In my mind last night, I came to this very same piece of paper to write a closing note for the blog. I was too tired to do it and today I’ve changed my mind. Thus, another year has arrived and with it too, every prerogative that is afforded a woman.
On December 7, 2007 (yes, Pearl Harbor Day), I visited my gynecologist to voice a few complaints, with one of them being that I’m so tired and sleepy all the time. Long story short, it appears that I do have some sort of lung disease. At this time we are not quite sure as to what it is since I have not seen a specialist yet. You know everything is so specialized these days, so I doubt it’s even “allowed” to let a female NP of the tushy areas tell you that you have anything in the lung area. Lungs are much too far from the tush and so we will know more once we, along with our insurance company, spend several thousand more dollars.
I embarrassed my husband in a great way on one appointment, now known to me as the Complete Pulmonary Profile (I’m sure the word ‘Complete’ is a costly little word)…. I asked the technologist if I couldn’t be frank with him. I felt Greg’s butt cheeks clinch from across the shiny cubicle as I began my dialogue with the dispensation of, “Look, we don’t have a lot of life insurance on me and the one thing I can do is try to keep a hold on some of these hospital bills. Look, I know….. They gave my dad every test in the world…so, can’t we just cut to the chase right here…?”
Several long minutes later Greg and I walked out. My instructions from The Tower were: “Don’t you ever do anything like that to me again.” Since that time a few prayer warriors have been praying for my family as I gave instructions to my family: “Don’t you pray me out of this.” Which I’m sure a few have ignored, but which one of us wants to know who? No.
So—it has gone from possible lung cancer to Pulmonary Fibrosis to Emphysema, but as I’ve mentioned, we don’t know anything for sure yet. Oh, and a couple of spots on my liver, but they could be anything, as all my lab work is pretty amazing.
And how was your Christmas? ;)
Just joking. You may even find it a bit morbid that I am not more upset. Yes, I am upset for my family, but truth be known, for many years, maybe since I was a little girl, I have wanted to see and be with Jesus. This naturally increased after my son got to go be with Him before I did. It is not a statement of any sort, except eloquently put, I love my family with all I got, but hey, I just don’t got what I used to. Can't help it. It's a truism. I’m tired in more ways than one and I am blessed beyond measure with such a fantastic family and any hope for any future I have with them. If God chooses to heal me, then that is okay too, but I’m certainly not going to ask Him to heal me when I choose to continue to smoke while I am able. And that is not a statement of anything but fact. I am an addict in the worst way and like any addict worth their final true salt; I like the drug more than I like to think about quitting. I’ve smoked for 35 years and I’m no dummy. This is my sword that I’ve lived by, and I’m sure there’ll come a point where I can’t and then I won’t. Greg has quit again and I do hope he makes it. I’ve quit three times in my life and hated life. I’m not giving up anything else at this point.
I did quit my anti-depressants, cold turkey a few days ago, as sort of an experiment on if I gave them up, would I continue to drown the mattress each night with as many buckets of sweat as the 18-inch deep and King Size across would hold? Guess what? Quitting mostly worked. I still have night sweats but they might only dampen a little nap mat as compared to the other. So yes. I quit those by my own choice. I quit alcohol by EVERYONE’S choice a year and a half ago. My sister and I had our once every two to five year fight a couple of nights ago. Not my fault of course! :) If people keep messing with me, I may quit my hormones. No.
Lisa and I are fine now. I do try to live more in the moment, but honestly, there is so much I want to accomplish before I leave here. I want to know early. At times, I wonder if the blog should be in my life, as it is very consuming. Blogging should include visiting other blogs and at times I’m too tired to even look at mine. Mom has sent me a post every day for over a week and I haven’t even read any of them. For a while I thought the computer was making me dizzy, but I think that may be from quitting 100-150 mg. Zoloft daily. Mom has yet to get her feelings hurt or quiz me about it. She’s told me before, she just needs to vent, so she writes for her. She’s so cool.
I want to write. I want to seriously write. I said to my husband the other day, “Someone once said that a writer could not truly write until important family members had died, but I think there is another thing that could cause a writer to write like they’ve never written before.”
My soul mate said, “I bet you’re right.”
Too, I want to read the Bible more. I want to know as much of the words God chose to share with me as I can. If even “the world could not contain all that Jesus did and said while on earth”—how important those words must be that are recorded! Oh my gosh!
I want to wear all the new stuff I’ve never worn, paint some more, and I do want to blog. So I won’t make anymore excuses, but will show up and not show up as time and energy allow, and we’ll just take whatever each new day brings to us because we can’t help ourselves. Hope reigns.
Happy New Year. Be blessed. Be joyful. The absolute control is not yours and aren’t you relieved?
Semper Fi,
De’on
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3 comments:
Here's to your honesty and courage, De'on --- the poem "Courage" by Anne Sexton:
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Anne Sexton - "Courage"
"It is in the small things we see it.
The child's first step,
as awesome as an earthquake.
The first time you rode a bike,
wallowing up the sidewalk.
The first spanking when your heart
went on a journey all alone.
When they called you crybaby
or poor or fatty or crazy
and made you into an alien,
you drank their acid
and concealed it.
Later,
if you faced the death of bombs and bullets
you did not do it with a banner,
you did it with only a hat to
comver your heart.
You did not fondle the weakness inside you
though it was there.
Your courage was a small coal
that you kept swallowing.
If your buddy saved you
and died himself in so doing,
then his courage was not courage,
it was love; love as simple as shaving soap.
Later,
if you have endured a great despair,
then you did it alone,
getting a transfusion from the fire,
picking the scabs off your heart,
then wringing it out like a sock.
Next, my kinsman, you powdered your sorrow,
you gave it a back rub
and then you covered it with a blanket
and after it had slept a while
it woke to the wings of the roses
and was transformed.
Later,
when you face old age and its natural conclusion
your courage will still be shown in the little ways,
each spring will be a sword you'll sharpen,
those you love will live in a fever of love,
and you'll bargain with the calendar
and at the last moment
when death opens the back door
you'll put on your carpet slippers
and stride out."
Ray in Okinawa
This is one of the most beautiful things I've ever read, Ray. Oh wow, I love this kind of poetry.
There is a poem I wanted to post while Dad was ill, and in it the author writes about shopping for diapers for her Dad. Lisa would not let me because of course for my Dad as I'm sure for all men, maybe women too, this was the ultimate revenge of his body against his male soul.
Heartbreaking? Absolutely! And I loved it. I have it around here somewhere.... Do you know it Poetry Man?
And yes, Phoebe Snow. I like her too. I'm so very ancient!
Thank you, Ray. You are an outstanding friend.
Here is the link to Diapers for My Father
http://www.alicefriman.com/poems.htm#DIAPERS%20FOR%20MY%20FATHER
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