Thankfulness

Thankfulness is being blessed with a donor, a family who said yes in the midst of their grief. Thankfulness was being under the care of skilled hands of great surgeons and doctors and nurses. Thankfulness is having the support of a wonderful family and friends and even complete strangers who reached out to offer help when I needed it most. Thankfulness is reaching milestones, like another birthday and another Mother's Day. Thankfulness is doing my own shopping and cooking again. To climb the stairs in my home. To drive. To walk. To visit friends. To do what I missed out on. To breathe. Thankfulness is having this opportunity to be here for another Thanksgiving and hope for many more. Love to all this holiday season. Remember what matters. Life is short. Lend a hand, mend fences, have fun, and don't sweat the small stuff.

Keep the prayers coming...

I have received a lot of prayers. Prayer, affirmation, meditation. Whatever you want to call it, it's an essential part of many religions. And prayer is ultimately linked to miracles. When I returned this summer with less than stellar news, a friend said, "Oh, but we have been praying so hard for you." I could sense disappointment in her tone. Disappointment in me? Disappointment that her prayers were not answered? Disappointed in God? Is it possible for me to sprout a new lung? I'm certainly open to such a miracle if it were offered to me.

I suppose it is easier to see the extent of the damage when someone has lost an arm or a leg. But when a lung is no longer functioning, we cannot see it. It baffles us. And when we cannot see it, we doubt its severity. And when prayers seem to go unfulfilled, one starts to doubt God or themselves.

I have spent a lot of time thinking about this. I've been in the hospital, had countless tests, plenty of sleepless nights, and trips back and forth. I have suffered through some hard days, physically and mentally. I have watched my daughter sleep and I've cried, praying I will have more time with her. It is a prayer, so deep, so primal, that is offered up to the highest and to anyone willing to hear my pain.

And miracles? I am still here. Had I not persisted and not been in good hands, I could have died months ago.

I am building stronger ties with my family and friends. A miracle. I have learned what is essentially the most important thing in life. And when everything is stripped from you, you learn to hold on to those around you with a firm grip.

Letting go. A miracle. There were a lot of trivial things building up in my life, distracting me. Those had to go and fast. I had to learn to let others take the lead. And, I had to do so without complaining. Once an independent and natural born organizer and leader, I now realize things can not always run as I would have run them. It is quite humbling to know the world can go on without me and my skills.

Do not doubt. Do not give up. Look at all the good that surrounds us and keep the prayers coming. I still have a long road ahead and I'll be watching for all the little miracles along the way.

A thank you to my team...

Today I want to thank you for being part of my team. Family and friends, you are...

...the ones who slept on uncomfortable chairs in the ICU to stay close to me.
...the one who asked if I had any errands to help with this week. You returned my library books and mailed a package off at the post office. And this isn't the first time. I'm sure without you making yourself available, I would have several piles of stuff left untouched, things to return, and boxes to mail. I appreciate your persistence.
...the one who came over and edged my neglected sidewalks.
...the ones who weeded my garden and helped with the yard.
...the ones who call and ask, "Hey, I'm going to Kroger (or Fresh Market, or wherever); what do you need?" And, you are patient enough to find the right brand and check ingredient lists for potential allergens.
...the ones who have helped me get to and from doctor appointments.
...the ones who have driven my daughter, and me, to school and scouting functions.
...the ones who have helped with fundraisers (hosting events, organizing, doing the leg-work, etc.) and continue to do so.
...the one who has picked up various requests like gluten-free pizza, organic taco shells, and special cheese.
...the ones who have opened their homes to me when I needed a place to stay.
...the ones who have helped with home projects we've been forced to neglect.
...the ones who donate items for the fundraisers.
...the ones who have watched over my daughter when we are unable to do so.
...the one who made several trips up and down my basement stairs carrying boxes of stuff.
...the ones who send checks and make donations.
...the ones who have helped me go on various errands, helping me lug around bags and my heavy oxygen tanks.
...the ones who have placed me and my family on prayer chains.

To all of you... thank you for being part of my team. I appreciate all you do--the financial help, the reminders, the rides, the prayers and good thoughts, and your gift of time. It has been difficult to let others do so much for us and I still feel guilty letting others give so much when I can give so little in return. At times, I'm not entirely certain I sufficiently express my gratitude and a thank you often seems like an inadequate response for all the love my family has received.

But, at this time, it's all I can offer. And, I cannot say it enough...

Thank you.

Ironic

For the past several years I've been focused on healthy living and have avoided most processed foods, GMOs, and chemical additives. I was doing it to stay healthy and avoid problems with food related maladies like heart disease and type II diabetes. I am not a smoker. Never was. I avoid chemicals like synthetic bug sprays and cleaners in my home. And now I have something so rare and so random that is destroying my lungs. It was not preventable and there is no cure. How ironic.

I am trying to cope with this irony. This disease took away my future plans, my independence, my fast stride, my strength, my savings. It took away my ability to work and the chance for others to depend on me. It keeps me from things I once found pleasurable. And I am holding on, trying to grasp as much extra time modern medicine can provide. But, I'm only hindering the inevitable.

No matter how much they love me, friends and family continue on with their daily lives. They must. And, some are even picking up where I left off, taking over things that were once my responsibility. I'm trying my best to accept all of this, but it's hard. I'm envious. And it's the deepest, most pronounced envy I have ever felt. I feel ashamed and am a bit sheepish admitting this because I know that wanting what others have - health - will make me no better.

This disease brought a lot of things into my life, most of which I did not want. When I can push aside the heavy drapes of anger, of envy, and worry, I can look at the blessings this disease has brought into my life. For one thing, I've grown closer to my mother-in-law. We haven't always agreed on how things should be done, but when I needed her, she was there by my side. I've also observed compassion and appreciate all the help from friends - everything from rides to appointments to surprise goodies at my doorstep. In addition, I have a wonderful husband who continues to show his deepest devotion by helping me daily. And, there's my new friend who has a similar, rare form of this disease.

My friend lives about twenty minutes away and visited me on Friday. I cannot even begin to explain how much that visit meant to me. She's fighting this battle too. We are the same age. We are mothers with a terminal illness. We can openly talk to each other in that "I've been there myself" sort of way. We have a lot in common, obviously. But we also HAD a lot in common. Had we met before this disease struck, we would have been instant friends.

I still have those days--those dark, gloomy days--but I tell myself I must remain focused and strong. I'm fortunate because I can count my blessings... especially blessings that came into my life because of this awful disease.