven to Mother Teresa’s Home for the Destitute and Dying. Immediately, I began to worry that I wouldn’t be ready in time and that even if I were, I wouldn’t be able to handle my assignment. I am not a morning person, and as far as I know, I’m not much of a caretaker either. I’d done plenty of volunteer work, but it was more in the fund-raising, board of directors, big-picture sort of way. Also, I was really wimpy when it came to medical issues. Well, human medical issues.
I hoped sleep and an adjustment to the time-zone change and jet lag would adjust my mental state. Until then, I’d just keep to myself; I’d keep taking deep breaths and holding on as long as I could. But it did not feel like that would be long. I did not need my cell phone alarm to wake me in the morning.
Chapter 7
Namaste
I awoke at four a.m. and was unable to return to sleep. Instead, I got up and tiptoed out of the room, taking my iPad with me. I sipped my coffee alone in the living room. Chris’s email telling me Seamus was doing well and seemed to be improving helped my mood. It wouldn’t be like Chris to make that up or try to fool me, so I relaxed a bit. Then I went to the bathroom and clipped my fingernails down to nothing.
We’d been told lice were a problem at Mother Teresa’s, and in order to avoid getting the lice caught in our fingernails, we should cut them as short as possible. My nails after chemo had more ridges, were weaker, and frequently broke or tore. After changing my diet, that was finally improving, but I still willingly clipped my nails. Never had there been better motivation to give up vanity.
I showered quickly, as we’d been told to do, and I remembered to preserve the water in the large bucket kept in the shower stall in case the water ran out. I was also careful to keep my mouth closed and not swallow any of the water for the same reason we were told to eat only cooked food and fruit we peeled ourselves. Delhi belly is the more aggressive Indian cousin of Montezuma’s revenge.
I couldn’t dry my hair—the noise would have awakened the house (they all didn’t report to their volunteer positions until nine or ten a.m.), and I couldn’t find an outlet near a mirror anyway. I hadn’t counted on the wet weather—my
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