I'm still in my clothes.
Pajamas from yesterday, now stained with iodine and blood from the nurse's
first IV attempt, when my vein blew out and stoic me welled with tears and my
arm burned hot and blood rolled down.
Three nights without sleep, not even a minute, and the lights and blips
and beeps of the hospital room are exhausting while I'm trying to suck thick
air into these dysfunctional lungs.
It's the same rigmarole as always -- I get sick, then I
dehydrate, then my systems begin to fail, but today I'm home again and my jaw
isn't locked any longer and I am full of intravenous saline solution to give my
weary blood a boost.
But the coughs keep coming violent, and my head is rattled
and my throat is raw and my body hasn't made it out of bed yet. Between doses, a break in the codeine-haze,
so I pad slippered feet to the kitchen and remember what happens to homes when
moms are paralyzed to bed. Twenty-four
hours without sweeping or straightening, rinsing or fussing, and this habitat
is worse for the wear. This is what life
looks like when Mom goes out of order.
But I am restless in this bed and I will cough prone or I
will cough prostrate so I put my weary self in the shower and rinse off the
yuck. I putz and straighten and put on
purple gloves at the sink because the house smells rotten now and I marvel at
how quickly all my daily work gets undone.
I dig beneath the weariness and find the joy here, while suds multiply
in a stinking sink, and recall a time when the work of this home-life didn't
feel like much of a gift. When dishes
and diapers and puddles on the floor felt oppressive, when I longed for success of a different variety, when childhood
friends would look sideways at the grown-up and domesticated me, and they'd
click their tongues and say, sadly, "You could have been so
much."
I could have missed so much.
Amen, sister! Bending low to See this grace, it's such beautiful worship. And I know it's hard. And there's a part of you that might wonder, too, or maybe that struggles with holding back a loud scream for the chaos that has ensued. But, your choosing to See is really beautiful. It's a hard place to be--the vulnerability of chaos. But it's for such purpose, ain't it?
ReplyDeleteAbout that health of yours...I'm praying you peace as you battle it all, and His healing hand in your rest.
Rich blessings...
The vulnerability of chaos. Yes, Amy. This is what its about, isn't it? The vulnerability is the only place we connect with what's really real.
ReplyDeleteThanks for reading and for prayer. I'm feeling much better today.
My goodness, Whimsy-girl! I had no idea about your physical struggles. Can I just say, I love that you bravely post pictures of the mess and then happily plunge your hands into those purple gloves, content with where God has you right now. I thought about the idea from Alice in Wonderland, when she wonders if she's lost her muchness. I think you've got boatloads of it. And, I'll bet you can really rock a string of pearls. Someday, says the empty nester.
ReplyDeleteHow am I only just finding your blog? I've loved reading through your archives.
ReplyDeleteAnd I pray you are feeling better soon. I have somewhat dysfunctional lungs, too, and sympathize so much.
Love this post Cara!
ReplyDeleteOh, Cara. I just love your heart here and am praying for healing and I am so grateful for the way you weave all these thoughts together...
ReplyDelete