My Best Friend, the Kitchen Timer

by Linda Rodriguez

I have a new best friend. Well, not really new. We've been very close before, and then as the press of daily life and work took over, we started to see less and less of each other. You know the way these things happen—not because of anything either of us did but the world got between us. I'm sure you have friends like that. It's not that you aren't still friends, but just that you don't have the chance to see each other that much anymore. Then, one of you goes through some kind of crisis, and suddenly the other is there with support and whatever help you need, and you're reminded of how much this neglected friendship means to you and swear you'll never let the world and work get in the way of it again.

When I had to leave my fulfilling career in higher education for medical reasons, it was devastating. At first, the doctors couldn't figure out what was physically debilitating me, so couldn't really give me much help. Eventually, they diagnosed me with lupus and fibromyalgia and prescribed steroids and DMARDS (disease-modifying drugs) to protect my organs from further damage and help begin to control the overwhelming fatigue, joint and muscle pain, and muscle weakness. (Fun lupus fact of the day: As with most autoimmune diseases, lupus has no medicines developed specifically for it, but uses organ-transplant-rejection drugs, cancer chemotherapy drugs, and other similar powerful and expensive remedies.)

Determined to become active again and work at the writing career I'd originally aimed at before being derailed by family needs into higher education administration, I began to use a kitchen timer to help me return from the helpless mists of illness. I would set it for fifteen minutes and walk around the house, then go lie down to recover, set it for another fifteen minutes and sit down to try to write, then go lie down to recover, set it again and do a simple household chore that didn't involve a lot of exertion, then go lie down, on and on ad infinitum throughout the day. My rheumatologist was impressed with the recovery I made with this simple routine and told me he wished he could get his other patients to do the same. Over months and months of this, I slowly built up a reasonably normal life again. I was actually able to function and to build a new career.

As I grew stronger and busier, I used my trusty kitchen timer less and less. It was nothing my friend had done, of course. Life just caused us to drift apart. Until another disaster stuck—breast cancer. After three surgeries in two months, culminating in a radical mastectomy, I found myself weak, fatigued, in pain, and brain-fogged from all the medications and treatments. Suddenly, my dear friend showed her loyalty and support again and helped me rebuild my strength and life.

We had been once again drifting apart when my last chemotherapy treatment suddenly included a new additional infusion, and the combination tipped me over into a massive lupus flare, even once the terrible chemo side effects settled down somewhat. Only this time, I couldn't take the medications that help suppress the flare because of interactions with the chemotherapy and other cancer meds which are still circulating in my body. Once again, I've been knocked flat, and my loyal, too-often-taken-for-granted friend, the kitchen timer, has come to my rescue.

We were in the middle of downsizing a big, old house in which my family and I have lived for 42 years. I've put off the realtor's walkthrough for another month. I'm also in the midst of writing another book, which has a publishing deadline. I can't really put that off. So I rise in the morning, eat breakfast, take what meds I can and wait for them to go to work. Then I set a timer and wash a few dishes (no dishwasher in this old house). I can't stand in one place for long without pain and weakness in leg muscles, but the warm water helps me get my hands to function. When the timer goes off, I go sit down to try to write a few words, setting the timer because sitting for very long causes problems with my knees and hips and writing on the computer or by hand for very long causes cramps and pain in my hands, arms, and shoulders. When the timer goes off, I move to the heavily-cushioned recliner to elevate my legs and rest my arms, setting the timer again. When it goes off next time, I pack items for giveaway in boxes or fill trash bags and recycling bins from cupboards, closets, two attics, full basement, and garage. (Truth be told, I haven't made it to the garage yet and probably won't for a while because there's so much to deal with in the house itself.)

Once again, my dear pal has turned up when I needed her most, proving to be a most loyal and devoted friend. With her invaluable help, I feel sure I will do what I must and still recover my strength. I've come to realize that the problem with our relationship lies with me. I forget that I need to pace myself. I forget that I need the help of my friend, the timer. I get busy and self-involved and forget that I need this friendship. I have vowed that I'll not make that mistake again.

Do you have friendships that have drifted apart for similar reasons? Is there a friend in your life that you seldom see right now, but you know you could count on that friend totally in a time of crisis?