A Monday Evening Pep Talk

I woke from an afternoon nap, wishing I drank coffee twice a day. So, when my phone rang and Laura from The Foundation for Mitochondrial Medicine asked, “How are you doing?” I told her I was really tired—as if it was newsworthy.

“Uh huh…” she simply replied. And at that moment I remembered I was speaking with the woman who advocates for mitochondrial issues on a regular basis. Me being tired was no surprise. 

So why on earth did it surprise me after all these years?

I still can’t really answer, except to say a friend of mine recently had a birthday and commented, “I don’t feel 62-years-old. Inside, I still feel young. Gary and I are really blessed that we’re in such good health. We climb Kennesaw Mountain almost every weekend.”

As we rocked in the chairs on my front porch, I offered, “Yeah, and I don’t always feel sick. My spirit feels young and able.”

We laughed and recognized the plight of those who age with eternity in mind, “Though outwardly we are wasting way, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day” (2 Corinthians 16 NIV). And that inward renewing can make the outward decaying confusing.

At least that’s my take on it. Cause it’s the best way to explain why two doctor visits knocked me off my saddle for a couple of days. 

I saw a neurologist and an orthopedic last Wednesday. Not only did I feel heard by both doctors, I left with a doable plan. But two nights later, I gave up on writing, crashed into bed, and allowed the dark shadows to overtake. I wanted to ward off the grief but once again had to face the conundrum that is my weak legs. 

It’s just so strange to lose strength in front of a neurologist and again hear the doctor grasp at straws as to why my knees buckle the way they do. She insisted on another MRI of my lower back which was done Saturday night. When I got up from the cold, hard table, it took added effort to move my stubborn appendages. Writing about it now still stirs an unusual sadness. 

The symptoms overtook my spirit and I felt more sick than whole.
And I just don’t function well when that happens.

Amazingly enough, the technician handed me a DVD of the scan that I can open on my lap top. After perusing the images and studying up on Google, I'm fairly certain my L – 4 disc needs attention. A neurosurgeon will offer his opinion next week and, in the meantime, I’ll sparingly take diclofenac since it inhibits mitochondrial function. 

When the cure causes a problem, it all just tires me out.

Don and I just went out for yogurt and stopped by the grocery store. Half way through, my right foot grew numb and the leg dragged behind. And it's still not working right.

Rest will help. And I'll press on. But right now, I need a pep talk. So here it goes:

"Hey Sus... you're not doing too bad. You can't walk real fast right now. And that painful ligament in your left hand adds to the stress. But it's okay to move at your own pace. It's okay to watch the birds and listen to their songs that float among the towering trees. 

Detach from the press. Breathe deep, slow breaths. Avoid watching Abby die on NCIS tomorrow night and laugh at a few Big Bang Theory episodes instead. Indulge in the movie Pride and Prejudice before the week ends. And thank God you live in an era where surgeons fix messed up backs and anesthesia keeps you from remembering.

Keep in mind that your home is not being swallowed by hot lava. You're not living in a refuge camp or a war torn city. And no one has ever cared enough about your prom dress choice to spark a twitter war that descends into classless diatribes. 

Life is good!

Air conditioning will soon keep you cool. Your grandson will soon crawl and reach out for a real hug. And until then, most importantly, you are loved. You really are. Right now. With your greasy hair, tired crossed eyes, and draggy leg. You are loved. You have value. And I'm glad I created you.

Now, go rest. Give yourself a break. It's all okay. 

I've got this."




coffee photo courtesy of pixabay.com