I have been feeling like a big mess the last few days. Ever since my body swelled up like a puffer fish, my right arm huge and my belly huge with inflammation and it is tiring. It is weighing heavy on my body and my mind. I don’t like it. I hate being sick.
I am working on being positive but sometimes I just cannot do it. What is good about swelling up and feeling like a big bag of mush? Not even watching Blanche, Sophia, Rose, and Dorothy could get me out of the foul mood I am in. They usually do the trick.
What is driving me nuts is accepting, accepting that my body will have moments like these and there is nothing I can do to change the course. I just have to endure. I have to rest. I have to say no. I just have to wait it out. I just have to wait for the poison to be pumped into my veins that make these moments not happen so often. I hate that. I hate the word acceptance. But yet, it is still something that needs to be done. Accepting that my body swells up, that inflammation wreaks havoc on my body at the most inappropriate moments. That I have to detour my plans, meetings, and let people down and that I have to endure pain that is unimaginable all in a desperate attempt to be healthy.
What am I doing besides driving myself mad with self-doubt? I am still reading, I am watching up-lifting programs on my TV set; I am reaching out to my community of support, and I am working on the thoughts so I do not end up in a depressive mess. That is a huge challenge.
Resting is such a chore. It is not fun to wait out a disease that runs rapid in my body and bends me until I just want to scream and break in half just to end the torture, but I can’t. This stubborn woman still has her goals to achieve, even if they seem impossible at this moment. I want to crawl under my bed and isolate, but I know that is not the answer. This evening while sitting in the TV room of my apartment one of the neighbors I have befriended noticed that I am not my usual self. I have not told her about how bad I feel. She knew, even for being blind she is observant. It is nice to have someone notice and to actually care. The part that touched me the most is when she said to me “you can’t die yet, you have to be one of my beta-readers for my book.” She is writing a book about her own journey and I told her I would be a beta-reader. I also have been listening as she spilled her guts and now she wanted me to reciprocate. It is nice to have people who actually care about how I am doing and ask me questions. Even people whom I do not know well and I have no idea why this touched me so. Seems that not only my body is out of whack, but my emotions are too.
I am still fighting on, though right now this leg of my journey is difficult. I am resting. I am sitting in my bed snuggling with my Nicholas reading, writing, watching movies, and journaling. I am connecting with people through texting instead of isolating and I am praying and being thankful of the community of people I have in my life.
Despite feeling like a big mesh of mush I know that I am not. I am just suffering from the perils of a disease that has to have its moments and this happens to be one of those moments. I don’t like it, but I do have to accept that my body needs the rest and the loving care it needs to make it through difficult times. I am not the same woman I was 4 years ago. I have to stop breathe, think of me, and take the time to allow my body to heal and what it needs. I can choose to be grateful and enjoy the time of rest, even if it drives me bonkers. I am not dead yet, and even though I have to take more breaks I can still get things done. Even if I bloat up like a puffer fish and have to pump poisons into my body to accomplish them. At least I can accomplish things and I hope one of my greatest accomplishments is to encourage, write, and pursue my assignments for my life. I hate when the bad happens, but bad happens no matter how much we pray, how much we ask God to keep them away. I wonder if they happen to show us that we can endure things because of the love and strength Jesus has injected into each of us. What a thing to consider.