Grace-period

I remember watching this show, with an interested skepticism, as a kid. I still am quite skeptical about people that go around "praise the Lord" about every good thing. Not that God isn't amazing and deserves props. But I wonder whether those people would praise God when life hits the fan, too. More to my point is whether I  have. This has been my meditation today. I didn't sleep well because every time I turned, I hit a new bruise that I wasn't aware I had. I have had to slow down, not getting as much done, because I have been getting out of breath too easily. And tomorrow morning I have the pleasure (NOT) of visiting the Silver Mosquito.  Perhaps I am just being my rebellious self, but I don't want to praise God because I am ok. I want to give Him props for giving me more evidence that, despite being vulnerable physically, emotionally, & spiritually with this illness, I can trust Him with myself. I am more conscious of the gifts of each breath and each r...

Today I was eating a taco salad when my husband pointed out that I ate a leaf of spinach.  I froze, not because of that one leaf, but I had forgotten to look up how much vitamin K was in the chili's kidney beans at the bottom. My breathing has been a bit more winded lately.  I was talking to a co-worker who asked me if I was ok since I had begun to wheeze.  She was having her own uh-oh moment for me. I woke up the other day with leg cramps.  Since I don't know when these clots moved from my legs to my lungs, these cramps caused me to jar from waking casually to waking up like the fire alarm had gone off.  "What if this is a clot????" Because I am fairly sure that, despite my fear to the contrary, they really were just muscle spams, I didn't say anything.  Later that day I had scratched my leg on something and suddenly felt blood dripping down my leg.  Figured my blood wasn't going to make blood clots if it bled that well. But this seems to be w...

I skipped church today because I knew it was going to be about suffering.  I didn't want to hear it.  Suffering is never a favorite topic for any comfortable adult with a bit of security in their life.  For those of us for whom that veil has been removed, it is even less favored. When I saw my doctor Friday, he asked how I was feeling.  I told him that I was still a little short of breath if I tried to do too much but that I was most troubled by my forgetfulness and irrational crying episodes.  He stopped typing and looked at me.  "I have not been through anything like that, but I don't know how I would respond to a brush with death." It doesn't feel good to hear it put like that.  I had spent the week breaking down the tests and the results and the treatments in very manageable bite sized portions for those around me.  When I look at the whole, I get queasy. And that is why I played hooky today.  I am not sure if there is purpose in...

Please don't feel you need to read this gobbly gook.  I am kinda lost today so this will be all crap. I don't sleep well.  Not because the bed is uncomfortable anymore, but because I am praying in gratitude for my husband and the ability to reach out and touch his arm and hear him snore. I look around at all the stuff that was so vital to my life.  And I wonder.  What is the point of it?  I want to sell it and get the hitch on the pop up fixed and pack up the pups and go.  Let's drive anywhere.  Everywhere.  All those places that we want to see but we put off because we don't have the money or the time. I listen to people's annoyances, read the crap on Facebook and I want to tell everyone to shut up and get a life.  Share a recipe.  Make it for someone you love.  Go spend some time with them.  But get out of my face.  I just don't care. I am not conscious of the thought that my struggle is worse than yours....

Being in the hospital left me incredibly blessed as I was held in love by my friends and family.  I laughed and tried to be as witty as possible.  Mostly because I like to be witty, but also because then you wouldn't say that haunting sentence that I was already dodging. I am lucky to be alive.  Right?  That's what you wanted to tell me, isn't it?  That's the whisper I heard at night when tears slipped onto my pillow.  That's the shadow that I am boxing today. Yes, the doctors confirmed that those blood clots could have done much worse, if I had been older, if my heart wasn't as healthy.  And now I get to take shots in my bruised and tender belly until the pills make my blood "thin" enough.  I still get short of breath walking up steps, challenging myself.  I have to be more careful of what I do to and put in my body.  Every time a pup jumps on me or I hit my arm, I startle about bruising.  I think hard befor...

Still sitting in my hospital room, my head hurts, but my heart is strong.  Sure, my echocardiogram says my heart wall muscle and valves look good, but I mean that part of the person that breaks at loss and swells in good times.  My heart is strong...not because of me, but because it has been strengthened by the community around me. Call me morbid, but there are moments that I think about my funeral and wonder who would show.  Have I made an impact on my world?  Have I made any difference because I am here?  It isn't so easy to recruit mourners.  It isn't like the wedding world where if I invite you, you then invite me.  That is a little difficult to do from the casket. I have had lots of time to think and pray and consider my place in my community during the 5 days that I have been lounging in the hospital.  And I know, without a doubt, that God is with me because I have been blessed to know that YOU are with me. The point...

I like to be busy. Would I call it an addiction?  No.  Addiction implies continuing in a behavior despite the negative consequences one incurs.  I simply like to have purpose. But there are moments when life comes to a screeching halt.  In one phone conversation with my doctor on Friday, all plans and thoughts dissipated into the foggy cloud of unknown.  Well, that is once I actually believed that he wasn't going to say "psych!"  Extensive. Blood clots.  Both lungs.  Hospital.  Now.  Have someone take you.  Now. At first, I easily surrendered.  I trusted God to calmly take control.  Frankly, I was both dazed and grateful.  Moments of "how did I end up on this side of the bed" were sprinkled with "I could have died."  Reassuring others, particularly family, gave me focus.  Making alliances through comedy with the medical teams provided me with creative outlets. And then...well, I...