As Jews we joke about seeing a movie and eating Chinese food! But it's a tradition for some, just like seven fishes is for others. We have time to spend with family, not just because everything else is closed!
Last night, as I tucked my girls in, I noticed they were both warm to the touch. Both ran low-grade fevers, not a big deal. It did however remind me of how fortunate we are for their good health. 4 years ago I was asking for prayers as our little 14 month old struggled to breath. After a few days in ICU, Juliet came out waving to her fans. RSV and pneumonia were no match for this little stinker!
It also reminded me of a personal struggle I went through, just a week before Jules was sick. Thanks to a combination of things, my mind got the best of me. I realized depression and anxiety are not for weak at heart. I still deal with issues on a daily basis, but a great therapist and the right meds have gotten me on the right path. It's not a secret that mental health is still a taboo topic in this country; however, I hope people don't shy away from friends and family members who might need a sympathetic ear or shoulder to lean on. Sometimes just being there to listen is all people need.
September 2, 2013 changed the course of my life. My daughters, their great-grandmother and myself were in a car accident. From the outside, it didn't look too terrible. At a closer look, the van was totaled as the frame was bent. We were able to get a new car, and the girls were thankfully fine. Their great-grandmother unfortunately re-injured her arm and will need have it repaired again. My injuries have not be as straight-forward. Like mental illness, my injuries appear invisible to most. There are days I can barely walk and others when I am fine. I use a cane at times, while others I seem to get around with ease. What you can't see is the exhaustion brought on by the pain in my lower back. You can't see the frustration I am experiencing from not knowing if this injury is permanent or just a period of my life I'll look back on someday. You can't see how worthless I feel when I can't even put the clean dishes or clothes away. You won't see how it feels to have to ask my 5 or 7 year old to help me put on a pain patch. But, hopefully you will see that I am trying to move forward. There are days when I overdo it; when I don't listen to my inner voice, can you blame me?
Today started off like most days. I woke up tired, peeling a child off of my body as I lay in bed. I was stiff, in pain, walking with an awkward limp. But I couldn't feel sorry for myself, I had go for a blood test. You see, since the accident I have been fairly immobile. Aside from10 weeks of physical therapy, 3 times a week, I haven't been able to exercise. My body decided to add insult to injury and go berserk. I've put on weight that I worked very hard to loose just over a year ago. So we are trying to figure out why. My endocrinologist sent me to the Cancer Center at Robert Wood Johnson Hospital for an infusion, a cortisol test. I had no idea the gift I would walk away with.
I was instructed to pick a seat by the window. My view was of a wintered over garden with bird houses scattered about. As I was prepped for my test I couldn't help but overhear other patients' conversations. One was there for at least 4 hours this time, another was deciding if she wanted zofran now or later. All of the sudden I realized I was being given a gift. I was able to have a very small glimpse into the lives of many of my friends and family members. I finally understood why different people view the end of their chemotherapy treatments in a variety of ways. Some celebrate, while others fear the next step. These nurses are gifts to each one of their patients and their family members. They see people at their absolute worst. They know the story of the person who sat in the chair the day before and who will fill it tomorrow. There are signs of inspiration, hope and courage all around. It gives you perspective. It gave ME perspective.
I came home nauseous and tired, but I had a sense of peace. I felt very fortunate to not have to say "see you tomorrow" or "see you in three weeks." I smile as I think about the couple wearing reindeer headbands in the waiting room. I am blessed to have the support of my husband and daughters, who see me at my worst and hopefully my best. I am going to put my best foot forward, limping or not, and make an effort to keep things in perspective. I know, whether I want it to or not, this too shall pass.
September 2, 2013 changed the course of my life. My daughters, their great-grandmother and myself were in a car accident. From the outside, it didn't look too terrible. At a closer look, the van was totaled as the frame was bent. We were able to get a new car, and the girls were thankfully fine. Their great-grandmother unfortunately re-injured her arm and will need have it repaired again. My injuries have not be as straight-forward. Like mental illness, my injuries appear invisible to most. There are days I can barely walk and others when I am fine. I use a cane at times, while others I seem to get around with ease. What you can't see is the exhaustion brought on by the pain in my lower back. You can't see the frustration I am experiencing from not knowing if this injury is permanent or just a period of my life I'll look back on someday. You can't see how worthless I feel when I can't even put the clean dishes or clothes away. You won't see how it feels to have to ask my 5 or 7 year old to help me put on a pain patch. But, hopefully you will see that I am trying to move forward. There are days when I overdo it; when I don't listen to my inner voice, can you blame me?
Today started off like most days. I woke up tired, peeling a child off of my body as I lay in bed. I was stiff, in pain, walking with an awkward limp. But I couldn't feel sorry for myself, I had go for a blood test. You see, since the accident I have been fairly immobile. Aside from10 weeks of physical therapy, 3 times a week, I haven't been able to exercise. My body decided to add insult to injury and go berserk. I've put on weight that I worked very hard to loose just over a year ago. So we are trying to figure out why. My endocrinologist sent me to the Cancer Center at Robert Wood Johnson Hospital for an infusion, a cortisol test. I had no idea the gift I would walk away with. I was instructed to pick a seat by the window. My view was of a wintered over garden with bird houses scattered about. As I was prepped for my test I couldn't help but overhear other patients' conversations. One was there for at least 4 hours this time, another was deciding if she wanted zofran now or later. All of the sudden I realized I was being given a gift. I was able to have a very small glimpse into the lives of many of my friends and family members. I finally understood why different people view the end of their chemotherapy treatments in a variety of ways. Some celebrate, while others fear the next step. These nurses are gifts to each one of their patients and their family members. They see people at their absolute worst. They know the story of the person who sat in the chair the day before and who will fill it tomorrow. There are signs of inspiration, hope and courage all around. It gives you perspective. It gave ME perspective.I came home nauseous and tired, but I had a sense of peace. I felt very fortunate to not have to say "see you tomorrow" or "see you in three weeks." I smile as I think about the couple wearing reindeer headbands in the waiting room. I am blessed to have the support of my husband and daughters, who see me at my worst and hopefully my best. I am going to put my best foot forward, limping or not, and make an effort to keep things in perspective. I know, whether I want it to or not, this too shall pass.
No comments:
Post a Comment