The Best Medicine

I’m a ‘do-something’ kind of person. I don’t like sitting around and I don’t like being non-constructive. I don’t see this as a fault, but it must be, because once again God has stirred up my life and has me stretching my faith and focus back on Him.

I’ve been knocked flat again by this painful disease. I was doing so well, with a renewed hope in life, energy and enough function to do a few things that made my days bright and worth living. Then suddenly, for no reason, my leg blew up overnight. Painfully swollen and abnormally large, I called the rheumy and they set me up for an MRI.

After the tests, it basically came back as 7 PARAGRAPHS of what was wrong with all the soft tissue in my knee, such as missing cartilage, torn cartilage, torn cruciate ligament, and subsequent x rays showed the bone situation not much better. A knee cap that is almost non existent and a joint that is worn, bone on bone. It all has to be replaced. I’ve been living with it for awhile, but with chronic pain and auto immune disease you tend to push away whatever pain isn’t stopping you. It's stopping me now.

I had two end-of-the-year visits that were important to me coming up and wanted to be as mobile as possible. I submitted to an injection in my joint in spite of my phobia and fear, just because it was that important. Unfortunately, I am the one in a million that reacts to that particular injection. Two days later I was in the emergency  hospital, screaming in pain, panicked because there was no relief, while suffering undergoing a live guided effusion, where a large needle was put into my joint to extract what was causing the reaction. I can’t even begin to describe how awful that was.

I had minimal relief, but maximum hope as they had me on morphine and Percocet to try and get the pain under control, pain exacerbated by the additional trauma of the effusion...I actually had several hours of rest and relief before I was informed that due to ACA’s ‘new guidelines’ I was not eligible for hospitalization and was forcibly discharged. Things have not improved much, other than I don’t panic right now. I’m tied to a recliner with my leg up, constant ice packs on it, unable to perform the most menial task in self care. I’ve been told the effects usually only last a couple of days but we are going on 2 weeks now, without noticeable improvement. I cannot visit the sheep, SushiMoo, the chickens, or even go watch the ducks in the yard because I have to have the leg elevated at all times or the pain is excruciating. My only view is a blank TV screen and a small window that looks out on a rock wall. Not too stimulating.

TheMan, as usual, has been amazing. He comes home every 4-6 hours to push me into the bathroom via my new rollie-walker, or bring me pain pills or lemonade. He’s taking care of the animals and lets the Maremma’s in for awhile each night because he knows I need their attention and I can usually relieve a lot of the agonizing loneliness and frustration by returning the shamelessly affectionate Potamus hugs.

He’s had to fix our broken washing machine and do laundry, feed us both and try to keep things picked up because we have very special visitors coming and I am usually darting around planning menus and what fun things there might be with the kids. It’s hard to just let go and trust, and it must be really hard for him to try and do all he does, while working his regular 24/7 job here, while I pine away in the chair unable to assist with anything, anything at all. He sets his alarm at night to wake up and make sure I’ve taken my pain medication, trying to stay ahead of it, hoping we’ll win. I know both from past experience and from knowing the limitlessness of God’s power, that this could all turn around in the blink of an eye. I am holding out hope that is what will happen and I can watch my granddaughters when they first see our ducks, waggling their tails and squawking as they line up for their turn in the ‘pool’. I draw on memories of past visits.

I want to see their faces when the Maremma’s come to greet them as they never seem to forget them from year to year. 

I long to see them giggle and pet on Captain Marbles when his curiosity gets to be too much and to see if SushiMoo can replace our dear Emma in their hearts.

 I feel laughter bubbling up in my chest as I visualize them trying to negotiate the meatie chick’s area while the fat, happy birds mug them, hoping for a handout.

 All this and so much more, but I also am trying to prepare myself to accept not getting better, and not being able to get up. My counterpart, the girls’ other grandma, will be coming too and that will surely ease things, as she is a precious, jolly woman who will help me, if necessary, being my hands and feet. She already plays this role as she lives closeby to them and we are so far away we only get to see them once or twice a year. She has loved them for me, and made my son’s family complete, even though we are absent. I know it is going to be a great time despite my current disability, because she loves to laugh. I am looking forward to my time just being around here as we try to navigate this week together. I want to see my kids and grandkids. I want them to have fun. I want this trip to be memorable because they had such a good time. Even if my role is nothing but observer.

 I am forever grateful for what she brings into their lives, especially because I can’t. Maybe that is what this lesson is about. Can’t. I hate the word and hate the idea of what it represents. But clearly, there are things I can’t do. Many. Hundreds. Thousands even. Nothing is really in my power, so I have to lean on the One who can and ask Him to see to it that the love I have for them will be expressed to them someway, even without my presence. Through life, through opportunity, through others, through Himself.

Pretty much as He has been doing for me, loving me through TheMan, our family, our ranch family and even my online family. During this same period, a Celebration of Life for my Sister in law will be going on down south. She was the only family member with this same disease (well almost the same. I guess being so type "A" I had to add complications to mine) We lost her over Easter. She was pretty much a role model of living this nightmare with courage and grace, with a heart for others that always grew bigger than her own suffering. I regret that I cannot be there for her memorial, but if anyone understands, it would be her. The time withour living family here is not to be taken lightly and every minute we are given to share with them is priceless.

Though right now it feels that everything has been taken, much is given. Let me not forget that, once I am restored…which I hope is very, very soon. 

I will see part of my family in just a couple more days, and that, is going to be the best medicine.


PS  Please pray for a wheelchair for me during this visit. The chances are I will still not be able to stand, but a real wheelchair would at least allow me into the kitchen to help out and to the back deck where I can at least see them all from afar...