So here’s the latest on my recovery. I’ll always be honest and open but not too detailed or gory.

First, I am much better than I was last week at this time. But I am not yet well. I have continuing digestive issues, recurring fatigue, and some pain and swelling from the site of a tiny blood clot.

Amy, my nurse practitioner,  isn’t worried too much about any of it, but she wants to ensure nothing is occurring around the clot that isn’t obvious or typical. Just a precaution, I go back to the ultrasound center in Malta, N.Y., tomorrow before my appointment with Podiatric Surgeon Dr. Daly in the afternoon.

Looks like a medical day Tuesday.

I feel very badly about all the driving me around that Maria has to do; I can’t go much yet. I’ve been scolded for not resting more than I have been since rest is the best cure for this. It might be the only one.

My appetite is good, I’m drinking lots of liquids, and my digestive tract is still feverish, unstable, and unpredictable. The only medicine I’m taking is low-dose Tylenol. It works, at least for me.

The pain in my side continues but is less sharp and frequent. Sometimes it feels like a knife plunged into my side.

Sometimes I get discouraged, but I see this as something I must move through and live with. I won’t complain about it or feel sorry for myself. Most of the world has it much worse than I do.

One day, it will be over, or at least containable. I don’t think it will be too long, and I have a wonderful partner, my farm, my work, and my books—another chapter on the road of life.

We are destined to live, to suffer, to know joy. That is what it means to be a human being.

I’m taking the Tylenol twice a day; I am pleased that nobody offers addictive pain killers to people who are not critically ill anymore. I don’t need that trouble.

I’m starting to think I caught this at the Mansion a couple of weeks ago; just a feeling. Lots of sickness in there.

I can’t stand up quickly, remain on my feet for long, or reach down for things. The bruising seems to be worse between my left hip and my ribs, where I hit a wooden stair when I fell. That will take a while to heal up.

My worst symptoms are boredom and restlessness; I can’t do anything I want. But I can do a lot.

Maria and I found a great Thai restaurant in Saratoga Springs this morning after my pulmonary visit. We got some takeout and brought it home- Rama Garden vegetables with shrimp and peanut sauce for me, along with edamame beans.

My meeting with pulmonologist Dr. Jogani was a little more complicated, but the things we discussed were important.

My sleep apnea was diagnosed as extreme; my heart stopped 80 times an hour while I slept. Now, using a sleep apnea mask, it’s down to less than one event an hour, which is is, said Dr. Jogani, “fantastic.’

But the problem is that the air setting he prescribed is so strong that it’s lifting the masks off my face, waking me up, and making many strange noises. It’s not good to trade one problem for another.

We talked it over and went back and forth – he doesn’t want to mess with something that is working – but he finally agreed to lower the airflow by two points, from 15 to 13. That might do it. We’ll know in a week or so.

Dr. Jogani is different from the other doctors; this is all about data.

The sleep apnea technology monitors my sleep and transmits it to the doctor, the maker of the masks, and the insurance company. A lot of people are following my sleep patterns.

Dr. Jogani checks my heartbeat but has never examined or talked to me about anything but apnea. Our relationship is businesslike and to the point; I don’t have the personal relationship with him that I have with my other doctors.

I know that this sense of the patient is the primary nurse or doctor’s task. And I know women do it a lot better than men.

This work is all about data – machines that measure how long I sleep, how well, and every aspect of my breathing. It is, by nature, impersonal, even though nothing is more personal than how one sleeps at night.

Dr. Jogani had four or five printouts that were the story of my breathing at night, which was fascinating to see. He’s done very well by me.

It will always feel strange for me to put a mask on when I sleep, but Maria is used to it, and on the nights when it works, it works. I relish the challenge of figuring this out; it’s a kind of medical chess.

Getting healthy is a challenge; there is much I can control and much I can’t. I feel strong and confident, I know this round will pass, and I will feel better tomorrow knowing that the clot is, in fact, not a threat and will disappear of its own accord. I can feel some discomfort from that spot.

Attitude is important. I don’t speak poorly of my life.

Once again, I am grateful to have doctors and nurses who are available to me, know me, and give me sound advice and support. I never feel alone. I am lucky as well to have Maria, who has taken such good care of me, cheerfully (mostly) and compassionately.

So the deck is clear for me.

Tomorrow I get my foot checked by Dr. Daly and then get my clot checked. Then I can get home, rest, blog, and perhaps take some pictures. I will write and take pictures every day, no matter what.

In between, I will rest. Both of us nurture and protect our creativity.

I see my Amish friends selling fresh strawberries down the road; we’ll get some tomorrow. Moise and I wave to each other every day. It feels good.

A writer who lives upstate among Amish families has been writing me about my friendship with Moise, and he said something that stuck in my mind: “here’s the thing about the Amish,” he said, “always friendly but never friends.”