Aiming for normal

I'm still getting better.  I realized this morning that I was putting on mascara with one hand, without using the other hand to steady it.


And... I started jogging.


I'm walking gracefully at 3mph every day, so yesterday I added in 1/8 mile of jogging.  Even though I feel great walking, when I break into a (very slow) jog, I suddenly feel like a clunky robot.  Apparently my body has forgotten how.  But it's a start.


(Actually getting out of the wheelchair was a start.  I suppose a clumsy jog is more like the middle/end.)


I unpacked the last of the moving boxes this week too, which was great.  I've been working on reclaiming my closets from the chaos that overtook them while I was sick, and rearranging my kitchen so I can find things.


It was most satisfying to realphabetize my spices.

Ahhhhhh.  It's my kitchen again.

Good to me

It's been a cool, wet summer so far.

Which means it's not always suitable park weather, much less pool weather.


We have made it to the pool a few times.  I'm well enough now to function as a lifeguard for my small children.  I can jump off the diving board too--although when I tried to dive, I regretted it.  Ouch.  My shoulders aren't that sturdy.


Being chilly, I was standing shin-deep in the "little pool," shivering and watching Caleb splash around at my feet, when he announced that I had "pickle legs."


?


Tickle legs?  No.  Clearly "pickle."


Pickle?  Pickle.


I looked down at my legs, and finally said, "Do you mean goosebumps?"


Yes!  Goosebumps.


I suppose pickles sort of have goosebumps too.  So apparently I have pale pickle legs.

A bird showed up to play trucks with Caleb.  You can just see it on the left in this picture.

I took the youngest three kids to see an abridged version of Fancy Nancy: The Musical last week.  

It involved singing, dancing, a tea party, fancy costumes, and, unfortunately, a good deal of drama when Nancy and her friend were disappointingly cast as a tree and an oyster in their fictional dance recital.  

In a room packed with kids and parents, Caleb burst into loud sobs.  He was so disturbed.

Naturally, we were in the very front, so everyone got a nice look (and listen) at us as I stepped through the crowd to take him out.  

He refused to even reenter the building.  Since then, all I've heard about is, "Don't like Fancy Fancy."  When I got him up the next morning:  "Don't like Fancy Fancy."  There has been much promising that Fancy Fancy is all done and we're not taking him back to Fancy Fancy.

I'm so much better than I was.  I can take care of my kids, and even other people's kids too (see above picture).  I can ascend stairs without even holding on.  I can walk at a pace of 3 miles per hour.  It's been days since I've taken any painkiller.


But... I'm not all the way better.  I'm weary of my stiff shoulders, my sore face, my leaden legs.  I'm tired of feeling worn out every afternoon.  I miss stretching out my arm under my pillow when I sleep.


I just want to put it all behind me and forget about having been sick.  I want to straighten up the house and decorate it.  I want to get on top of things.


But certain movements that still bring pain, my lack of stamina, and the piles of unfinished unpacking all serve to remind me that I have been sick, very sick.  And as much as I don't want to think it, I'm not all better yet.


It's really frustrating.


Praise God, who draws us to worship every Sunday.  "For why? The Lord our God is good."


That line was my "oh yeah" moment this Sunday.  He is good.  He has ordained this continued weakness for my good.  It is an expression of His love.  He has good in mind that I can't yet understand.  This slow recovery is not an obstacle to His good purpose, but the avenue of it.

From the hearts of the weak

From the shouts of the strong

From the lips of all people

This song we raise, Lord

William Kethe, "All People That on Earth Do Dwell"
Don Harris and Gary Sadler, "Lord Most High"

My country, 'tis of thee

I do not celebrate this weekend, but mourn over the SCOTUS decision on marriage.  I was so grieved by it, in fact, that Friday night I had bad dreams all night long--dreaming that I was in a deep depression, that I was in a scary battle, that I was about to be cannibalized, and that my library books were overdue.


This decision is bad for heterosexuals, and it is bad for homosexuals.  We are telling ourselves a lie, fellow countrymen, that gender does not matter.


It does.


Each of us enters this world made gloriously as male or female.  We are different.  We are complimentary.  It is the way we have been made.


Our complimentary biology could not be any clearer about the natural order of family life.  Man and woman are made for each other, sexually, from whence springs the next generation, to be raised in all the fullness of humanity by a covenantally committed member of each gender.


To exclaim triumphantly (and politically-correctly) to our gay friends that their homosexual desires are good and honorable and healthy is doing them no service.  When I am running headlong into destructive behavior, I need no friends to cheer me on, but someone to gently say, "Mindy, you're wrong."


Indeed, denying homosexuals the ability to marry and pursue the same companionship and shared life that I enjoy as a married hetero is awfully harsh.  It is a terribly harsh reality that some people experience exclusively same-sex attraction and will therefore never know a complimentary marriage.  Shall we therefore replace harsh reality with a sweet lie--that we can indulge in that for which we were not made, and suffer not at all as a result?


I'm concerned about the many homosexuals who have grown into their orientation because of painful or even traumatic events in their young lives.  In a culture that celebrates gay pride, who is addressing these hurts?  Who is helping them sort out the damage to their spirits and regain personal strength?  Is anyone even asking them?


I am aware that many other homosexuals are oriented so all their lives, without any trauma.  They are "born that way."  You know how I was born?  I was born with an orientation toward selfishness, cold-heartedness, and a proclivity to use other people for my own personal ends.  People like me ought not relish that we were "born that way."  We ought to reject our natural but wrong inclinations and exercise self-denial.  No one sanctioning or celebrating my selfishness is doing me any favors.


I grieve this weekend for the country I love and the trajectory of error it is on.


And I grieve this weekend for my homosexual fellow Americans, to whom very few people are speaking the truth--and even fewer speaking it with compassion.


I am sorry, gay friends, that this country has failed you.  I am sorry that you have been the targets of hate.  I am sorry that many of your struggles have been ignored.  And I am sorry that this nation is telling you that the wrong you are doing is right, that the path of destruction you are on is fulfillment, and that there is no greater hope for you than to fully immerse yourself in your own natural inclinations.




For more reading with a similar perspective, here are some thoughtful articles written by homosexual men:

I'm Gay, And I Oppose Same-Sex Marriage

On dealing with the pain of not being able to have a family

A Christian reflection on living with same-sex orientation 


 

Blessed normalcy

It's so good to be home and feeling much more like myself.

I can do things, like walk.  And serve frozen dinners.  And take care of my children, which I sorely missed.

I declined to help Jason trim the tree in the backyard, since he had such an effective cleanup crew already.

I've been really enjoying just being with my kids.

I can even lift Caleb into his swing again!

...which also means now I can pick him up when he wants to hug.


We've gone to the park and the pool this week, and a preschool art class at the children's museum.

Let's hope this summer is much less interesting than the spring.

Getting better all the time

Two full weeks have passed since my last post, in which I commented that at last I had noticeable improvement.  Nana stayed for one last week to help get me firmly on my feet, and then...

We went to the beach!

Beach week with Jason's family is a definite highlight of the year, and I've been so relieved and grateful that I could even attend--if my diagnosis had come just two weeks later, I would've spent beach week lounging in a hospital infusion chair.


Nevertheless, several questions remained--how would I get from the house to the beach if I can't walk?  (We considered renting a beach wheelchair.)  Would I be able to use the bike I had already rented?  Could I swim or would I be at risk of drowning if the surf knocked me down?  Would I be able to get to my second-floor bedroom in the beach house?


I resolved to go, even if I had to spend the week sitting still, just grateful to be enjoying family and not in a hospital.


And lo!

I biked!  (I might also point out that I took this photo one-handed while biking, without catastrophe.)


I also walked to the beach, swam in the surf, successfully used my second-floor bedroom, and eluded hungry alligators.

It was marvelous!  I almost felt normal.


I experienced definite improvement even as the week went on.  The first day, the walk to the beach was onerous, but it got a little better every day.


Caleb somehow became obsessed with boats while we were there, so Jason and I took him to the marina on Thursday to see boats.

He brought his own boat along.

Pirate boat.

Little boats.

Then Caleb didn't want to leave without climbing the lighthouse.  I said, "Yes! That would be fun! I've never done that!" so Jason bought tickets.

I ascended about 3 steps before I remembered that I can't climb steps.

I think it's grossly unfair that Caleb, who bounded up all 114 steps while we called for him to slow down, got a sticker, and I, who was sweating and clinging to the handrail the whole time, did not receive a sticker.

But I hope Lyme disease felt that kick in the head, because I climbed, I persevered, and I [just barely] survived.


Without even getting a sticker.

Headed to the beach.

artsy embellishment done with Waterlogue

The turning of the tide

At last I have visible, noticeable improvement.


My 21 days are over (thank God).  I can walk (unsteadily).  I can use my arms.  I can take off my own socks.  I'm starting to think about what healthy life is like.


My hands and feet are still numb (boo).  But the doctor says my treatment is finished and all I need is time to recover--several months to get back to normal, but normal I will get!

Blessings

I'm so blessed with not only a calvary of volunteer helpers, but an army of people praying for me.  

How do you know how loved you are unless you get seriously ill?

Sadly but sweetly, they've gotten to know me at the hospital, and it was wonderful when I walked in on Jason's arm yesterday (first time not in a wheelchair) and saw my nurse's face light up!  She was thrilled to see me walking, and another patient who was in the middle of her infusion said, "Aren't you the lady I've seen in a wheelchair?  All right!" and gave me a thumbs-up.  

Also, my dear brother and sister-in-law sent me an Edible Arrangement!  Beautiful, delicious, and heart-warming.