I hadn't expected my infusions to be a big deal. I've been doing them every six months for the past 2 years. With time, they have figured out better how to lessen side effects and maximize effectiveness. I can't begin to say how grateful I am for the doctors and nurses who spent the time and care to figure these things out.
So I wasn't really thinking they would be that big of a deal. A couple of days to recover after each one and on my way.
Unfortunately, every time is a bit of a new ball of worms. Slightly different set of side effects. I had usual tiredness and chills and sore throat (which is such a strange side effect) but this time I was incredibly nauseous and I had a tightness in my chest with a shortness of breath.
The nausea felt very lent-y.
The breathing thing worried me.
There is a rare side effect with this medicine that it can impact your lungs. But the thing is, the disease also impacts the lungs. So.. it was hard to tell what was going and and if it was significant enough to report. So I monitored and wondered and reflected on this medicine as a sort of safety net.
It was a sobering and very lenten reflection. If I ever have to stop taking this medicine for whatever reason, there aren't many alternatives to control the disease. So far, the disease has been very limited in how it has effected me but it is can be a narly disease.
Dust we are and to dust we return.
Just when I was about to write my doctor about the breathing thing -- I woke up much better. Like 1,000 pounds lifted off my shoulders. I was so so grateful.
I also felt silly for worrying. Like a child climbing down out of a jungle gym with a foot 2 inches from the ground who's absolutely terrified to keep going.
Good thing no one saw me panic, cause that was ridiculous. Oh ya, I just wrote about it on my very public blog. Oh well. Vulnerability is a spiritual practice.
Anyways, yesterday, the nausea started to lift and today, I ate like normal. It was glorious.
Perfect timing. I'm supposed to go with Andrew and his 8th grade class to Washington DC during Holy week and I have been praying that I would feel better.
The weather was perfect this afternoon and the kids don't have school tomorrow so I took miles to the store for some treats for another audiobook marathon (and some dinner because I'm feeling too lazy to cook tonight.)
As I loaded groceries into the van, I feel it, like a spring in a watch that has popped out of place my back did that little -- tweak. I finished loading groceries and drove 4 blocks back to my house. By the time I got home I couldn't stand upright. My back was in full spasm and I could barely walk. Hunched up, I hobbled inside and told the boys to bring groceries in. Glad I got dinner.
I hobbled into the shower and got heat on it. Grabbed an ice pack, took some ibuprofen and stared googling, "how to fix a bad back in under 3 days. " I texted my brother who is the most gifted physical therapist I've ever met (he can literally do magic with his hands and just fix things and make them work again). He gave me a plan. I'm working the plan and again praying that I'll be better by that flight to Washington.
Jesus has a body. He faced the fear of death and tired legs. He only lived to 33 so maybe he never had a bad back, but he definitely wrestled with body stuff.
I think there is something added to spirituality in having to struggle with the joys, pleasures, sorrows and struggles of having a body. If I just lived as spirit, I think faith would be easier. I would be more like I imagine myself to be. But my body makes me tired and cranky, limits me when I feel limitless, grounds me to the present in a way I'm sure I could never be without a body. And then there are the ways I see myself as I look at my body -- life giving and nourishing, strong and caregiving. Fragile and finite.
Holy week is the re-telling of a deeply physical spiritual story. One in which God takes on the limited frailty of containment in a biological body. That eats and drinks with friends. That weeps. That prays with such a high level of stress and anxiety that he actually just starts bleeding. That falls under the weight of the cross and endures lashes with a whip. That struggles to breathe and cries in anguish.
God entered into humanity to show us that there is nothing our bodies will face that God will not join us in. To show us that there is not one thing that can separate us from God's love. And that our very limited, blemished bodies are in fact temples of the most high -- redeemed and beloved.
Whatever crap your body decides to dish out, you can answer back with "God is with me in this too. " Also, please pray for my back. I really don't want to get on a plane like this.
No comments:
Post a Comment