I always buy blocks of cheese and grate it to have fresh shredded cheese when I need it. It just seems to melt better and has a nicer texture. For the last almost 5 weeks I haven’t been able to do that. I just simply didn’t have the strength.
For the Sailor’s birthday, (2 weeks after my surgery) I wanted to make him his favorite homemade macaroni and cheese. I have a food processor with a grating blade that I pulled out to shred a block of cheese but, I couldn’t find one small integral piece. I searched every drawer, cupboard and shelf in the kitchen multiple times with no reward. At some point in the hubbub, the Sailor came in the kitchen to see what the racket was about only to find me crying at the counter staring at the block of cheese. He searched for the part as well promising to find it but, he didn’t have luck on his side either. So I sobbed and blubbered into his shoulder as he hugged me about how I couldn’t grate the fucking block of cheese because I didn’t have the arm strength yet. I couldn’t even make a simple dinner. I felt worthless in that moment. Always wanting to fix my problems, he grabbed the hand grater and offered to “be the muscle” and shred the cheese. The man who’s cooking repertoire consists literally only of a bowl of cereal, instant oatmeal packets and ramen in the as seen on TV microwave ramen cooker, offered to grate cheese for me on his birthday for his birthday dinner. I just had to tell him which side go the grater to use and how to hold the block of cheddar so that he didn’t grate his knuckles or fingers in the process.
I thought of that evening today as I stared at the block of Monterey Jack cheese that I wanted to put a portion of on my baked potato for dinner. I could hack away at it with a knife slicing off slices and cutting them into as small of pieces as I could. Or I could pull out the grater and shred it the way I really wanted so that it would melt nice and gooey and even. So out the grater came. I grated not just enough for my dinner but the rest of the block just because I could. A small victory in my recuperation.
I started off the week with 2 easy shifts at work. I was worried that my chest would start to ache or that I wouldn’t be strong enough to carry the thick heavy diner plates. Turns out, I was fine. Other than my feet hurting like a mofo, I was fine. So I picked up 3 more shifts to help me drudge myself a little out of the financial hole I have felt to perpetually be in and occupy my time while the Sailor is out at sea.
Today was my third of five shifts. My big toenails were sore. If you are not aware, my fantastic last chemo rounds turned parts of my large toe nails black and I have been just waiting for them to fall off. The one has slowly been lifting away over the weeks. It’s gross. I hate it, I hate them.
After dinner and a hot shower, I sat down to try and file them down as low as possible in the hopes that they wouldn’t continue to be irritated by being in actual socks and shoes for 6 hours at work. So I worked on the lesser of the 2 evil zombie toes trimming and filing until as much of the front lifted part was gone. Just a few millimeters really.
I set out to approach the next one to just make it match. It was gross, appearing to be attached only down near the cuticle. I can only image my scrunched, squinty, pinched looking facial expressions as i trimmed and filed and scrapped black old blood out from under the floating putrid nail. I couldn’t stop. This fucking nasty ass black nailed zombie toe had been irritating me and mocking me since December when it first showed signs of turning. Fuck this toe. I hacked and filed and scraped until I felt a ping of recognition of attachment on one side. I stared down at the lopsided nub that was once my toenail. The cuticle bed that the nail had previously been attached to but, for the last 3 to 4 months had just been floating above was soft and pink and a little wrinkly from the shower I had taken earlier. It reminded me of the infant rats we used to have to feed the python in my high school biology class. It felt almost good. The other side was still sore, but resembled a normal nail covered toe. This one looked broken, sad and a little weird but, it felt better.
I knew the last nub that was still hanging on would inevitably get caught on a blanket or sheet or my sweat pants so, I cleaned it one last time and slapped a bandaid on that bitch. I’m sitting here now wiggling that stupid rat baby toe while I smile because, it feels so much better now that I cut my toenail off. At this point, fuck wearing sandals this summer. I’m just happy my damn toe isn’t throbbing anymore.