A song for today :)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cel_O-qy0i0&feature=related

A season called March

Thursday, March 22, 2012:

March. From sunshine to thunder and rain, to hail, to snowfall to whooshing winds. I saw this in a Garfield comic strip given to me from Paul (designed to make me feel better…it worked). March could almost be a season in itself, the weather seems like it doesn’t know which to pick…a little of this, a little of that…lol. Just last week while trying to capture a little creative time with my camera, I heard a thick, resounding boom. It was instantaneous with the vibration the house took. That wasn’t thunder, was it? I shrugged it off, thinking that they were doing scheduled blasts up on the mountain. That made sense. To have a thunderstorm with our landscape so covered in thick snow seemed impossible. I put the camera up to my eye, and focused up at the snow-clad trees. The wind was picking up. I couldn’t get a clear shot with them swaying like that. Well, I could, but not the shot I wanted at the aperture I had set. 

I lowered the camera with a sigh. Then squinted. The wind was picking up a lot! A blinding flash shattered the sky and just as quick with no time to count, a deep, rumbling boom shook the floor beneath me. All doubt fled from my mind. This WAS a thunderstorm. I hastily put away my camera and slipped into my coat, out of the house, and my wading rubber boots. The chickens had to be put away pronto. I’d heard from a lady at work that chickens are easily spooked and large amounts of lightning could terrorize them into miniature heart attacks and they’d be dead. I wasn’t sure if this was true or not, but it wasn’t like I was going to stand around and find out. I herded them into their coop, closed the doors and felt the dripping of rain. Uhoh… I snuck a glance at the sky and took a deep breath. Everything in me said, run, run, run lest you be soaked; it is coming! I closed the gate and took off like a rocket through the mushy snow, the muddy places sucking at my boots. I slid towards the steps and bounded up them. No sooner had I tucked myself safely beneath the sheltered porch, there was a resounding boom that vibrated through the air. It seemed to rattle all the hail from heaven, as it poured so thick that I could not see the mountains, and the trees around me blurred into a solid sheet of white. The hail was so huge! I briefly wondered if it could put a crack in my car’s brand new windshield. I resolved not to ponder it and stood mouth agape on the front porch. Lightning forked across the sky. “Awesome….” I said, staring. Camera! Camera! I frowned. Yes, this needed to go on my camera, undeniably so! I got a few shots and then my alarm rang: time for work.

I had a good day at work. There was a lot of work to do, which I enjoy. The only sad part of the day was knowing that it was the last day that I would work with one of my coworkers who was moving out of state. He was a great coworker and I knew we’d all miss him. “Draw for it!” I said as we three closers stood in a circle at the beginning of our shift. I raised my hand, “I’ve got the kitchen.” “Coffee and pizza.” He said. “Salads then,” said Tina. We turned off to our respective tasks and the day went by swimmingly. I grabbed the utensil cage from the dishwasher and began to pull out the spoons. My hands began their random trembling dance. The spoons I held flung from my hands and clattered to the floor around me. I was overcome with embarrassment. I tried to grab the spoons, hands still shivering wildly. No good. Frustration overwhelmed me. “STUPID HANDS!” I shrieked angrily at my hands. 

Tina turned toward me, her eyes wide. Apparently she had never seen me lose my temper. My face heated with shame. “I’m so, so sorry. I…” “It’s okay Nicole.” Tina said. “Really, I’m sorry. I should keep control of my mouth. I know better.” I continued, rambling. “Nicole! It’s okay. Haha, you’re so cute…” Tina laughed. I picked up the fallen spoons from the floor and placed them in the sink. I turned to Dan, “I’m incredibly sorry. I should keep control of my anger. That wasn’t a very good example and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t lose my temper.” He chuckled softly and looked at me, “Apology accepted although, honestly, I can’t see what’s so wrong. Sometimes things happen. Besides, you didn’t say anything harmful that I heard.” “But I called my hands stupid, and nothing God made is stupid.” I replied back. “True,” he nodded. “But you were frustrated. It happens. Sometimes you have to vent or it just gets stuck in there, and that’s not good. It’s okay.” I turned away and went back to my tasks. The rest of the shift passed without reoccurring hand tremors, of which I was grateful. 

“Well,” I said, wiping my face on my forearm (washing dishes can be a wet experience…especially if the hose squirts back at you through a loose spot in the seal), “We’re all done back here! How are you guys doing? Almost ready to go home?” (why do I refer to myself as “we” I wonder?) “Yep yep, just finishing with the trash and we’re outta here.” Dan replied enthusiastically. “Yeah!” Tina agreed happily from near the salads. I squinted. My nose felt soggy. I brushed my forearm across my nose (unwilling to dirty my hands with drying water off from my nose), and I saw bright red blood streaked wetly across my arm. “Oh no, not now!” I cried out, knowing I had just a second. I thrust myself toward the nearest sink, intending to put my head down to it. They’d just mopped the floor, cleaned the counters and the sinks. We were done. Blood splattered all over the counter, myself, and the sink. A flood of it poured from my nose like a facet opened all the way. I could hear Dan whisper from behind me, “Oh my **d…” 

Tina stopped dead in front of me, eyes wide, “S***, Nicole are you okay?” “I think so.” The sink clogged and backed up with blood, the dark red pool filled higher, then splattered wildly outside of the sink, dripping down my apron, filling in my mouth. I spat. I knew better than to swallow it. I reached my hand out for the paper towels, my hand and forearm were glistening with the bright red. I snatched off a wad and pressed it to my nose. “Put your head back. I’ll get a wet towel.” Tina said. “I’ll get a chair.” My 45 min nosebleed flashed before my mind with the thought, oh no, please not again. “No no, this is how I need to do this. Pinch the bridge of my nose and keep this wad on it, and look down so I don’t swallow the blood. The nurses said so.” I objected. It seemed like many minutes passed, but I wasn’t sure. I tried to peer at my watch from around the towel, it had me feeling cross-eyed and dizzy. I gave another try but I couldn’t see. I glanced in my peripheral vision, trying to see the hands of the clock stationed over the bakery. The hot case blocked it from view, the only way to see would be to erect myself and splatter the floor and anything within the vicinity of the sink. Not a good idea. I stayed put.

“We need to call her mom.” Tina said. “Now. She needs to go to E.R.” “No,” I breathed from beneath the towel, pinching my nose and looking down at the blood filling the sink. My blood. I was getting dizzy. I tried another look at my wrist watch, but I couldn’t see the hands and notches from this angle. “What time is it? Tell me.” I ordered gently. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is getting...” Tina said. “Yes it does. I need to know. I need to count how long.” I replied hurriedly. “No, honey, you need to go to E.R.” Tina said. “Ten minutes, the nurse said. Ten minutes. Then I’ll go to E.R. IF it’s still gushing.” I interrupted. “Okay,” She told me the time. “Thank you.” I said, dragging the trash barrel toward me with my right leg and dunking a completely soggy towel into the trash. Then a third, then a fourth. It was soaking right through, making the towel more than useless. “Oh my **d.” Dan said again, still behind me, otherwise speechless. “S***, s***, s***…” Tina said openly, pacing back and forth in front of my peripheral vision. “It’s going to be okay, really.” I tried convincing all of us. “Just a part of life, bloody noses.” Something gagged me and I couldn’t breathe. I pulled the towel away and a long 7 inch goop of blood clot drew out. Tina’s pacing was more frantic. I stared at the unknown streamer, blood gushing faster from my nose. “Is this umm, normal?” I held up the towel. Tina looked. “Umm, no,” she laughed nervously. “Then can you get a plastic half pound container for me. I’d like to have the evidence. Gross as it is.” 

“Are you okay?” Dan asked, still frozen in his place. “I think so. I’ll find out. I’ve dealt with these a lot with my disorder. Ha, I think eventually I’ll get good at it.” I joked. “Disorder…” Dan repeated. “ITP, basically my blood has a hard time clotting because my immune system thinks the platelets used for clotting are yummy.” “Oh,” Dan frowned. “That’s not good. Could you bleed to death?” “No, it’s being monitored and I’m at a safe level. Just not out of the woods yet, that’s all.” “How many minutes?” I asked them, curious. “Seven, and I’m going to call your mom. It’s not stopping and you need to go to E.R.” Tina said, stopping from her pacing to look at me. “Wait wait, when it hits 10 minutes, then you can call her. But it might stop.” I said, looking into the red pool in the sink. My ears popped. I felt vaguely dizzy. Okay, so now I was imagining that I was about to pass out? Oh no you don’t. I thought. It’s only been under ten minutes. Don’t imagine yourself in trouble, you’re fine.

“Ten minutes,” Tina announced. “I’m calling your mom and she’s taking you to E.R.” “Okay,” I said, resigned. That had been the agreement, and my nose wasn’t stopping. “You can call her now.” Tina, however, was gone from my peripheral vision and I could hear her muted talking from across the way. The phone hung up. “She’s on her way.” Tina told me. “Look at the mess I made. I’m not leaving you guys to clean up my blood. Here, get some bleach and…” Tina got the bleach and began to open it. “No no,” I objected. “It’s my blood. I’ll get it.” I said. “You’re in no condition to clean it up, you’re still gushing a river of it!” Tina said right back. I put my head down toward the sink, but reached out with one bloody, but free hand and put it into the pool of blood, finding the drain. It finally went down and then she poured in the bleach. By this time, my nose was merely dripping. I scrubbed at the blood with my hand. The bleach made me feel lightheaded and the smell burned in my nose. I wasn’t about to let them to this sickening job of cleaning up blood though. It was mine and I felt obligated to clean up after myself. I finished up and scooped up my purse. I apologized, but was told to stop it because it wasn’t my fault. 

Said goodnight to them and mom took me to E.R. I told them what happened, so they asked more questions and then took a sampling of blood. I showed them the clot and they said that was gross, but a good sign…it meant I was clotting. They threw it in the trash. “You’re bleeding again.” Mom said, pointing at the blood spot on the floor. “Oh no!” I said and covered my nose, but felt nothing…I removed my still clean hands and looked at the floor, rubbing my shoe against the blood spot. It was dried. “Oh, not mine.” I said. The doctor returned with good news: my count actually rose. The reason why I started bleeding was simply “because the nose was dry,” and “stress.” Dryness, that I could see…but stress? I hadn’t felt an ounce of stress before it happened. They asked if it were possible that I was suffering from Depression, I answered a solid no to that. I am not a depressed person. We shook hands. I was told to take it easy and they joked, “I hate to say it, but hopefully we don’t see you in here again. Although, sometime in your life we probably might.” “Same here.” I agreed. We went home. 

I texted my pals and told them I was a-ok and that my count actually rose. I was warned not to tell all my coworkers, lest they think me frail and incapable of doing my job. That was a thought I had actually not considered – my bloody noses causing them to think me unfit for working? Firing me for dealing with a disorder was foolish in my mind and I couldn’t see my bosses doing that – the proof was all around the store, others that I knew that struggled with adventures of their own. My bosses are compassionate and good. I did see one point about what she said, and that was the rumors. Rumors can easily spark untrue things and I didn’t want that. I shrugged it off as whatever would happen, would happen. I wasn’t about to be concerned about rumors, now was I? No.

Tried to sleep, but my stomach was in knots and very unhappy with me. I tossed, turned, tried to sleep, but rest was evasive. My stomach still hurt. I tried to reason with the pain: I was finished with the medication, so I shouldn’t have the same pain as I had throughout taking the meds. It was over. But the pain was still there. I prayed about it, then watched the stars from my bedroom window, tossed and turned some more. Relief just wasn’t obtainable, was it? Finally, at last, I drifted away…

The next morning at work, although I said nothing, I was greeted with a concerned coworker, “I heard you were raced off to E.R. last night! Why are you at work, shouldn’t you be resting? I heard there was a lot of blood. What did the doctors say…is it serious??” I pulled her aside and quietly fixed her concern. There was no reason to worry, it was a bloody nose. She relaxed with a sigh. Another coworker stuck his head around the corner, “Oh, talking about the bloody nose? How was the ambulance ride? Loud?” “Ambulance?” I said incredulously. “I didn’t take an ambulance ride, mom took me.” “Oh.” He said, his eyes squinting. It didn’t line up with what he was told. I began to wonder who else knew. I got a phone call from mom reminding me not to tell anyone so no rumors could start. “Too late, I didn’t say anything, but they know.” I replied. Then, I heard from behind me a familiar voice. “How are you girly?” Tina asked. I gave a thumbs-up. She hoped I didn’t mind, but she told a few people. So, I reasoned, those few people must have passed it on and that’s where it contorted into “a dangerous amount of bleeding” and “an ambulance ride to E.R.” I don’t blame and don’t mind that Tina told them. I’d scared the crap out of her that night, gushing blood as I was. It certainly wasn’t her fault that the story twisted up on itself.

I fixed the story as it finished spreading throughout the store. I was safe, it was a simple bloody nose, Mom drove me, no ambulance. The main part of the story was still there, so it made it quicker to fix. My disorder is not a secret; I just didn’t want people to be unnecessarily concerned, and worrying their socks off over me. I’m at a safe level and I wanted the story to go out, not to make people scared for me, but to use as encouragement. That’s what I want. The day went smoothly and all went very well. I even had a few coworkers tug me aside and tell me I was in their prayers and what a blessing I was to them. It was heartening to hear that. I was glad the info had gone out for their sakes. :)

The rest of that shift was spent bagging and packaging bakery items. “Hello deli girl, what are you doing over here?” My head snapped up to see a regular customer and his wife. “Hi! I’m working bakery today.” I said. Across the way, my coworker put his hands to his mouth and shouted over, “Traitor! Traitor!” lol. Tina did likewise. Soon, my deli coworkers were shouting over, “Traitor!” “Yeah, yeah! You just think I am!” I shot back.  “Because you are, haha!” Tina said. “Oh yeah?” I questioned. “Yeah.” She said back, laughing. “You might win this time, but…” I started to warn her. “You bet I did!” she chuckled. We all laughed. A great day. :)

Text talk:

3-2-12 A memorable moment: Serving an older gentleman who wore a wide brimmed hat with what looked to be a pheasant's feather. I had given him a sample of my newest creation, a Country Kitchen Beef Bake. He said in strained English, "It is very good." He decided on a 1/2 serving of it. I engaged in conversation with him as I served him...about warm, good home-cooking, and also, what brought him to visit Idaho (he said he was only visiting). I passed the order to him. "Merci beaucoup. Vous êtes belle." He smiled at me, tipped his hat cordially, and walked away without translating it. I didn't understand anything except for merci, which I knew meant thank you. I didn't know the French words for "You're welcome." I turned to a coworker, "What does 'Merci beaucoup. Vous êtes belle' mean?" My coworker smiled, "Oh...he said, 'Thank you very much.'" :) Dru later told me, “That is the translation of the first part. Vous êtes belle means, ‘You are beautiful.’”

3-20-12: “Today’s the first day of Spring.” -Paul. “Really?” –me, I placed my palms on my desk and looked out the window at the snow. “Yep, just look at the Google page. :P” –Paul. I looked, finding that he was right. I smiled and looked out the window, putting my fingers on the keyboard once more, “*Is very tempted to open her window and shout “Hello Springtime! Tell Winter his time is up!”*” Paul laughed in response. 

“So why were you saying you’re clumsy this morning?” He asked a few moments later. “Instead of leaping to my feet out of bed, once I placed my weight on my feet to do that, I crumpled. :P …My legs were apparently made out of jelly. They just, didn’t take the weight. :P After all, they’d been rested for quite some time unbothered…then I leap to my feet? Ha, they weren’t ready yet.” I recalled the failed leap from bed: "Mayday! Going down!" I had said as I went backwards and down. “Morning people. :P” He said. I wasn’t done explaining my clumsy behavior. “Getting to the laundry, I got my toes caught up in the laundry pile and accidentally dragged a sweater behind me…” I smirked, thinking about how nutty that was. “Unhand me, you! I said let go!” I said as I shook myself free of the clingy sweater while not trying to topple over and lose my grip on the clean bundle of laundry. 

“In putting the granola box away for my yogurt, it toppled toward me and I shielded my face instead of moving to catch it. :P” I stood up on my tiptoes, stretching to reach the cabinet, speaking to the cereal box as I went, “Up you go…” It began to slip, then fell from my grip, so I shielded my face with my palms, “Aaaahh nooo!” It landed against my palms. I opened my eyes and peeked at the ground, not a single piece of granola slipped from it. “Yippy!” I celebrated with a little dance around the kitchen, then slipped the box up where it went. I wouldn’t talk about the dancing in little circles, hugging a cereal box; he’d think I’d lost it. Anyone in their right mind dance happily with their cereal boxes in the morning? Doubtful. Yes, very doubtful. I continued typing, “I smacked into the wall instead of going through the entry way to my bedroom…” I had tried to enter the door, humming and stepping lightly along and then I looked up just as I met with the wall, *whomp!* “Oh my deepest apologies!” I said to the wall. “Quite by accident, I assure you.” I bowed with a flourish and then proceeded through the actual entrance to my room. I finished with my rather silly argument of how clumsy I was, “Now, if those things aren’t clutzy, I ask you, what is? :P” It didn’t go believed.

Later… I sighed, thinking, then started typing. “Who knows what else I'll find on this "treasure hunt" as Val calls my medical adventure. :P” “True.” Paul agreed. “Ha, it'd be nice if there was an everything-test. That'd erase all surprises for sure. lol. :P …I laugh and think to myself by the time I'm in my mid 60's, I'll be part machine. Then I'll be indestructible! Bwahahaha!” Paul smiled in reply, “Only part of you. :P” I squinted, he was right. Well now, that did it. “Pop my balloon will you?” He typed, putting a silly face with a tongue sticking out, “…Eventually you won't have to worry about it. :)”  “Yeah, forever young.” I said. Paul simply smiled. I thought about it for a moment. “That'll be somewhat odd. To reach whatever age I'll be all pruny and wrinkly at and die of old age and then be *poof* young again. But permanently this time with no need for "age defying wrinkle cream remover dark circle hider" stuffs! :P” He smiled. I turned to pondering my story as I typed in memories of all that had happened. I typed my thought, “Ha, what a story I have. :P  I wonder if people will believe all of this, or think I'm some sort of exaggerating drama sort of writer and these facts are all fictional. :P”  He smiled, I imagined a shrug with his words, “Some will, some won't. :) …I do.” I continued writing, looking up old text messages and wishing I kept a better record of the specifics. Everything seemed, in hindsight, blurred together in a single incident, instead of several events as it had happened. It’s so interesting to find how everything is piecing together, just like a puzzle. I found myself daydreaming. What if the answer to all of this was just around the corner? I hoped so.

3-21-12: I brought up a chat window with one of my friends as she wanted an update after my appointment. My stomach has been very upset as of lately and as a result, I feel nauseous most of the time. I thought at first it was all due to the steroid treatment, but being I’ve been off the treatment for months, it couldn’t be that and had to be something else. I was expecting to hear that something I was eating was disagreeing with me. What it was, we’d have to find and then cut it from my diet. I was prepared for anything but what the friendly, bubbly nurse was about to tell me.  I remember not crying, but sitting there in the small room as she spoke, Hannah sitting beside me; my hand over my stomach…numb. Quiet and numb. I began typing, “My tummy ache is not really a tummy ache from med side effects. I can't have wee-ones, so the nurse says. She joked to lighten the dark news, "At least you aren't married so you don't have to go home and tell your hubby why you can't have kids. Consider it natural birth control." Would appreciate your prayers. I know it doesn't affect me right now, but I had hoped in my future to have wee-ones. It may be fixable...I certainly hope so. Will u pray for me?” Her reply was instant, “Of course I'll be praying…” I wrote in a hug. “…I'm going to find out on Tuesday at 11... and if they tell me I can't, I'll be an absolute mess. I have plans to run away to my secret place to cry and pray. I don't know how I'll drive, but that seems to be such a small detail.” “Well I'll be praying for your appointment on Tuesday...” She wrote. “Thank you.” I texted back. “…You're welcome!” I gave a hug and she hugged me in reply. I put out my tongue, being silly.

“lol… It’s comforting to know I'm not alone.” I wrote. “Yeah.” She smiled back. “I've had a very brief time to think about it. I was told just the day before yesterday.” I could almost hear a sigh, “Yeah.” “Even though I was told that this problem isn't new. Doctors never saw it because the ITP, so the problem was invisible until now. They just said my pain was strange for others but being that it’s always been that way, it’s how I am. ...and I'm just now learning that's false.” I shook my head and continued. “lol, doesn’t it seem like when one thing breaks, just like a car, other things go with it? :P” She agreed with me, “Yep. Lol. Hopefully nothing else.” “I know trusting God is the way to go. But how do you do it, you've had to deal with your trials much longer?” I asked. “I just do.  It's a way of life for me.  I know these things won't ever change so I just deal with it.  I've had these medical problems since I was born.  I don't know how else to explain it.  There's no use in complaining even though I still do from time to time. I just have to get over it and keep moving forward.” I smiled, “I wish I could be there for you, so I could hug you…” “I wish I could be there for you too.” She responded.

 I sat there for a moment. “My friend, Sage, said upon hearing my news, that I could steal an orphan from Haiti or China.” I joked. She smiled. “Adoption is what she means,” I clarified the ‘stealing’ part. “Just something to keep in mind for later. I've thought about adoption for a while now, being that I was told that ITP could affect pregnancy. But now that it’s controlled, I'd be fine. But this... *shrugs* it’s an idea. And those little orphans need a mother with unmerited, unending, beautiful love that reflects Jesus. :) Those wee ones are still gifts from God, even if it’s not born of our flesh. This was brought to my attention, and I couldn't help but agree the truth of it.” “Amen to that.” She agreed with a smile, “I have also thought about that option as well.  I would love to have however many kids God allows me to have through giving birth to them but if not then I will definitely adopt that is if the husband is okay with that.  Whoever he might be....” “I'm sure your husband would adore you for you, whether you could bear him children or not. He'd just want you, and on that note, I doubt he would be opposed to an orphan baby. :) "There is always adoption." I was told, once. "A man who truly loves you will not look down at you for not being able to give him children. A man who truly loves you, will love you for who you are." She smiled, “That's sweet.” I nodded, then remembered via text, she couldn’t see that. “Yeah, I gave that little tidbit treasure to you cause it applies to you as well. The man God will give to you, will love you. He will be compassionate, and if you truly wanted children, I don't think he'd be at all opposed to adopting. After all, aren't we all adopted? :)” “Yep.” She grinned and I smiled.

“Well I gotta be going.  Have to run an errand.  Going to be buying myself a small pocket bible.  I would like to get one that is the entire bible that is small enough that I can take it with me to work… The book and the card that you sent for me arrived on the same day- My Birthday.” She told me with a smile. “That was pretty neat. :-)  Thank you for those! :-)  Love you!!” I grinned and my fingers flew over the keys. “I am glad you like them. You will love the prayer book. I got gifted that book and it's so rich, it helped my prayer walk. I thought it'd do likewise for you. :) *Hugs* Love you too! Glad to have someone to relate with in my trial. :) Plz take my friend's words to heart for you. You're special, just you. :) Talk to you later and have a great day! God bless!” “You too!!!  Have a wonderful day!! I will take your friend’s words to heart. :-D  Thank you for the encouragement!  You're the best!!” She grinned back, and then closed out of the conversation. I sat back in my chair. Perhaps the reason why I am going through this not only to learn, but to encourage others. Maybe something would happen so I could have children? But then, what if it wasn’t fixable? I placed my face into my palms and rubbed away the thought. Maybe this situation was here to open my thoughts to the concept of adopting? This way when the time came (whenever that would be), a child who didn’t have a mother would have one, and a woman who was childless would have a child to nurture and love, and point them in the way they should go. I very much liked that path of thought. 

3-21-2012: I slowly sat down and placed my hot-pack up to my stomach, then opened up Word and started thinking, my fingers hovering in indecision over the keys. I was popped with a message and a conversation began with Paul. I hoped he wouldn’t ask how I was, I was getting tired of saying that I hurt, only for the reason that I didn’t want to be a complaining person. I was told I am certainly NOT that sort of person; that I’m just saying that I hurt, and by expressing that, they know how to go about praying for me. I couldn’t focus on my sci-fi’s story plot. I x-d out and began scrolling through emails. I was not focused on any one place. I hopped around from email to email, sorting as I went. “How are you doing?” His message popped on the chat screen. “Just okay today.” I said, choosing my words. “But you know what, that's just swell cause it means two things: I'm alive and I'm breathing. Two remarkably good things!” “True,” Paul agreed.  “May I ask what's wrong?” “Tummy ache,” I decided to say. “It woke me up this morning. When it’s strong, it sort of feels like a Charlie horse, sort of. So I woke up. It feels kinda like I ate something wrong and my stomach doesn't like it...but it’s not.”  His response came, “That's why you said the waking up wasn't so good.” “Yeah,” I sighed, “It really wasn't. I probably would have slept till 8am otherwise.” I was still on the sleepy side, and could have easily slept till that hour, even though I tend to be a morning bird, up at the crack of dawn. Paul frowned, “Well, I'm praying for you.” I didn’t want him being worried. I knew I would be just fine. “It’s okay, really.” “I don't care.  I’m STILL going to keep praying for you.” He said, and then joked, “So take that.”

In the middle of trying to jump-start the sci-fi story again, I squinted at his reply, then re-read it again. I caught on. Silly text messages… Was he thinking that I was saying it was okay, he didn’t have to pray for me? I tried to clarify what I meant, “Thanks for the prayer. I'd never refuse that.” He smiled, “You're welcome.” I didn’t want him worrying, either. “This tummy ache won't hurt me, the nurse said so. She said I'll be just fine.” He only smiled. The conversation shifted. “Meh, getting to sleep was a restless venture, but I slept perfectly fine. Got up to my alarm. Trying to write. ...trying.” I joked, sticking out my tongue. Just a smile and then a text was the reply, “A lot of things going through your mind so you couldn't get to sleep?”  I shook my head, then wrote, “Nah, my stomach was bothering me…Tried to relax n cool off, but that only made me dizzy and weak, so I went to bed, but it was still bothering me. Oh well… I'm ok.” I attached a smile to the comment. He smiled back. “Still breathing. That’s a plus, yes?” I joked. “No,” Paul replied. “That's a GREAT thing.” “Haha, right you are sir!” I laughed. “*yawns* I'm still sleepy. And after a full night's rest. lol!” He wrote in a smile then added, “You should have stayed in bed.” I laughed outright, and then wrote, “Could u see me sleeping in?” The reply was quick. “Yes,” Paul said. Oh, I thought, how does he figure? I watched the bar as it explained he was typing. “Albeit tied down.” He added. I laughed, “Well in that scenario, I'd obviously be unable to get OUT of bed…But I'd be giving whoever would dare do that a mouthful of complaint.” He thought about it, “Mm.” “Nah-awh,” I began, “Or....or I'll make good on my guest's idea - "whoever makes the cook angry had better watch out, you could always slip laxative in their food and they'd be sorry..." “Mmmm…” He wrote, “If you could get out of bed.” I smirked. “A minor setback, I assure you.” A smile was the reply.

3-22-12

“And chat with you while I press aprons and pkg them up… acourse after I do my morning chores, which is oh, 7am. People who have the day off can afford to sleep in till 6ish, yes? :P” –me.

Later…

“After I sent the message that at least you'd still be able to have tea and the girls night out, I get "And chat with you, while I press aprons, etc."  And I responded saying I thought you had to work, and then no response.” Paul said, lightheartedly. “No response because when I read the message I was curled up in a quiet ball upstairs and felt no desire to respond, only to close my eyes and try to fake sleep until it did take me. It was a very bad night…” I read over what I wrote and then added, “I'm okay though. It can't hurt me.” I thought it best to remind my pal that I was okay and this wasn’t dangerous. “Are you?...” He sounded doubtful, so I added more, “Yes. I'm sore, but the pain is much less. Feels just like I'd eaten something sour, that's all.” I considered what was going on inside of me and wondered if my vivid imagination was tricking me somehow. But no, the pain was real, as was what the nurse told me. “Ha, part of me keeps thinking that my imaginative mind is making all this pain up. That I'm just milking off all the attention, so my body makes up imaginary signals of pain. But the other half of me is repulsed by the foolish thought of that.” I entered that in the conversation. That was foolishness, signals of pain like I was having couldn’t be imagined. How could they be?

Paul wrote back, “Somehow I doubt your body is making it up.” I didn’t think it was possible either, but someone had planted that thought. What if I just didn’t know it yet? I returned to typing, “That side that thinks that, thinks that’s the truth and the doctors will never find a problem because it’s imaginary. But again, that other side thinks that they better find the problem because this pain sucks, bogs me down and sometimes pins me down. There ought to be something wrong in there because if this were imagined, it would have an off switch.” I read over my entered text and then sighed, “I'm a strange person.” “We all are.” Paul responded back.

I told him to pray for an upcoming doctor appointment, that all would go well. I told him very little. He asked if I would have someone there, but I said no. I would want to be alone if I didn’t hear something good, and to go to my secret place afterwards. Then I’d take company. But, I fancied that my symptoms were uncomplicated and simple to deal with, and not a problem. It would be over before I knew it and everything was going to be just fine. He told me he’d be there for me if I asked. I knew somehow that he was going to say that. It wasn’t like I could tell him details. And he shouldn’t show up at that appointment. If I were to hear that I couldn’t have children, I wouldn’t be in a good way, and I wouldn’t want him to see that. No, it was better if I were to simply text him with either, “It went well, thanks for praying!” or “It didn’t go so well today and I still want prayer.” I decided on what to say, “I’ll keep your offer in mind. But! I’m going to hear good news. Yep yep.” He smiled and said he’d still be there if I asked. “Of course,” I wrote, then thought to myself, Of course he would say that. :P

I huffed as I read over my blog draft. I typed in the chat block, “I hate how this is turning out. *sighs* Journaling about me and all I see is me...I can be so doggone stubborn! Why won't I just let others help me? (lol *shakes head*)” Paul responded, “Dunno.  I keep asking you the same thing. :P” I laughed and copied a section of the post and pasted it, “Look at the mess I made. I’m not leaving you guys to clean up my blood. Here, get some bleach and…” Tina got the bleach and began to open it. “No no,” I objected. “Its my blood. I’ll get it.” I said. “You’re in no condition to clean it up, you’re still gushing a river of it!” Tina said right back.” I typed after it, “I'm not like this, am I??” 

I posted a second section, “I put my head down toward the sink, but reached out with one bloody, but free hand and put it into the pool of blood, finding the drain. It finally went down and then she poured in the bleach. By this time, my nose was merely dripping. I scrubbed at the blood with my hand. The bleach made me feel lightheaded and the smell burned in my nose. I wasn’t about to let them to this sickening job of cleaning up blood though. It was mine and I felt obligated to clean up after myself.” I facepalmed myself and groaned, then typed. “*sighs* Oh Coley, what do we do with you? :P” Paul smiled. I wrote, “Perhaps I'm crazy. :P Who else is like that? I've never read of a character quite like the one living in my journal. I wish to shake sense into her "let them clean it, sit down, you're dizzy. You're unfit to clean up." But, just like all characters, they are untouched by such fictating. Nothing that is said will stop them from their next paragraph and course of action. She moves on to clean the counter and drawers. *facepalm* lol, someone help me before I tie her down with rope!” 

He smiled, “…No, you’re not crazy.” I raised my eyebrow, “No, I'm not? Why not?” “No, you're not.  Just stubborn. :P” His response came. “lol, thanks. I think.” I said with a silly face. He smiled, “And I remember having to walk you to the house twice to get you to rest. AND make you promise to take it easy.” Hmm, I said, then typed, “True....I forgot about that.” “And then shortly afterwards found you curled up on the couch in a ball.” He finished. “I...tried to collect laundry from all over the house, so I could do something. <.<....>.>  I didn't get far.” Me and my excuses. Why didn’t I just say it? I am a workaholic. “I knew you needed to rest.  As did your Ma.” Paul wrote. “Yeah. I got into one of my modes. Besides, I wanted to help.” I explained. He said he knew that, “But helping would have been resting.”  “Hindsight's twenty-twenty? Thank you for helping, btw.” I wrote back. “It wasn't hindsight for me.” He said with a silly face, “And you're welcome. Besides, it's in the past now.  Go get your breakfast if you haven't yet.” 

I frowned. I wasn’t sure. I placed my fingers over the keys, “I haven't had breakfast yet. I was debating if I should eat something or not....I don't feel very hungry being my stomach feels uptight. but, I'll eat.” “Just get something light, non-greasy, etc. Non-acidic, decaffinated.” He suggested. I grinned and typed quickly, “A double double animal style cheeseburger with an iced caramel mocha. Mmmmm!” He laughed, and then wrote “How about a blueberry bagel?” Without hesitation I wrote, “Potato wedge fries and blue cheese yes please!” “Toasted, and with butter melting on it…Blue cheese?  Ugh.” He replied. I laughed and then told the truth, “I’'ll go with yogurt and hot tea.” He agreed, then told me he was glad that I’d be going out for tea with Val, “It sounds like you need the encouragement.” I nodded quietly, yes, I did want that. “Si.” I would talk briefly about my medical condition, but not a lot as I didn’t want to accept it before I knew if it was mine to accept. I didn’t want to cry in public.

Later…

“I’m not really hungry. Trying to get me to get food is...difficult.” I joked it off. “Course, your stomach bothering you, doesn't help.” Paul told me. “That's the reason why I don't want food. In a way, it makes sense: Why put something into an upset stomach?” I shrugged. My own statement bothered me because I wanted to get food in there. My doctors want me to be 130lbs at least….and I’m not. The subject shifted. “I know I eat slower than others but that's just so I don't get hiccups, which I get if I eat too quick. Its chronic (had them since infancy). Dunno why that is, but they are embarrassing. Sage says I sound like a mouse squeaking and its super comical.” I joked. “I think I've seen you with them.  It's amusing.” Paul told me. “But I also feel for you.” He added. Was he thinking that it hurt? I began typing, “It doesn't hurt at all. It just sounds loud and draws attention. I get them a lot at work (due to cramming in my food).” I paused. Had he heard the squeaks? “You've heard the high-pitched fits? I know you've seen me drink water upside-down. I've gotten to that point many times.” He wasn’t sure. “Usually people around me give this sympathetic smile before they tell me it hurts their ears.” I explained, because it did.

Then I happened upon a crazy thought that made me laugh. Me and my wild imagination! …so I typed it in the chat block, “Jah! Supersonic hiccups! Blasting the eardrums of all nearby, muahahaaha!” “Sure. Uh huh. I've heard you make that claim before and it not be true.” Paul replied, unconvinced. “Yeah, then no one would be able to hear me sing.” I explained. “I WANT TO HEAR YOU SING!” Paul shouted in the chatroom. I pretended not to see that, “Mercy, mercy! they'd be screaming.” 

He repeated himself. “You are shouting.” I stated the obvious, and then wrote, “You must already have damage from my powerful hiccups.” “No, I'm trying to get it through somebody's thick skull when they've stuffed their ears with cotton, put their hands over their ears and is going "lalalalalalalalala." I laughed hard, wiping away the tears in my eyes before typing, “rofl.” “I still want to hear you sing.” Paul said. I shook my head and typed, “I know. You've said it a kazillion times (I've kept track, see?).”

“Yes, I but I don't think it's gotten through to you yet.” He said with a silly face. “No, cause somebody's thick skull won't hear it cause they've stuffed their ears with cotton, put their hands over their ears and is going "lalalalalalalalala," I repeated. There was a pause and then, “You need to be tied to a chair until you sing.” “O_O” I wrote simply. “Seems like the only way.” He wrote. No, I’d not sing because of that. “I'd likely die there then.” I joked and then told him, “I haven't a pretty singing voice.” “That's not what I've heard.” Paul replied. “I don't, but that doesn't mean I don't like singing. I love to sing.” I thought of all the times I sang and danced with an air-microphone and air-guitar when alone….spinning circles on our lawn, my jedi pack (fannypack with cd player inside) strapped at my side. “And what were your parents and the others saying when you sang that one night?” He asked. He had me at that one. Hmm. “That it...was beautiful.” I said reluctantly. “And that's why I want to hear you sing.” He had a good argument, darn it.

 “And they wanted me to sing it in front of the church. I hit the falsettos and that doing so is hard to do and I shouldn't be able to hit them like I did.” I was very nervous about that. He smiled. Fine, Paul, fine… I knew how to solve this. I pondered a good song, tapping my chin in thought. Yes! That one! I put up my pointer-finger, and then twirled it down to the keyboard like a spiraling plane. The other nine fingers followed and touched down on the keys. Jesus is comin’ by Sam and Jennene would do perfectly. “Okay, I'll sing... *clears throat*” I began and then typed furiously, verse by verse, "Jesus is comin'. Someday, maybe soon." “HEY!   I said I want to HEAR you.” Paul interrupted, but I kept going undeterred. “I know He’s comin'. Someday, maybe soon." “That means I need to be there in person.” He interrupted again. "He's brinin' changes to this world of sin." I wasn’t finished. "Open your heart right now and let Him come in… Better get ready, don'tcha wait too long. No one can know the hour He'll come. The hour He'll come. Jesus is comin'…" I smiled. A small sampling was all that was needed, I was certain. “There. Satisfied?” “No. So when can I hear you sing?” I laughed. “I said I want to HEAR you. Right now, I'm READING.” I laughed harder.

3-23-12: “But that's too simple. I demand some difficulty!” –me. That received a roll of the eyes. I facebooked it only to have Val say, “Haha, yep. That sounds like you!”

3-23-12: “Oh that choosing boots were a simple matter “Would one of you shoes just fall off and I’ll wear you?” *Jostles the shoe rack to help the decision.* A lone red sandal falls and rolls to a stop in front of me. “Umm, I wish. Back on the shelf with you. You are summer-wear, not to hurt your feelings or nothing but my toes need protection. I know, I want to wear you but later I promise.” Were that summer be here already! :P” I texted my goofy behavior to Hannah.

3-24-1: “I've been cleaning house (well, and two naps to recoup energy). …I think mama bear loves me.” I smiled, hearing the phone conversation downstairs: “No....she's  mine!! Hahaha! I went to clean my lady's house and came home to laundry, dishes, vacuumed house, all done... and pot roast in the crockpot!! What a great daughter I have!” “Now what would ever give you such a crazy idea?” Paul joked in response. “(see above text)” I said simply. “I did.” “Her friend is too cute: "I need a Cole!" lol. (I took over mama bear's facebook profile while she was at work n that's how I wrote under her name. Clever, ain’t I?)” I grinned. Paul smiled. “Course she doesn't know about the power naps.” I joked. “Or power-downs, actually.” Paul shrugged. “Who cares.” I shrugged as well. “I do.” He wrote, “But at least you took the naps.” I didn’t want to take the naps. They were not in my plan at all. I had sat down on the couch to catch my breath, intending to stand right up and work... only to wake up an hour later and find out I had slept. I told Paul that. He was glad I did, as I obviously needed it. “Obviously.” I nodded.

Later…

“(Val) convinced me that going to my appointment alone is not a good idea. And that she'll be there with me. Her reasoning: if I get all emotional, I won't hear details and she will.” Paul nodded, “That's probably a very good idea. …Just remember, if you need me, I'll be there.” I bit my lip. He couldn’t be there this time, maybe next time, but not this one. I came up with another reason of why he couldn’t. When told bad things and I am hurt by it, I gather hugs… that was a good reason why. “I know you would, but I don't know that this is a trial to share with you. I mean, what were to happen if I were to be told what I don't want to hear and I were to get all emotional and cry on you? It is better to protect the situation from that, true? I just want to be wise about this.” He knew that, but still told me he would be there for me if I needed him. And I knew that and thanked him. “Like I've always said, prayer is the best thing.” I knew he would want something to do about my trial. Prayer was very good. “I've already come to the conclusion that God's in control and this won't ruin me... it'll just grind at some more rough spots in my walk.” He only smiled. I shrugged, “Who knows, it could be something else that's bothering me. Who knows but God? right?” He nodded, “Perhaps a few angels.” I smiled, “Well yeah, there's that. I know there's at least one nearby. Kinda interesting to think about, isn't it?” He nodded and then paused. “I missed seeing you online yesterday.” I frowned, “Yeah, I wasn't on yesterday. It was sort of a lost day.” A very lost day. It was awful. 

“I figured you were having a bad day.” He told me. I should clarify – most of the day wasn’t bad, I’d slept. “Not really a bad one until dinner time. I just....slept and slept and slept. I couldn't seem to get myself to wake up.” He nodded. I had felt so lazy that it gnawed at me in an irksome way. “I hated the fact that I was being lazy, so finally after sleeping off a good 4 hrs, I forced myself up and cleaned house and made dinner and folded laundry. Then I felt accomplished somewhat....and also crummy. So I cleaned up and went to bed. Where I promptly fell asleep (who thought a person could sleep so darn much??).” He smiled, I imagined sympathetically, “Are you feeling okay?” Best not to lie, but I didn’t want to say I felt crummy. “Kinda.” It seemed like such a good answer, right in between. “In other words, no.” He translated. “I've been praying for you.” He added. “Well, kinda yep and nope.” I was trying.  I talked about the appointment and he smiled, “It's in God's hands.” I twined my fingers together in my lap, then put them back on the keys. “Yep. All you're likely to hear from this dr app is that I'm sad to hear bad news, or I'm relieved to hear good news. *hopes u understand*” He did. I had to go fill out paperwork, so I said my customary farewell. “Vaya Con Dios.  I'll be praying.” Paul typed.

3-27-12: At the doctor’s office, I sat with Val, chatting with her as I waited to have my name called. My name was called. This would be it then. I mustered up courage and followed the lady through the door….

                I blew a sigh of relief and smiled. I brought up my text message on my phone and found Paul’s message waiting for me. He was praying the tests would come out fine and they can find the problem. I wrote to a few of my close pals and to my Mom. “Glad to be ok. It’s not what they thought. It’s what I thought all along: It’s my stomach. Onto another kind of doctor and a brand new situation with the possibility of irritability (thus my trouble with loss of weight and no appetite) and possibilities of food allergies (they want to test for wheat and milk, among others). Just like Val said, it certainly is a treasure hunt. :P” 

...Is this new situation scary? Yes. But then, God has guided me thus far and I am still okay. I’m learning, I’m growing. It is a treasure hunt… although the prize at the end isn’t really a mystery after all. At the end of this journey, I will have grown so much. This is shaping me and changing me from the inside. Wherever this leads to medically, I don’t know. What I do know is that the treasure is a deeper walk with the One I most love. 

Updates n' such.

Oct. 25, Tuesday: Battle in the mind:

My day off. It’s a crisp sort of morning. Everything outside is beginning to unthaw from frost sheaves. The Fall colors; bright yellows and ambers and browns against the contrasting deep blue sky have my fingers itching for my camera. It’s quite beautiful. I’ve just sat down, having completed tending to the chickens, and I wait for the kettle to heat up so I can have some earl grey tea. Speaking of, there it whistles!

….mmm, okay, I’m back. This morning hasn’t been all fluff and roses, I just don’t like starting off on a negative foot. I like to look back at all that I’ve written and see the beautiful moments (not that I am an optimist, I am not. I’m a realist). But sometimes, I’ve learned, the most beautiful moments are hidden under the weight of trials. The flower breaking out from its seed and struggling up through the soil, up toward the sunlight. Breaking through the surface, and as the sun warms it, it opens. …and it is beautiful, isn’t it?

I had a rough morning, a rough last night, lol, a rough week. I woke up right where I left off from the night before: slicked in sweat and shivering cold, my stomach protesting how upset it was at me, and *closes eyes* nausea.

I laid in bed for a while, thinking about how I agreed yesterday to chat with my friend, Paul. But, I’d felt terrible and laid the whole evening and night away, curled in a ball with my headphones on, eyes closed and listening to my daddy play his guitar (daddy had sent me a few to soothe me and it was as he intended; it helped). I felt badly that I never texted Paul to simply tell him I wasn’t feeling so grand. I didn’t tell our neighbor either, pressing myself against the cool wall and trying to remain interested in what she was saying. I care about my friends and family and I want to show that I do. I tried hard, but I still felt distant, removed, and longed to just curl into a ball and sleep it off.

I snatched my phone and texted my apology to Paul. I went on to think about how I made a promise to my parents to clean and tidy my closet and room on my day off. I looked about my room (which isn’t messy, it just needs to be gone through and throw away what I don’t need) and then I cried. I didn’t feel good, I knew I wasn’t up to cleaning, but I did not want to break my promise above all. But I knew I couldn’t do it.

I stared at my closet door and wiped my eyes. No. I wasn’t going to break my promise. I just wasn’t! I stood up and marched over to the mirrored door and rested my hand on it to begin, then I noticed, staring back at me wasn’t tear marks dribbling down my nose. It was blood. It started to gush and no sooner did I realize that than I covered it and raced to the bathroom, my thoughts disarrayed. Thoughts slammed up against me with no other intention than to hurt me, and they did. You are so weak. You are frail. You are worthless and lazy and care only about yourself. I snatched wads of toilet paper and then, in the dark, sat down atop my bathroom counter, peering down into the sink. Worthless. Good for nothing. Frail. Selfish. Lazy. Weak… pounding relentlessly. I blinked away tears, crying but trying hard not to. Think, I told myself. Think around it. But it was so heavy and so hurtful. I just wanted to cry openly, but I couldn’t because I knew I needed the blood to clot. 

Oh help, I prayed, then I texted two of my pals. My thoughts shouted back up at me from the texting block. “I am a frail person.” I closed my eyes. No, I told me. Think anywhere else. Think up some Scripture. I couldn’t bring any to mind. I have a memory verse card holder in my bathroom that has a verse per week to look at. I turned my head to glimpse it, I knew what I would find for this week, I’d read it for the past few days. I read it anyways, just to have something to visually grab onto. Adversity: Romans 8:28: “And we know that all things work together for good for those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.” I closed my eyes and just sat, hunched there. The phone rang, startling me. It was mom. I chatted with her and let her know I was in the middle of another bloody nose. Text messages came through, but I couldn’t look at them while speaking with her. She stayed on the line until the bleeding stopped. Thankfully, it was short-lived, lasting only six minutes. The text messages were my pals telling me they were praying. 

I decided not to do my closet today, instead choosing to relax and take it easy. This makes it so my friends don’t have to come over and tie me down with rope. :P Being I feel the need to be productive but I am relaxing, I figured to update my blog.

Oct.20, Thursday: Trusting

I woke up with a terrible thought. I remembered what a lady (a guest at work) told me about I.T.P. and how it hindered and could stop pregnancy, especially - killing the mother. This news, of course alarmed me. I didn’t know it did that and she was saying it did. So patients with I.T.P. couldn’t bear children? She said sadly that it was the case. (-This I now know is NOT true.) I was heartbroken. She’d asked if I was pregnant, but I had told her I wasn’t. She told me I should notify my husband of the danger to myself, but that didn’t concern me because I’m not married. Then the boyfriend, she said. But I haven’t one of those either. “I’m waiting for God to bring him to me.” She had rolled her eyes at that.

The conversation came to mind because I firmly believe that raising God-fearing children is the lasting legacy I desire to leave behind. Nothing would bring me sweeter pleasure than to teach my own to look to the Lord for their strength, to find peace in His love, and rescuing security in His arms. And oh what a thrill it would bring me to have them worshipping Him too! Six am in the morning, alone by myself, I struggled with finding resolve to press away from the memory of her words but it was too overwhelming. I knew where this fear came from. I had clamped my mouth shut because there was one word my flesh was longing to say, and I would not dare utter it: It’s not fair. God is not being fair.

I didn’t want to accept that lie, no matter how hard it echoed around in my head.

I texted two of my best-friends, seeking not for encouragement but for prayer-support. “The enemy is trying to make me fear, amica (Latin for “my friend”). I am resolved to plug my ears, to not hear the what ifs. God is good, He loves me so, and if this is where I must tread, I love Him still. Still the thoughts upon my mind make me cry because I was told if my case is chronic, it may affect having children and for my hubby when he comes, amica, I want to give him that joy. I cry at this possibility of “what if” but inwardly I know my God, I know His heart, His character is True. I remind myself He is the One who works great wonders and what mortal man can ever hope to comprehend that sort of love? I will not fear this! I am not afraid of this cruel shadow because inside my heart is my Joy and my Light; He is everpresent. I press my fears into His Mighty palms, my hope is in the Lord, not in me, to pull me thru.) Pray for me, chica. Thank u.” 

What I received was not what I had expected at all. It was Paul! He’d received that message somehow, perhaps a slip of my thumb or some way, I don’t know how. It certainly wasn’t meant for his eyes. I wiped at my tears and tried to wrap my mind around how this fluke in sending had happened. It had sent to Hannah and Rissa, which was good -I had intended for that to happen. But, I didn’t mean for him to get it! What did I touch? How’d he get this? “No,” I cried out. My message had deleted as I scrolled through hurriedly to make room for his text messages to enter. I felt very frustrated at technology and my lack of knowledge about it. Finally I opened Paul’s text. He told me he was praying for me when my message came. It occurred to me: God knew what I needed before I asked my ‘amicas’ for prayer. Someone had been praying. (And Paul: I am sorry I called you a girl, I will likely never live that one down. :P )

Paul set my mind straight by what he said. My husband, wherever he was, would love me no matter if I could bear a child or not. I would be a treasure to my husband regardless because he would love me. And there was another option for those families who couldn’t have children -to adopt them. I’d always known whoever my husband would be; he would love me for me, not for what I could provide. I wanted to text him back in thanks, his words were truly spoken. However, my fingers quivered, my eyes were unfocused with unshed tears….and then I was undone. In a matter of seconds, I had curled into a ball, hand clenched on the cellphone, and I cried. Heart-wrenched, torn, noisy and yet without intelligent words; just the sound of my voice behind clenched teeth as I fought to compose what little of me I had at the moment. There wasn’t any strength in me though, so it came out. It was honestly the most horrible sound I’ve ever heard in my life. I’ve never heard a cry quite like that one and I surprised myself that I had made it. I knew the name of that cry and I had read about it in books. Its name was pain.

I could hear Genny (my puppy) come up and she rested her head on the bed, nuzzling me in the shoulder and whimpering softly. Inspired by her concern over me, I felt Tuxedo (my cat) pad up to my front and he flopped beside my curled fist. Purring, he began bathing my fingers. You know, animals know when you are hurting. If that’s not proof, I don’t know what is.

I wanted God to be pleased with me but I was so unhappy because of the possibility (it wasn’t even a fact, and it was with wrong information) that I couldn’t bear children. I thought about the cute little pact I’d made with Hannah: That she have a little boy and by the time my husband comes I’d have a girl, then we’d introduce them nice and young. They’d grow up knowing each other and then get married. Wellah! We’d be family! The inlaws – dundundun! The scheme was a master-mind plan, we were sure of it. Although it was only good joking, this thought hurt too.

I felt ungrateful, a wretch, longing for what I wasn’t given. This only caused me to sob harder. I wanted to honor God so badly, with all that was in me. The thought of not hearing the pitter-patter of barefeet down the hallway, the unstoppable giggles at bedtime while tucking them in, teaching them to sing “Jesus loves me this I know…” ….it stung terribly. Daddy help, please Daddy help, I huffed. I’ve never been here before. I don’t understand. I’m alone but I’m not. You are always here.

I clutched my pillow and tried to stifle my sobs with it so I could think straight. If not having children is Your will for me, I accept that. It’s just…oh Daddy it’s hard! I would love to honor my future husband with bearing children to carry on his name, I would love to teach them Your ways. God, why can’t I bring my flesh to understand what my spirit knows? You are in control of all things, even this. You are more than fair to me, make this lie about You being unfair to go away! I swiped my tears. Help me to understand. This is our journey together, You and I. Wherever You lead, that’s where I’m going.

My flesh was quick to object to the concept of this possible path, but my heart was pre-decided. It doesn’t matter to me what path or how dark or how painful or nothing! You are guiding me through this valley and I am going wherever You go; I am going to follow. I love You that much. With that, I sat to the edge of my bed and wiped the remainder of my tears away. I was going to make it through this battle too. Not because of my strength, but His strength alone.

Oct. 21, Friday: Touching a life

I have been learning what it is like to deal with hot flashes. It is, as I’ve told my pals, everything that elderly ladies say it is: It’s really not any fun. I like my clothes dry and when it hits, I become a furnace of heat and I get sweaty. Ighk! Then I shiver, ice cold. Burrr! I have been cooking (I love working with food!) and am often hovering over the fryers or near the oven or leaning into the hot cases. It is very difficult to remain there and do my task with the sweltering heat, but I am committed to doing as great of a job as I can manage.

I am grateful for such compassionate coworkers. I will never forget their kind acts. This day was particularly difficult. My face flushed and instantly a bag was thrust into my hands by a fellow coworker wearing a knowing sort of smile. “Take that into the freezer.” Far grateful for the task of putting away the object, I went quickly. The cold, icy air whipped on my face and I thanked God for merciful coworkers. I stood, resting up against the icy shelving unit and boxes, praying for endurance. To tolerate this awful feeling, and for strength to keep going so I could make it to the end of the day. The last thing I ever want to do is hinder my coworkers. I am committed to be a team-player, to make the quality of their day the best day, just as I want for all my guests.

Lunch rush hit and we were slammed with orders for chicken, and fritters, and mac and cheese. I hurried about to drop the chicken and keep the cases nice and stuffed. A lady came to the counter. She gave a faint smile and asked prices on chicken pieces. She looked so tired and worn. I felt compassion for her, her day must have been rough and it was only noon. I tried to slow my rapid-paced mind down; she was my most important focus right now. She would have my full attention. Everything else faded to background noises. Her hubby had just been through surgery and she’d driven a whole 45 minutes because he wanted our fried chicken! I smiled, then said something dumb, “If it would help, I’ll be praying for you.” She sighed longingly, “I would love that.”

I could have slapped my forehead, I fixed my error, “Prayer does help; I’m going to pray for you.” I asked her husband’s name and wrote the prayer info on a paper towel scrap for later, shoving it in my back pocket. Encourage her, I kept thinking. Then: No no, she’s busy, I’m busy, there’s no time. I handed her the baggy of chicken pieces and she left. My heart felt ripped. Oh! Why didn’t I tell her? I had encouragement and she needed it, I just knew she did. It would only take a second to jot down my blog address and then my story could speak for itself and encourage her, just as I’d recently read in 2 Corinthians 1:4. I saw her briefly, but I was stopped and asked a question by a guest. I answered their question and then served them. By the time I looked back up, she was nowhere to be found. I felt horrible. I had botched it and I knew I did. Oh God, please bring her back. I made a mistake, I know it. You brought her all the way here and I…I messed up. It wouldn’t have taken long for me to scribble my site address on a napkin and pass it to her, but I’d used the excuse of “I’m busy,” coupling it with the worst excuse in the book, “there is no time.” I am so sorry.

I continued to do my job, trying not to think about how I had messed up, trying to move on. An hour later, there was an order call on our phone. Five chicken breasts, 4 fried, 1 baked. I recognized her voice. Somehow, her order had never made it home with her although she’d paid for it. She was coming all the way back. I glanced up at the clock. I’d be off-work by the time she got here, and I also knew I’d be sitting in the fireside area to catch my breath before driving home. That had been pre-planned for me. I’d been longing for the moment where I could sit down, rest, and have a cool glass of water. 

The end of my shift came and I sat down with my water, it was a sweet relief. I nursed my water and glanced every now and again at the cooking channel, mainly speaking to a sweet-mannered lady at the next table across from me. We talked about Thanksgiving suppers, cooking and all the warm pleasantness of being with family, among all the memorable chaos that somehow always happens. :P 

I glanced up at the clock, realizing it’d been longer than I’d thought. The guest had come and left without my knowledge. I grasped the paper towel with my site address and tried to run although my stomach did not like that. I couldn’t find her in the parking lot. I couldn’t recall what she looked like. I slowed to a walk and stopped near the flag pole, looking up at the sky. I felt rain dribble on my face but I didn’t care. Tears came to my eyes and I crumpled the paper in my hands. God, I said, dejected. I tried… I tried…

 

A car engine from behind startled me. I moved aside, glancing at it. A woman looked at me in concern and asked if everything was okay. I told her it was, and then I recognized her and she recognized me. “Hi, are you the guest who ordered the fried chicken?” A silly question, I know, but I was double-checking. She nodded, asking me if I needed a ride somewhere. She kept asking if I was okay. I must look pretty awful, I decided. I pointed to my car, thanking her but I had a ride. “I wanted to give you this.” I said, uncrumpling the paper and handing it to her. “I wanted to give it to you, but I…didn’t.” I told her how I’d prayed God would bring her back so I could encourage her and her husband. “Then your prayer brought me back a whole 45 minutes,” she laughed then after a pause, she looked up at me. “Thank you.” I saw tears in her eyes and I wanted to cry too. It was beautiful to me.

“God provides.” I told her. “He always has, always will.” Her eyes did water up, “You are an angel…” I blinked, taken back, “Oh I am no angel ma’am. I am only a servant, God’s servant, and I want to do His will.” Her expression had me wanting to lean in and give her a hug. She looked like she could use one. I wondered if I should, but I wasn’t sure how to go about giving the hug being she was in the car and I was standing. To lean over like that would make me very nauseous and that wouldn’t be pleasant for either of us if my stomach decided to let go. I decided on a smile instead. “Thank you,” She looked back up at me. “You have encouraged me. You are my angel today because God has sent you. I needed this.” She touched my heart with what she said. We smiled at each other and I told her I’d be praying for her and for her husband, then we parted ways. I watched her tail-lights as she drove out of the parking lot, praying that she would find encouragement from my current trial. 

God, you have amazed me, I told Him, and then I wandered to my car. I eased inside and sat. And sat. Then I cried. Why choose me? I cried in my thoughts, and then blubbered, leaning my head on my steering wheel. Who am I? I’m only a vessel of clay. Yet, You are working amazing things through my pain, through this trial. I can’t understand; it’s too big, too grand. I prayed for the guest and her husband, then drove home.

Oct. 22, Saturday: Faithfulness:

My stomach had been upset the whole day, and it gave me no rest. Gurgling, bubbling, very angry. Breakfast was hard to eat and I had to concentrate hard on the knowledge that I needed the fuel, that I needed to eat. I swallowed the food and my stomach protested, resulting in feeling awful. I prayed for the day to be over quickly, but it went on second by second, minute by minute, just as it always does. Then my work day was finished. I wandered to my car and sat in it for a bit, praying before resting my fingers around the steering wheel. I just wanted to go home, I wanted to cry. My stomach was hurting, I did not feel good. I did not like these hot flashes. I wanted to go home now. 

I drove home, concentrating on the fixed prize: Bed, lay down. I turned up the worship music in my car to focus on that instead of the pain inside of me. I want to be at home now, I said, informing God of what He already knew I wanted. I didn’t want to be driving, I wanted to be curled in a ball with warm covers. Hot tea; the soothing hot liquid to stop the lava-feeling in my stomach, and to ease the nausea. Yes, that’s what I wanted. There was so much pain inside of me. I turned up the speed on my wiper-blades. Then I watched it appear. 

A rainbow streaked across the highway in a brilliant arc of color. I breathed in awed delight. I love rainbows. I seek for them when the sun begins to shine through the rain. It was so beautiful, so vibrant, so amazing!

In a second, I’d nearly forgotten all my pain, although I knew it roared in my stomach all the same. That’s what’s going to be over Your throne…Faithfulness, that’s what it represents, that You are Faithful. A song popped to mind, “Great is Thy faithfulness.” My heart knew the song by memory, and so it sang… Great is Thy faithfulness. Great is Thy faithfulness. Morning by morning, new mercies I see. All I have needed, Thy hand hath provided. Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me. Great is Thy faithfulness, oh God my Father. There is no shadow of turning with Thee. Thou changest not, Thy compassions they fail not. As thou hast been, Thou forever will be. Summer and winter and springtime and harvest. Sun, moon, and stars in their courses up above, join with all nature in manifold witness. To Thy great faithfulness, mercy and love. Great is Thy faithfulness! Great is Thy faithfulness! Morning by morning, new mercies I see. All I have needed, Thy hand hath always provided. Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me. Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth, Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide. Your strength for today, and bright hope for tomorrow. Blessings all mine with ten thousand beside. 

….I lurched for my cellphone. I wanted a picture. I doubted anyone would believe I’d seen such a beautiful treasure. Not at this moment in my life, anyway. I pulled over and clicked the picture. It did not look near as beautiful as it did in person, but I still sent it to my friends. I watched it begin to fade as the rain poured. So beautiful… Then I drove the rest of the way home, laid down, and crashed.

Added-on:

Oct.26, Wednesday: God provides for our needs:

A particularly bad day. I woke up from a sound sleep with a dry heaving motion that caused me to double up. My stomach was in the worst pain it had yet been in. It made the other days look like it was less pain. I was crying and I wasn’t trying to, my eyes were watering so badly. The pain in my stomach was fierce. I needed relief. I supposed I just had to go to the bathroom, so I went there but that wasn’t the cure. I decided I needed something soothing and hot tea sounded good. I waddled down the stairs and turned on the burner for the kettle. Instantly I realized I wasn’t done with the restroom. I bolted back up the stairs as quick as I could, my stomach raging at the quickness of my movements but I felt I had no choice.

Long story condensed: I found out I was bleeding, something I knew the doctors had told me to watch for. My instant reaction was to begin shaking and quivering. I paced the house aimlessly, sat on the couch, got up and paced more. Was this anxiety? I tried to still myself. No, no, don’t be anxious. I told myself. God’s still in control. You must think through this, I fought my fear to think straight. Should I call someone? Whom? I sat on the couch for a moment. What if I imagined that I saw blood? My stomach curled at the memory as I recalled it. No, it was blood. I felt very ill. There was blood upstairs…my blood. My nausea increased. I stood up and paced the kitchen. Perhaps I should eat something? No, I should call someone! Duh! “If you have any questions, call me.” I remembered my aunt had told me. I called my aunt. She eased my mind and told me what I knew: I needed to inform my doctor, and I needed to be calm. 

So, I passed my fear over to God for Him to handle, then I made the call to the doctor. I wager I didn’t make much sense, babbling that I’d seen blood and it worried me being they’d told me it might happen and might had just happened to me. They told me they wanted to see me at 1:30pm, so I agreed to the appointment. I heated up a breakfast muffin with sausage and egg and tried to eat it. My body, to my frustration, kept trying to not swallow, to not eat, and to gag it back up. It didn’t want food, but I knew I was hungry. I also have been struggling with keeping my weight up, so food is important. I fought with myself and forced it down, then felt miserable for it. Until the time for the appointment came, I laid on the couch in a ball, dozed in and out of sleep, and texted my pals. I thought about working on my blog or one of my books, but I couldn’t focus – my stomach hurt so bad it was unbelievably painful. I wondered if I was bleeding internally, but I didn’t dwell on it. It wouldn’t have been good for me. I turned on my worship music and curled up in a ball with my headphones, closing my eyes and listening. Every now and again, bringing my finger up to tap a one-fingered text to my pals when they texted me.

The appointment came and I was told I had the option to lay down. Great! I curled up. “That’s how she is when she gets home,” mom pointed out to the doctor. He asked us both questions, mom doing most of the responding while I laid there, hurting. Then he asked me to stretch out so he could see something. He prodded my stomach a little bit, which really hurt. One spot had me taste bile in the back of my throat, and a few more prods off to the side – ouch. 

He asked me a slew of questions as he went, then he sighed. “I have never seen anyone so sensitive to Prednisone before but your stomach is very irritated with it. We’re dropping it from 60 to 20. And I’m putting in a prescription for Sucralfate to coat your stomach and protect it. Don’t be surprised to continue seeing the blood for a little while, but that should go away. If it doesn’t, call us and make an appointment. I’m scheduling you for an appointment in two weeks. Also, on Friday, I’d like you to go down for some blood-work and we’ll see if your platelets go down or up due to the drop in the medication. Prednisone is the best medication for this, the only other kind to put you on is other steroids.” I nodded. 

I’d done some research at home and Prednisone was proven. I wasn’t too sure about other steroids either and I hope I don’t have to go down that path. I’d rather be on a well-worn path that was proven, but at what cost to my stomach lining? Another worry to let God handle. He had guided me this far, He’d guide me through the rest of the way too. I was certain of that. I just had to go willingly one step at a time, trusting Him. I don’t know where this is going, but He does. He knows where He is leading me through all of this, even though I do not. This is called faith. To trust in what cannot be seen, knowing that God has control over it all, and He will work it out for good. Hand in hand, I’ll go through this trial with Him too. It won’t make me weary or break me. I know that because the Bible said: “Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will rise up on wings like eagles. They will run and not be weary. They will walk and not faint.” Oh God, teach me to wait.

Went to the store to pick up my prescription. I was hoping to go unseen. Slip in and slip out so I wasn’t asked if I wasn’t feeling good. It was certainly noticeable in my walk, although I tried to draw up so no one could tell. Phony! Everyone could tell I didn’t feel good, and they cast concerned smiles at me. I got my meds, checked out and then started for the door. Then I recalled a promise. The other night, I was having one of my hot flashes and so dad got up and served me some Chocolate Bourdoux Cherry ice cream. I am not a big fan of cherry flavored things for the reason that as a child, medication was grape or cherry flavored, so it all reminds me of…medicine. XP

I took it gratefully. He got mom one too, but he didn’t have any. I asked and he said because I was a piggy and had hogged it so there was none left. He is so generous! He gave me something he really wanted because I was uncomfortably hot and the cold ice cream was a delicious relief. I promised myself that the next time I was at the store, why, I’d get him a private stash to honor his gift to me. I walked up to the counter with the ice cream and my coworker immediately took notice as my face flushed. She came around the counter and wrapped me in a hug. I closed my eyes, I had so needed a good hug, “Thank you.” She told me she would be praying for me and I thanked her again and gave her a hug. A few customers stood back as they looked at me, unsure what to make of the situation I am sure. They probably thought I had a cold due to the fact that I had a pharmacy baggy in one hand and cold ice cream in the other…and telling my coworker that I was hot and sweaty as a warning before she hugged me. Perhaps they thought I had the flu? I speculate that was the case…

Got home and curled in a ball on the couch, my headphones on and listening in the dark livingroom to smooth classical music. Then it occurred to me in a panic: Tonight was Bible study at church! I hadn’t made dinner, hadn’t considered it at all! It was 4pm. I had time. I stood up reluctantly and made for the stairs to the freezer. I stopped at the top as the stairs seemed to wobble and shift beneath my foot as I put it out to descend; I was dizzy. I turned around and paced the kitchen. Was there an easier way? I went back to the top of the stairs and then shook my head. No, no. I checked the fridge aimlessly, not really looking for anything. I wasn’t hungry, I didn’t want to cook. I wanted to lay down. I felt awfully crummy. But mom and dad, they hadn’t had dinner and they would be hungry. By the time they got home, there would be no time for them to fix dinner before study. I was torn. I went back to the stairs and gripped the hand rail. I’d get down those darned stairs if it killed me! I took one step and then stopped. I started crying. I realized I couldn’t do it. I felt helpless. I sat down on the couch, wiped my tears and then laid down. I continued aim-ing with Paul. He offered to bring me supper.

I cried quietly, feeling them streaming down my cheek as I peered sideways up at the laptop screen, one finger typing. That would be wonderful. He asked what I’d like, where, what kind, narrowing down the field. Done. KFC for supper. I felt…relief: Supper was provided. I wished for a good hug. Genny brought me her red pillow and nosed it up to me to take. I cuddled it and cried some more. Grateful for good pals.

I realized then that he’d be showing up at my doorstep with supper. He’d not see me like this, curled up in a ball as I was. My hair was askew and unbrushed. The house needed a good and quick tidy. Someone was coming over, after all. I fought myself to move, but I only felt pain. I considered the condition of the livingroom and kitchen. Well, perhaps those I could let slide. He knew I wasn’t feeling good. But I should turn on some lights so it wasn’t dark in here. I should get up, brush my hair, wash off the tearstains from my cheeks, and make myself presentable. Was it worth it? I mused. Making it appear that I wasn’t as in pain as I was? Wouldn’t that be lying? Yeah, it would be lying, I decided. Still, I wanted to look more put together. I went to sit up and try, but the nausea and dizziness kept me down now. I cried openly, upset at this ‘disaster.’ It wasn’t fair. He was coming and he’d find me stuck to the couch, helpless…wait, that wasn’t good thinking. I had to re-evaluate my thoughts. He was coming with supper because I was hurting and couldn’t do it. He was coming to help me. He knew I was hurting. It would still feel humbling to have him see me curled up like this. So…I cried about that. Then I turned to crying about the irritation in my stomach. I texted mom to tell her supper was provided for. 

I am so alone. I just want a friend here. I was thinking. Someone to please talk to. Then I realized I had a great friend with me, who always listened, who was always there. So I turned to praying. I admit, I lost track of time. I may have dozed off, I’m not sure. If I did, I continued praying where I left off when I woke up again. There was a knock at the door and it startled me. I laid there for a second, realizing foggily that the front door was locked. He couldn’t come in unless I got up and opened that door. I stood up and wiped at my tears. I didn’t want him knowing I’d been crying, but that was just plain silly: I had tearstains down both cheeks, testifying against me that I had been. My eyes were probably all red too, more evidence to the fact. The doorknob, cold from the Fall weather, was stuck tight. I fought it. It just had to open! I wasn’t about to shout through the door, “Its stuck! I can’t get it. Can you?” It didn’t sit right with me. I might be feeling terrible, but this door was going to open. I clasped it tight in both hands and wrenched it with a thick turn. *Click!* It opened. Relief flooded me. Good. 

I let him in and tried not to share eye-contact at first. What if he saw the pain inside of them? Wouldn’t that hurt to know he couldn’t do anything to ease it? It hurt my other pals to see it. I dismissed the notion: He could pray. Not making eye-contact would be rude of me after so nice an act as he had done. It was selfless really, and out of his way. I hoped that the piece of Scripture would be said of this case to him: “I was sick, and you visited me.” He had provided for an immediate need to his sister in Christ. I was so grateful for the supper and I thanked him. He set the bag down on the kitchen counter and then he wandered back toward the door. He saw my pain all right, I could tell he did. I wished he wouldn’t go, but no one else was home. I swallowed the words that I’m sure would have had him gladly flip on the lightswitch and sit on the couch until my parents got home. I needed to be upright first; above reproach. I didn’t want to be alone though. I reminded myself that I really wasn’t alone; I hadn’t been since I was five. Once I’d reminded me of this fact, then I was okay with my pal going out the door.

He stopped at his car. “You are surrounded by lots of people who care about you, we are all praying for you,” he encouraged me. My vision blurred up, but I put that under control. I wasn’t about to start crying. “Thank you.” I responded, beginning to close the door, then I swung it back open. “God bless you, Paul!” He smiled, told me his usual goodbye and added that he was praying, and he left. I heard him drive away, then I smiled at the warm smell of Kentucky Fried Chicken emanating from the kitchen. I laid down on the couch, then I let go of the tears.

Oct.27, Thursday: Unexpected Surprise:

11am. I am upstairs working on the updates to my blog. There is the sound of a truck and the gravel crunching. Genny scurries from her bed and begins barking furiously. Someone is here! I realized in surprise. Who? Is dad home for an early lunch? I questioned. I hurried down stairs as quick as I could manage it. The front door was stuck. I gave it a quick wrench. Stuck, stuck tight! Blast! Something was laid down on the porch. I wasn’t expecting anything. I wracked my brain. Well, there was that book on prayer that was coming via Grace2You ministry, but that wasn’t due to come in a few weeks yet. And this sounded heavier, bigger than a box with a book in it. I twisted the doorknob, trying to get it open. Gravel, the sound of the truck fading into the distance. Gah! Silly door! I fought it, twisting it. I pressed myself against it and jerked the knob. It clicked. Yessss! Victory!! 

It was a brown box. Standing “this side up” vertical. I cocked my head off to the side, reading the name. It was for…me? My fingers quaked as I placed them around the box and lifted. It was light, not heavy at all. Who from? There was no name in that column. It was completely blank. What the…? The thought came. Confusion. What was this? Who would send a box and not put who it was from? Questions were like the popping of corn kernels, filling my brain. I grabbed my box-knife and slit open the packaging tape. A card slid right into my palm. I saw it and then fell to pieces, sniffling and wiping my nose and trying to contain myself. “Nicole, You’re surrounded by family and friends who love you and are praying for you. The light of Christ is shining brightly through you, a beacon of hope and encouragement to all those that you meet. –from, a friend.”

I shook my head, baffled. Who would…? Who did this? Then it occurred to me, whoever this was, didn’t just put a card into a huge box to ship it to my door. I flipped back the cardboard flap and gasped. A dozen yellow roses with accented baby’s breath! My favorite color of rose. I re-read the card. Hugged it (silly, aren’t I?), thanked God for such simple treasures as these. And then with careful but quaking fingers, blurry tear-dripping vision, lifted the wrapped bundle in my hands. How beautiful! I brought it to my nose and sniffed. I was made upset. I was crying so my nose was all stuffed with drippy snot: I couldn’t smell them! How infuriating! 

I carefully unwrapped the plastic and brought the project over to the sink. I cut off the rubber bands and sniffling and crying, I tended to it. Pieces of the ends flung across the room. Genny ran over and bit on the little projectiles and then spit them out. My guess is she doesn’t like rose stems. :P Tuxedo flicked his ear and stretched out in the sunlight coming in through the dining room. I recalled my three months of working the floral department, as I arranged them in the glass vase. I was allergic to the plant food, so that was a short-lived task, although I loved making the arrangements. Now I got to do that again. It was a creative moment and I enjoyed that. I set them on the dining room table and observed them, wiping at my tears. I re-read the card again, plagued with the mystery of it all. I paced to and fro in front of them, using the little card like a fan. Who sent these? Who did I know with this writing style? Who used these kinds of words when they spoke? Which friends could afford such a bountiful purchase? This friend was right, I was surrounded by those that cared about me – there were too many to narrow it down to who had done this. Brushing away the last of my tears, I sniffed the roses, faintly smelling its sweet, relaxing scent. They were a lovely treasure. I was greatly encouraged. “Friend, whoever you are, you have made my day.” I said aloud to no one. I was, after all, by myself.

Had blood-work done. I told them about my aloe allergy and they began a joking-argument about if the perrywinkle color of the gloves she slipped her fingers into were blue or purple. We all got to laughing, and then she stuck me. It sucked the breath out of me in shock, but then I reminded myself to breathe and I was fine again. I chatted with her in good conversation about my unexpected surprise and then she informed me I was all done. I snatched my book and went to the hospital cafeteria. It was lunch time. I wasn’t hungry, but then, I had only had a breakfast burrito at 8:30am and it was 2:15pm. I should get something to eat. It didn’t feel necessary, but I should. I debated, yes and then no. It was like a ping-pong match. Finally, reason won. I should eat. I pushed through the cafeteria door and entered. There, I told me. You are in the cafeteria, you have to eat now.

 

I stepped up to the counter and ordered their beef stew and roll. I got a coke to go with it and then sat down at the table. I spooned my soup, moving the beef chunks around for a disinterested second, then I prayed and ate it. I read my book and slowly cleaned off my plate. I was not in a hurry. I had another 15 minutes to go; I’d only used 45 minutes so far.

I wandered aimlessly to the gift shop and found a necklace I couldn’t leave alone. I started playing with the magnetic pieces that go in its center. It was fascinating, and it was also on sale. I also didn’t need it. I put it back. I took it. I put it back. I fidgeted with the pieces. (-Translation of this strange ritual: my usual process of convincing me to buy it has begun.) :P

The phone rang: mom. I talked to her and with my free hand, organized the pieces into shades, textures, and then created an apron design pattern with them on the magnetic board. It was becoming my artwork as I spoke to my mom. I’m sure the gift-shop lady wondered what in the world this shopper was doing with her display piece! :P I took off six of the little magnets and held them in my hand. Mom told me she was on her way, she’d be there for the appointment. Great. I hung up and then the lady informed me that the necklace was on special today: Buy the necklace and get one flair-magnet free. My mind perked at the 20 dollar price. Not bad! I could spoil myself this once. I’d yet to this month. I reasoned in my mind: You only have a budget for spoilage once per month. Is this the spoils you wish to get, or is there something else? I bit my lip. Hmmm… I slipped the black satin chain with its silver pendant from the display arm and held it in my palm. It had a Japanese flair in it, a bird with pink background, black leaves curling this way and that way. Kinda….yeah…pretty.

Hmmm… said my mind. I didn’t put back the other six flair-magnets. I curled my fingers into a fist. (-Translation: Process of convincing is complete. I am getting it.) I paid for it and then felt my usual sick “I just spent money” feeling that I have always felt when I purchase anything. But then I signed my name with a flourish and she passed me the necklace and its flairs. Then I grinned and felt better. A good treat. I liked it. 

Ping ping! Ping ping! Went my phone. I fumbled before realizing that last month I’d bought a messenger-styled purse for ease of carrying things, the phone was no longer inside the main bag where I was digging, but in a special phone pouch. I blushed, embarrassed. “Oh, yeah,” I mumbled in remembrance, retrieved the phone and turned it off. “Time for my appointment.” I smiled and said goodbye.

Wandered into the cancer wing of the hospital and told the ladies at the counter I was there. They were so surprised that I wasn’t finished with the book yet. “Ah, because I’m savoring it!” I said, then added. “It is very, very good and I don’t know when I’ll find another one like this. It’s a great story.” I sat down and read it while I waited. Mom came, so I shared my purchase with her.

My turn came up. I discovered I’d lost a little bit of weight. Learned about taking medication. Learned about doses and times, scheduling. Learned about keeping a record of what medication I take with me in my purse. Learned about reading the side-affects warning (which I usually skim over with a “yeah-yeah, I know” mentality) and what to do when I have those affects. Now I know. This whole realm was (still is!) completely new to me. I’m grateful for such patient nurses. I had the nurse repeat most of this over and over and over again, because it kept going over my head. I finally got it. I’m glad they were so patient with me. :) Discovered my level had soared to 175,000. Mom and I were delighted. I was in a healthy zone with lots of maneuvering space, lots of cushion.

I was spoken to about my tummy-irritation, which I’d tried to “tough through” and not tell anyone how badly it was hurting me. “Some things are not meant to be toughed through.” I’d been told. I agreed quietly, nodding and fidgeting with the corner of my book and purse strap. It was a duh moment: Of course I should have told them it was upsetting my stomach and making me uncomfortable. What had I been thinking?

The specialist spoke with us for a little while, repeating what the nurse said about my stomach-irritation. What they said was right on and I knew that. I wondered why I hadn’t done what they were telling me is the right way to address such symptoms, it made such good sense. She then said that most children grow out of this, but for young adults, like myself, it was most likely to be chronic. She said we would get to know each other. I had anticipated this route, just as I’d pre-thought out all the routes. It didn’t surprise me at all. It made sense. It was an allergy to something. We just have to find out what the “something” is.

 I want to know what it is that causes my I.T.P. and on my next visit, I plan to ask my specialist what the process for elimination is. How do they plan on going about isolating the outside-allergy that causes my I.T.P.? Once I know that, a mystery will be solved. Hurrah! I can’t wait for that day! 

Mom took me to the gift shop and so I showed her my handiwork and she gave a slight tilt of her head. “So, which ones do you like?” I shrugged and grinned, “I bought them already.” “But what else?” She asked. I pondered this, staring at the pieces. I had been reluctant on putting back the two ships in the harbor, the blue ivy, and the yellow and white flowers. I pointed out the three pieces of flair. She plucked them off the board. “What are you doing?” I asked. She gave a wirey grin, “Everyone else is not the only ones who you’ve inspired and encouraged with your story you know.” She said, matter-of-factly. “You inspired me too. You are an encouragement to me, and I want to buy these for you.” I just about blubbered emotionally, but then I caught myself – it was a public place with the cashier watching us. I still teared up, but I blinked them back. Mom bought the pieces and then handed me the baggy of three flair. I held them and smiled up at her, “Thank you.” It was a great day. :)

…Well, I best go have some breakfast and attend to the rest of my chores. I’ll try and keep you all updated as it comes, and thank you all for praying for me; it is a very big encouragement. I hope that my story brings you encouragement to continue to press your concerns and worries into the hands of the Lord and trust Him, even when it seems hardest to do. Rest assured, God knows what we are dealing with, and He intends for those things to mature us and strengthen our faith (and that’s why we should consider those trials as joy). Wonderfully enough, He knows what struggles and trials we are going to encounter long before we discover them. He has control over it all, and that is the greatest of comfort. :)

Until next time, God bless.