I got hit by the gomboo last friday, and when I started to come back to life this afternoon I ventured outside in turtleneck and jacket and thought I'd magically been transported to florida.
it was 66 degrees out there.
when did this happen?
last time I peaked, it was cold and windy and something like winter outside.
and this afternoon was decidedly spring-like. cycling weather. cycling-in-shorts weather.
oh my goodness.
so I just pulled up the weather forecast for the week (I know, it's already monday night: I told you I've been ill!) and my eyes did a little happy-dance as they skimmed through the highs and lows. oh my gosh, today was not just a fluke.
there is warm weather riding in my future, I can feel it.
of course, I have lost my ability to do anything athletic, having spent the last three and a half days primarily horizontal, aching and sniffling and moaning. it will take me weeks to earn back the muscle strength I've just lost . . .
that's what it feels like, anyway.
I am in a constant battle with gravity, as each minute added to my age has a corresponding iota of gravitational pull making it harder and harder for me to soar up those hills.
that's what it feels like, anyway.
and tonight, though the weather report entices me, I shrink back from thoughts of climbing on my beautiful bike because I know it will be more difficult than the last time I did so.
sigh.
but I also know that I will get back on that pretty new bike.
soon.
this week.
sniffle.
Showing posts with label illness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label illness. Show all posts
Monday, March 16, 2009
Sunday, March 15, 2009
mom's hospital
I once lived in a hospital.
for 5 1/2 weeks.
it was one of the most difficult periods of my life.
and I wasn't even ill.
so when I think about all the hundreds of thousands of people who are currently ill and living within the confines of a hospital's walls, I want to fall to my knees and thank God for the grace that has surrounded my own life.
this is me, 33 years old, grad student:
I am a mom of jake (nearly 5 and quite disabled) and beau (3), deep into my first year of studying for my Master's in Social Work. I retired from my career at Nordstrom just over a year ago, and have known for the past 4 months that I am pregnant.
a planned pregnancy . . . even timed pretty well, as my due date is the middle of june. finish first year of school, have baby during summer break, then finish school next year. yep, all is good.
we laugh when the doctor writes her order for an ultrasound: "history of twins."
we laugh when the ultrasound tech talks to us about the two babies in my belly. that is, after the shock and instantaneous tears have had their moment.
and all goes remarkably well until we go to the doctor for my 28-week check, when we are told that I'm starting to dilate --- okay, pre-term labor --- and that they will be admitting me to the hospital.
skipping a bunch of unnecessary details, I soon ended up at the University of Utah hospital, ante-partum unit, drugged up and getting checked by medical students every morning at 5.
for 5 1/2 weeks.
the physical part was tiring (who would think that bedrest could exhaust you?), but the emotional part was the difficult piece. I feared for the lives of my babies, yet I held onto my faith that all would be okay. God was giving us the opportunity to have our twins again, and all would be fine.
and that is what I clung to.
my health was not at risk, and the babies were healthy. they just needed to incubate within for a while longer.
everything was fine, and those little babies are now close to turning 13.
yet it was still a traumatic time period for me, full of doubt and sorrow and loss and overheated emotions.
mainly because I had so little control over the outcome.
I could stay in bed as ordered, I could eat and gain weight as ordered, and everything else was up to . . . what? fate? God? nature? destiny? my doctor?
when we're ill, stressed, out of sorts, being hammered by life, whatever the situation, we want to be able to do something about it. and when we can't, we feel impotent. helpless. and sometimes we lash out, sometimes we withdraw, sometimes we accept the help we're given, sometimes we weather the storm on our own.
holding onto faith is the most difficult thing of all, yet it is often the most important thing of all. if only we were born with the knowledge of exactly how to grip that faith and let it light our way.
the hospitals around our city have been nicknamed by my kids: the hospital where Jake has stayed numerous times is Jakie's Hospital, the hospital where the other 3 kids were born is Our Hospital, and the hospital where I lounged for all those weeks is Mom's Hospital.
though they have different names, and different staffs and locations, I know that they are all filled with the same thing: people experiencing and working on different levels and understandings of faith.
my wish for all of them today is just a tiny increase in that level, wherever it --- and they --- may be.
for 5 1/2 weeks.
it was one of the most difficult periods of my life.
and I wasn't even ill.
so when I think about all the hundreds of thousands of people who are currently ill and living within the confines of a hospital's walls, I want to fall to my knees and thank God for the grace that has surrounded my own life.
this is me, 33 years old, grad student:
I am a mom of jake (nearly 5 and quite disabled) and beau (3), deep into my first year of studying for my Master's in Social Work. I retired from my career at Nordstrom just over a year ago, and have known for the past 4 months that I am pregnant.
a planned pregnancy . . . even timed pretty well, as my due date is the middle of june. finish first year of school, have baby during summer break, then finish school next year. yep, all is good.
we laugh when the doctor writes her order for an ultrasound: "history of twins."
we laugh when the ultrasound tech talks to us about the two babies in my belly. that is, after the shock and instantaneous tears have had their moment.
and all goes remarkably well until we go to the doctor for my 28-week check, when we are told that I'm starting to dilate --- okay, pre-term labor --- and that they will be admitting me to the hospital.
skipping a bunch of unnecessary details, I soon ended up at the University of Utah hospital, ante-partum unit, drugged up and getting checked by medical students every morning at 5.
for 5 1/2 weeks.
the physical part was tiring (who would think that bedrest could exhaust you?), but the emotional part was the difficult piece. I feared for the lives of my babies, yet I held onto my faith that all would be okay. God was giving us the opportunity to have our twins again, and all would be fine.
and that is what I clung to.
my health was not at risk, and the babies were healthy. they just needed to incubate within for a while longer.
everything was fine, and those little babies are now close to turning 13.
yet it was still a traumatic time period for me, full of doubt and sorrow and loss and overheated emotions.
mainly because I had so little control over the outcome.
I could stay in bed as ordered, I could eat and gain weight as ordered, and everything else was up to . . . what? fate? God? nature? destiny? my doctor?
when we're ill, stressed, out of sorts, being hammered by life, whatever the situation, we want to be able to do something about it. and when we can't, we feel impotent. helpless. and sometimes we lash out, sometimes we withdraw, sometimes we accept the help we're given, sometimes we weather the storm on our own.
holding onto faith is the most difficult thing of all, yet it is often the most important thing of all. if only we were born with the knowledge of exactly how to grip that faith and let it light our way.
the hospitals around our city have been nicknamed by my kids: the hospital where Jake has stayed numerous times is Jakie's Hospital, the hospital where the other 3 kids were born is Our Hospital, and the hospital where I lounged for all those weeks is Mom's Hospital.
though they have different names, and different staffs and locations, I know that they are all filled with the same thing: people experiencing and working on different levels and understandings of faith.
my wish for all of them today is just a tiny increase in that level, wherever it --- and they --- may be.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Friday, March 13, 2009
cough, sniff, sigh, ache
okay. I'm sick.
I'm shaking my head back and forth, telling myself this is just so unfair.
I don't do sick.
that got a little laugh from me, which promptly made me start coughing. ow.
in yoga thursday morning we were on our backs, then rolled our legs and hips up so that we were approaching a shoulder stand position. this squishes your lungs, which threw me into a coughing fit and ruined any sense of peace that had developed in the room. I rolled down, and coughed myself out of the room.
I have kleenex at hand, and tighten my core to protect my back every time I cough.
I'm currently wondering how I'll get to sleep tonight.
I'm also wondering if I'll get out and ride tomorrow, my first opportunity on a mid-50's partly-sunny day in such a long time I can hardly remember . . .
which brings me to my age-old dilemma of
when to push and when to rest.
I'm rolling my eyes.
why does it so often come to this?
I want to ride: I want the fresh air on my face, the feel of my beating heart and pumping legs. I want to see the changes in the canyon brought by the past two weeks. I want to get back on my pretty new bike, I want to play with all those new gears.
but I also want to end this episode of "sickness visits susan." it's boring, tiring, and already old news.
for all of us.
a hot toddy sounds lovely, if only I knew how to make one.
I guess it's just some more ibuprofen, a glass of water, and a cough drop or two by my bedside.
and hopefully, a more cheerful story to relay tomorrow.
I'm shaking my head back and forth, telling myself this is just so unfair.
I don't do sick.
that got a little laugh from me, which promptly made me start coughing. ow.
in yoga thursday morning we were on our backs, then rolled our legs and hips up so that we were approaching a shoulder stand position. this squishes your lungs, which threw me into a coughing fit and ruined any sense of peace that had developed in the room. I rolled down, and coughed myself out of the room.
I have kleenex at hand, and tighten my core to protect my back every time I cough.
I'm currently wondering how I'll get to sleep tonight.
I'm also wondering if I'll get out and ride tomorrow, my first opportunity on a mid-50's partly-sunny day in such a long time I can hardly remember . . .
which brings me to my age-old dilemma of
when to push and when to rest.
I'm rolling my eyes.
why does it so often come to this?
I want to ride: I want the fresh air on my face, the feel of my beating heart and pumping legs. I want to see the changes in the canyon brought by the past two weeks. I want to get back on my pretty new bike, I want to play with all those new gears.
but I also want to end this episode of "sickness visits susan." it's boring, tiring, and already old news.
for all of us.
a hot toddy sounds lovely, if only I knew how to make one.
I guess it's just some more ibuprofen, a glass of water, and a cough drop or two by my bedside.
and hopefully, a more cheerful story to relay tomorrow.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
cough, sigh, ache
"the Warrior of the Light has learned that God uses solitude to teach us how to live with other people.
He uses rage to show us the infinite value of peace. He uses boredom to underline the importance of adventure and spontaneity.
God uses silence to teach us to use words responsibly. He uses tiredness so that we can understand the value of waking up. He uses illness to underline the blessing of good health.
God uses fire to teach us about water. He uses earth to explain the value of air. He uses death to show us the importance of life."
~ paulo coelho, the Warrior of the Light
and I borrow his words again today because God is underlining the blessing of good health in my life . . .
He uses rage to show us the infinite value of peace. He uses boredom to underline the importance of adventure and spontaneity.
God uses silence to teach us to use words responsibly. He uses tiredness so that we can understand the value of waking up. He uses illness to underline the blessing of good health.
God uses fire to teach us about water. He uses earth to explain the value of air. He uses death to show us the importance of life."
~ paulo coelho, the Warrior of the Light
and I borrow his words again today because God is underlining the blessing of good health in my life . . .
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