Ninety-five percent of my time now is spent trying to endure the next five minutes. Last night I got pushed past my pain threshold after being held right at the limit for three days. I had attempted to eat a few bites of a sandwich. For the first time since all this began, I accepted that I may not survive it. This is a place I have never really been. The pain moved from merely physical to emotional. Bible verses I has long forgotten were right there, ready for me to whisper aloud. I thought of my daughters and wished they were older, but knew they were old enough. I would show up randomly in their memories when they succumb to the urge to jump in a puddle (we never let one go unsplashed) or find themselves at a restaurant folding a napkin into a paper football. I wrote each of them little notes on their phones telling them how amazing and strong they were, and how much pride I felt in being their mother. I was not so melodramatic as to say goodbye. For all I know Ill be running a 5k tomorrow. But this was something I needed to do to feel some peace. After this we talked about going back to the hospital, at least the small one, for pain meds. But my arms resemble a heroin addicts. Poked and bruised from elbow to wrist. So I stayed home. After this I was given the gift of sleep. Hours of it. I will not say I am better as I type this. I am not. My breathing is shallow. The pain is outrageous. I cant eat at all. But I am within my limit again. And so I watch another day tick by.
Posted on: Wed, 05 Nov 2014 10:53:35 +0000