20 Halloweens Later

Every morning for the past week, my mom has delivered coffee to my bed, which is actually my dad's side of their bed. While I feel a bit overly cared for, the less I move around, the less I hurt.

So on this 20th anniversary of the day I was told my husband was officially dying and I should sign up for hospice - aka Halloween - I'm watching NCIS reruns and recovering from my 8th orthopedic surgery.

Hmmm...

I've played more solitaire this week than I like. In fact, I haven't opened my Bible even though it's here, in my computer bag, next to the bed. It took me a few days to remember where it was and by then drugs hampered my normal state of mind.

However, I eventually gave up narcotics after suffering through a night of with flailing limbs due to drug-induced muscle spasms. Since hydrocodone makes me itch and slows my breathing, I'd asked for something new. As a result, I now know that demerol gives me night terrors. I breathe fine and the pain was controlled. But all through the night, the drugs caused my limbs to jump around like helpless ragdolls.

It was not fun.

So no more drugs.

So now as Trick-or-Treaters run rampant, I sit in a dark house, withdrawn from the societal norm. And it isn't the first time.

Halloween baffled me for a while. Since Jason, my first husband, died three days after the holiday, the end of the month sent me into a tunnel of darkness that led back to light by mid-November. Underground I felt removed. Withdrawn. Like I walked around in a glass box and lived in the same world but separated.

Like now, except the glass box is the four walls of my parents bedroom.

On the one hand Facebook keeps me connected. On the other hand, it reminds me of how much living I miss.

Even now I've switched to Dancing with the Stars and my body wants to move. To dance. To jive along with the music.

And I can't.

So let me get on to what I did do today.

Since the 20th anniversary of the day Jason died is fast approaching, I decided to do something to honor him. Rick Parker, a graphic design friend of his, put this together, using Jason's artwork. My children and their cousins offered opinions, so we went with the larger text option.

Jason loved fish and drew and painted them often. This is one few have seen but I've always liked.

Check out all the options at:

www.teespring.com/raising-funds-for-mito

I ordered a mito fundraising t-shirt last summer through teespring.com. And it turned out to be my favorite t-shirt ever. The material was incredibly soft and the fit perfect.

There are many style options available. Short sleeves. Long sleeves. V-neck. Crew neck. So just check out the link, and know that 100% of the proceeds will go to the Foundation for Mitochondrial Medicine.

The sale period ends in ten days. So if interested, get your order in.

I just paused to talk to Don and he told me about a conversation he had with someone today. The kind where the person simply says, "I've given up on God."

Hearing the confession third person startled me.

Giving up on God? Really? Now?

Ironically, it gave me what I needed to draw my thoughts to a close.

I've played more solitaire than I like this week. And I've felt more sad than normal. But in three days, we will honor twenty years since my first husband died. A lot of stuff has happened since then, and not once have I wanted to give up on God.

So 20 Halloweens later, I'll celebrate that simple victory and even pull out my Bible.

"See, I lay in Zion a stone that causes men to stumble and a rock that makes them fall, and the one who trusts in him will never be put to shame" (Romans 9: 33 NIV).

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Today, October 24th

You know the routine: "No food or drink after midnight the day of surgery."

So it's almost noon, a slight headache dulls my senses, and all of my coffee cups are neatly stacked on a shelf, untouched. 

Not partaking hasn't turned out as bad as I thought, but it doesn't help the overwhelming sense of heaviness I'm fighting.

Cause I don't want to have foot surgery today. And I don't want to spend the next six weeks on a knee scooter.

I want to LIVE LARGE.

Roller skate.
Ice skate.
Hike under colored leaves.
Walk on a beach unencumbered.
Try out for a musical.
Sing on a worship team.

The list goes on but only adds to my sadness.

What to do?

"I love you, Lord, and you love me. I love you, Lord, and you love me. I love you, Lord, and you love me."

I've been saying it all morning.

"But we are not of those who shrink back and are destroyed, but of those who believe and are saved" (Hebrews 10: 39 NIV).

"For God has not given us a spirit of timidity, but of power, of love, and of self-discipline" (2 Timothy 1: 7 NIV).

"I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us" (Romans 8: 18 NIV).

So will you pray for me today? And this week? I read the news and know there are so many deep needs around the world that trump mine. But it's still the hard place I must walk and it just feels a little heavier than normal.

Surgery is scheduled for 4pm EST. Thanks for standing with me.

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Feed Your Peace

My phone buzzed, alerting me to text greetings long before I crawled out of bed last Tuesday morning. As coffee brought the world into clarity, an avalanche of birthday greetings began to fill my Facebook page. 

While there's much to debate about the evils of our social media crazed society, by days end, I sure enjoyed being connected to so many. Sweet posts colored my day in a week of medical information overload.

I had three doctor appointments last week. Two on the far side of town. As I mentally prepped, I initially felt sorry for myself. In fact, I even decided that I would be famous by now if I didn't have to spend so much time being a professional patient.  

Between the bronchitis, right foot stress fracture, and droopy mouth episode, I've spent countless time and energy seeking answers for several months now. 

For instance, two weeks after the droopy mouth episode, my primary care doctor read the brain MRI report and told me the white matter spots were benign, not to worry. Days later, I met with a neurologist who suggested they resulted from mini-strokes and suggested I swallow an aspirin a day and go on a statin drug to lower my bad cholesterol that hangs at 118 (which isn't really bad). 

Startled, I fought panic until I realized it made no sense. 

I visited with a genetic doctor two days ago who emphasized that while the radiology report suggested the white matter spots could have resulted from a demyelinating disease (like MS) or vascular issues, it was all speculation, meaning nothing definitive could be ascertained from the report. 

No more statin drug.

I could continue and tell you about the rheumatologist I saw two weeks ago who said I had a "normal" exam. Yet when I stood to walk to my car, my legs were weak and wobbly. I could also tell you that the genetics doctor just said I have "hyper-mobility syndrome" which a rheumatologist should treat. 

It makes my head spin.

So many doctors. So many opinions. One very odd body. 

Kind of like the election.

What to do?

Pause and feed your peace. 

However, to feed it, we must first connect to the reality that the peace that passes understanding is meant to be ours.

Every day. 

No joke.

So after feeling sorry for myself over a week ago, I decided to act like my professional patient status counted for something after all. I'm still not sure what that something is. And I sank some just yesterday and had to swim my way through internal muck. 

But after spending the afternoon with my daughter-in-law, Courtney, and listening as Don and Sam built a work-out box in the basement, the peace was mine again. 

Indulging in marked down steaks, grapefruit LaCroix, mini key lime pies, and left-over birthday cake helped. But the company mattered most. Time with family mattered most.

So as the world continues to churn and bawdy election banter grieves our souls, feed your peace. 

Be intentional. Slow down. Let sunshine warm your frame. 

"For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the Spirit of son-ship. And by him we cry, 'Abba, Father.' The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God's children. Now if we are God's children, then we are heirs - heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory" (Romans 8: 15 - 17 NIV).

So guess what? 

No matter what doctors say or who's elected president, this truth remains...

"I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us" (Romans 8: 18 NIV).

And with that, our souls can rest. 



All photos courtesy of pixabay.com

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As the World Churns

Public warnings caught our attention this week:

Grab some coffee, your favorite pillow and pictures...
and evacuate!

With that, many coastal inhabitants left prized possessions and headed inland. Normal life stopped. Personal safety trumped routine. Faced with losing everything, waking to another day took precedence.  

For a few days now, we've turned from the daily grind and kept watch on a force of wind and water that can easily dismantle our way of life.

Far from the coastline, the weather here is calm. I even took a three hour nap this afternoon due to the remnants of a narcotic I swallowed for back pain last night. The deep ache is gone, but the lingering exhaustion reminded me why I don't take strong drugs very much.

But the day had been long and the pain too much to ignore.

A botched doc appointment didn't help. Lu had driven me almost an hour away only for us to learn I wasn't expected. A kind nurse sat in the lobby with me and sorted through the mishap as I wiped tears. And within a few hours of leaving, he called to say the doctor had looked over my MRI reports and definitely wanted to see me.

Thus, next week I have two pre-op appointments for my upcoming foot surgery as well as "take two" at the genetics' office.

So that three hour nap may have just been prep for the long week ahead.

In the mean time, I haven't mentioned the face issue in a few weeks mostly because I've been waiting to understand it more. After the MRI confirmed I don't have a brain tumor and didn't have a major stroke, a neurologist suggested the increase in white matter spots may have resulted from mini-strokes.

At this point, that diagnosis has been questioned and others considered. Bottom line, no one really knows why my brain has unusual spots.  

But when I think about it too much, my thoughts spin and swirl and disrupt my norm.

The same thing happened to the disciples once:

"A furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped. Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion. The disciples woke him and said to him, 'Teacher, don't you care if we drown?'

He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, 'Quiet! Be still!' Then the wind died down and it was completely calm.

He said to his disciples, 'Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?'

They were terrified and asked each other, 'Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey him!'" (Mark 4: 37 - 41 NIV)

Right in the middle of the storm, Jesus spoke calm. And right in the middle of ours, His words echo the same.

So I can get worked up or I can trust. I can allow the internal tension to build, or press into peace.

We've been trained to believe a lot of things matter that don't. And what does, He promises to provide.

Oh to live with a faith that calms storms and quiets the raging winds.

As the world churns, that's my goal.



photo credit: dudulandes au creux de la vagues via photopin (license)

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Eggs, the Debate, and a Strawberry Moon

As the Monday night Presidential debate passed the thirty minute mark, I picked at my nails. Then, unable to sit still, I jumped up the moment I remembered a half-eaten container of Haagen-Dazs coffee ice cream sat on a freezer. shelf. Having purchased it for Courtney, I was thankful she didn't eat it all.

In need of a diversion, I grabbed a bag of walnuts to go with the ice cream and two spoons. Back on our bed, Don and I indulged in tasty stress-eating while the candidates swapped verbal punches.

It helped.

Some.

However, no matter what candidate you support, these are muddy times that have left many on edge. And we'll be walking that ledge for a while.

It's an uncomfortable place. But I gained new perspective this week when I got to play God with our tabby cat, Eggs.

While my bronchial issues are much better than they were this summer, I still battle a persistent cough about once a day. After considering several potential causes, Don and I decided to rid our bedroom of carpet and install laminate flooring. Dust mites and pet dander will soon be greatly diminished in our home.

Wanting to spend as little money as possible, we moved the furniture and pulled up the carpet ourselves. So while others lounged at the beach during fall break this week, Don and I emptied our bedroom into the living room and then reinstalled it again 48 hours later.

The work was hard. But we understood the big picture gain.

Eggs, on the other hand, did not.

Used to seeking refuge under our bed, her safe place slowly unraveled as mayhem ruled.

I offered many reassurances, but no matter how many tender words I cooed, a distinct language barrier made clear communication impossible.

So Eggs got nervous. Real nervous.

And I felt like God.

While her small world turned upside down, I understood the big picture perspective.

Everything would be just fine.

Things would change. Her under-bed hideaway would no longer include soft, shag carpet. But the exchange would keep her pet dander from lingering in man-made fibers. And thus her presence in our home an easier thing to accommodate.

But as the bed came apart and the carpet exposed plywood boards, she hunched under the back corner of her cat tree and stared with large, round eyes.

Shaken, her entire world felt unsafe.

Just like ours sometimes.

But just like with Eggs, there's a big picture story being told. We know the end. And we know who's in charge. But a lot of ground-shaking change will occur between now and the time eternity unfolds.

It's not easy and often feels unsafe.

But just like I knew Eggs could trust us to take care of her in midst of the upheaval, I know we can lean all the more into the arms of The Almighty - no matter who wins the election.

So breathe. Indulge in a little stress eating. Pray an awful lot. And then remember that the same God who created the Strawberry Moon to shine its reddish hue only once in a generation, longs to lavish your soul with His love.

Rest in it. Receive it.

And maybe even, take a moment to listen to my new song. It's my favorite composition to date. I wrote it this summer, shortly after a strawberry moon graced our summer skies.

I'd been sick. Quite sick. And felt dislodged from too many norms.

But the words led me to hope again.

And they still do.

And if by chance they stir your soul, will you consider sharing the video with others? I sure would appreciate it.






Pictures courtesy of pixabay.com

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