No, Not Really Going To Do That

Just yesterday after I told this story to a friend she quipped "you and Steve have to have great senses of humor to be together." Another friend said "it's so great you can laugh about these things and at the same time Steve is so helpful." Both are so true! Here's what happened.

Friday night I took the first dose of the second medication they are trying out on me. I had begun the first medication 3 days prior. The nurse recommended I take it at night because while adjusting to it, I can apparently feel quite sick and that way I'd sleep through most of it. Okay, I thought, makes sense.

BUT, then I read the papers they gave me about all the possible side effects, yada yada. That may very well have been a mistake. One of the things in there read "if while taking the medication you develop a temperature of 101, seek medical attention immediately because it means you are developing a serious infection from it and it could be fatal." Nice. So then I began to think taking it at night was a really bad idea because how would I know if I were to develop said fever / infection? I wouldn't and hence, the end of Julie.

I told Steve all my concerns and he said "really, Julie, if you develop a fever like that, you'll probably wake up. Besides, they have to tell you all that to cover themselves. It's not going to happen." Then I had an ingenious idea. Here's the conversation:

J: "Okay, how about this...set the alarm on your phone to wake up every 2 hours and then you can check my temperature and make sure I'm fine."

S: "Alright." I turned to walk away when it dawned on me he probably wasn't going to do it.

J: "You are so not going to do that, are you?" I said as I turned to face him. He was shaking his head slowly as he dragged out a big...

S: "N-n-n-o-o-o!"

J: "Okay, fine. Then at my funeral you have to stand up and tell everyone the reason I'm dead is because you wouldn't wake up and check my temperature." As I said the last few words I turned to walk to the sink to brush my teeth.

S: "Alright," he said again. I turned back to face him.

J: "You're not really going to do that either, are you?"

S: "N-n-n-o-o," he said again as he shook his head. "But it's okay because you'll be dead so you won't know nor will you care."

J: "Nice."

The next morning he woke me up just before 8 to say he was going for a run. It took me about an hour to get up and around and as I walked into the living room he came in from his run. He looked right at me and said....

S: "Look who's not dead!"

J: "Obviously."

That's all there is to the story except fits of laughter of course.

It Must Be Like Having A Meal With a 3-Year-Old

I have learned so much over the past 4 months I could likely put it all in a 300-page book. And I probably will, mostly for myself, so as never to forget the journey we're taking.

As Steve and I had lunch together today I thought to myself, "dining with me must be like having a meal with a 3-year-old." Really. Truly. I ordered a chicken enchilada. As soon as it arrived I did what is customary these days and asked Steve to cut it up for me. Not only are my hands fairly unusable lately but I'm using a sling to relieve the pressure on my muscle from where they took the biopsy Tuesday. It's my left arm so asking a lefty to eat right handed is a joke all by itself but add to that the inability to really grasp the fork and I'm sure it's something to watch. This is no big deal to Steve and most often he offers before I even ask but it's hard just the same.

And I'm keenly aware of those around me. I'm certain most of them aren't making fun of the fact that I can't cut up my own food but they do notice, likely make judgments on why that is and it makes me so uncomfortable. The truth is, I would probably notice and wonder if I saw one adult cut up the food of another one. It's normal. But when it's me, I can barely hold back the tears. That's my one certainty these days--the ability to cry at almost anything.

Steve frequently tells me, "You know Julie, they aren't watching you nearly as much as you think they are. It's in your head." And I think he's right. Sure, a few may notice here and there but mostly I would have to agree (if really pressed) that it's not the ENTIRE restaurant!

But here's the one that really bothered me. A couple of weeks ago I went to a dinner meeting and ordered grilled chicken breast with pasta. I didn't think twice about it until the plate was placed in front of me. Instantly I panicked. How the heck was I going to eat that chicken? Should I just pick it up with my fingers and gnaw on it? I'm not quite used to having to think about this type of thing before I order. I looked around at the table and everyone else was eating. Good. Nobody had noticed the sheer panic on my face. Fortunately I was seated next to one of my closest friends. I leaned over and whispered, "would you mind cutting my chicken for me?" I was on the verge of tears and utterly appalled that I need this kind of help at my age.

"Of course!" she replied. Without making a big deal she took my knife and fork and cut it up then asked if I needed anything else. A few of the ladies noticed but nobody made a deal of it. I proceeded to eat my meal and we had a such a nice time I kind of put it in the back of my mind until we walked out. We got to her car and I said "Thanks for helping me in there and not making me feel like a fool for asking." The tears were no longer on the verge but were streaming down my face. She hugged me and said "it was really not a big deal. I do it for my grandson all the time!" I half laughed in my tears and said "I know, that's the problem - he's 3 and I am so NOT 3!" She laughed and said "that's what friends are for - don't think another thought about it."

She gave me back what I stupidly threw to the side as I requested help - my dignity. One of the things I've had to learn how to do is accept help from others and when I am able, to give it back freely while helping them to maintain their dignity. Even recalling this incident has made me cry all over again. If there's such a thing as "blubbering idiot disease" I most definitely have it.

Fighting For It

Something happened this week that has turned into a story I love to tell. Initially I was a bit annoyed by it but by the time we had small group that night I'd already begun to find humor in it. Then when I told the story and everyone laughed, I further knew it truly was funny. But, it also has a lesson for me.

These past few months have been such a strain on my ability to function and I've found a few work-arounds that make my life a bit easier. One of them is that getting in and out of the recliner is easier than the sofa. But that afternoon I sat down on the sofa anyway. Steve came home and was in one of the chairs typing away on his computer and I tried to get up so I could get some stuff ready for our small group before they arrived.

I grunted, groaned, grumbled and struggled to try to get up off the sofa. I looked over at Steve who continued to type without much attention to me. Finally I said, "Really? You're not going to help me?" He looked over, almost as if he hadn't noticed I was there before. He said "no, you have to fight for it." This is where people generally bust a gut laughing and rightly so because that's funny stuff.

But at that moment, man, I was annoyed...partly because I was frustrated at my physical limitations these days and partly because he's been so good about helping me out over the past several weeks. Now all of a sudden I'm supposed to fight for it and do it alone?

Now it's not like he would've left me there forever had I really been in a bind but if he just jumps in every single time I struggle, I will become far too dependent on him to sustain me. And it would be extremely easy for me to wander back into what I've come to call the "Valley of Self Pity". I so don't need to be there.

The truth is I have to learn (or re-learn) how to do things by myself, even if it hurts or is uncomfortable. I can't have somebody at my side at all times to do things for me. And I have to learn what things I have to let go because I can no longer do them.

This is definitely an interesting season of my life. It's a season of crisis, a season of blessing, a season of suffering, a season of growth and a season of thankfulness all wrapped in one. I may even be missing a thing or two but that wraps it up fairly well.

In some ways I have to fight for my faith. I have to fight the urge to give up, run away, and throw in the proverbial towel. But if I quit half way, I will miss all the blessings God has in store for me at the end. I will miss the ability to be blessed by some and to bless others. There is great opportunity in every aspect of suffering as long as I can get out of myself long enough to let God use it for good.