I've been sick for seven days now. Seven whole days, many of which were spent in my bathrobe on the couch. After day three I went to the doctor.
Respiratory infection, with constriction of the bronchi. Inhaler, cough syrup with codeine, lots of rest and fluids, and come back and see us if you don't feel better in a few days.
I felt a little better after a few days, but still not great, so I went back. Bronchitis secondary to my original infection. Inhaler with steroids and an antibiotic. I'm praying the antibiotic knocks this thing out because I have too much to do in the next two weeks. Today is my daughter's 12th birthday. We're traveling to WV to see my husband...right after I go to the MVA to get my license renewed. Oh what fun.
Friday is my birthday. I'll be thirty-five. And I'll be having a biopsy done on a suspicious lesion the dentist noticed on my x-rays. Happy Birthday to me. When I found out, I groaned. Something else to see another doctor about, deal with, diagnose. Will they have an answer or will it come up a big question mark, like so many other health issues I've faced lately? If there is an answer, will it be good news or will it be something I don't want to hear - Merry Christmas, you have cancer? These are the things I'm pondering as I look forward to my birthday. I'm also thinking about the book that sits half written on my computer. I have been drug through the medical mud and have in the past always clung to my God, the Great Physician. I have seen the work he has done in my life through my challenges, and have always known that my body would be my particular cross to bear. That's what my book is about. What I've been through, and continue to go through, and how God is using those things in my life. So why is it half done? Why am I not finishing it?
Part of it is that I feel like my saga always continues. I wouldn't even know how to end it. Because It seems this journey never ends. But then writing about it is third verse, same as the first.
I will also admit that I am weary. Spent. Completely devoid of energy. Yes, that repetition is on purpose. You have to understand that when I say I am weary, I really mean I am so. done. with. this. That's probably the real reason why I can't finish it. If I write it, and share it, then I have to live it. I have to walk the walk, so to speak. Model it on the runway. And I haven't figured out how to do that when I'm in this dark place.
So I face my thirty-fifth birthday not knowing whether I will take my place among so many people I know strugging with life-threatening disease. My friends who have had cancer in the past, those who are just coming out of the fight, those who are still in the fight. Or those who have fought valiantly but lost.
Here's the thing - what if I get the Merry Christmas, you have cancer, with a sobering dose of Happy New Year, you have a month to live? I'm going to think about that book. Still sitting half done, and wonder if I can finish it in time. Because I don't want to leave this world not sharing the awesomeness God has done in my life through all the battering of my body.
I honestly don't think I have cancer. And, if I'm wrong, I don't feel like I'll get a terrible prognosis... but I have nothing to base those feelings on other than hopes and prayers. But I could get in an accident and die tomorrow. And the book would be half done. It seems I am Jonah once again. If anyone would like to keep me accountable, please raise your hand, crack the whip, kick me in the rear end. Most importantly, pray for me to do what I have been called to do.