Christmas Eve found me in the aisles of Giant Eagle, picking up necessities for the big holiday. The store's speakers were spewing festive holiday carols and such, and I was busy shopping, not paying much attention.
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Then, Andy Williams broke my concentration.
"It's the most wonderful time of the year," he crooned joyously.
That's when I lost it. Just a little. There I was, pushing my cart, tears threatening to storm the beaches of my cheeks. But no, it didn't come to that. I sucked it up and finished my shopping.
Christmas Eve turned out to be a wonderful day. We had a visit from Santa and Mrs. Claus, who brought a goody bag with treats and handmade artwork from St. Angela's school. Mark was on hand for much of the day. And our son brought our granddaughter to see us, which was the best gift of all.
When everyone had gone, I cued up A Child's Christmas in Wales, a production that played on PBS in the 1980s and which Mr. and I have watched every year on Christmas Eve. This year, we viewed it on an old laptop. It was a joy from the opening strains of Deck the Halls to the last chord of the Welsh classic, All Through the Night (my very favorite).
Christmas Day found just the two of us celebrating quietly. One of the ongoing battles is food. Clearly, a hotplate in the room would be frowned upon, but a cold meal would work. So, per his request, I prepared Mr. Ginley's favorite tuna pasta salad, complete with olives, red pepper, and twirly noodles.
Trolling the channels, we found a Twilight Zone marathon on SyFy. Another holiday tradition. The cool thing was, they weren't the usual episodes that we can recite by heart. So, we spent most of the day saying, "I don't remember how this one ends."
I also helped Mr. do some exercises, and he moved his leg back AND forth, which was new news and a nice Christmas gift, to boot.
We worked on another page from the stroke survivor workbook, and he did well on that. But I'm also happy that a speech therapist is going to be working with him, too. ("Speech therapist" is something of a misnomer in this case, since she'll be working on things like short term memory and exercises to help his eyes and brain communicate better.)
By the end of day, I was feeling worn out. I gathered my stuff and headed home.
The next morning, I awoke with a severe sore throat. I groaned. What if it was strep?
So, I called my insurance company, found out which urgent care center was covered by my plan, and at 8 am was the first in line to be seen by the doctor.
He did a test for strep (negative). Then he eliminated Covid and the flu as possibilities. (I've been vaxxed for both, but that doesn't mean I couldn't still get a mild case.) Fortunately, all the bacterial infections were eliminated. However, he did offer to prescribe an antibiotic to be a on the safe side.
I jumped at the idea. It was a safety measure, given the cornucopia of germs one is exposed to at a skilled care facility (formerly known as "nursing home"). All I had to do was go to the Giant Eagle pharmacy to pick it up.
Knowing the pharmacy didn't open until 9 am, I went to Starbucks (sorry, Natalie) and got a peppermint mocha. I sat in the booth, played the NYT games on my phone, and passed the time.
An hour and 45 minutes later, my prescription was ready. I made it home and confirmed with Mr. Ginley that I wasn't going to be visiting him. He was sad but advised that I watch Hallmark movies and camp on the couch with hot tea and chicken noodle soup. I took Dr. Ginley's advice.
This morning I'm feeling better and thinking I'll go see Mr. later today. I'm still tired, but there's not a lot of physical activity required in my visit, so I think it'll be fine.
Admittedly, I'll be glad to see this Christmas in the rear view mirror. But I remind myself that we still got to spend it together, and that in itself is a blessing for sure.
Image Attribution: John Tenniel (1820–1914), Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
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