Happy Monday Folks. If you're keeping track, you know I wasn't around last week. I was very sick with the Norwalk Virus. I thought for sure I was going to throw-up my toenails, but that is probably more detail than you'd hoped for. I try to be open-minded and learn stuff along the way, no matter what the situation. In my sickness I re-learned a few lessons about myself.
I am not a fighter. Many times I've watched sick people "fight" their illness and cling tenaciously to life. If I should ever get a life-threatening illness, I can tell you right now, if it causes me any sickness or pain, which I assume most life-threatening illnesses would cause either pain or sickness, I will succumb sooner rather that later.
As I hugged the porcelain last week, I found myself saying, "God, take me now." And a couple times when Gordon came to check on me lying on the bathroom floor, I mouthed, "Please shoot me." We don't even own a gun, but at the time it seemed so logical.
Some people might read what I just wrote and think how awful I am to speak those words. After all, life and death are in the power of the tongue, and, some might say, I'm speaking death words. I think that's a bunch of hooey. I know my days are numbered and God knew my last day long before he even created me. So I don't buy the idea that I can bring physical death to myself by saying I'd rather die than live sick. And if I did believe it, I'd have lain vigil on the bathroom floor last week saying I'm dying, I'm dying just to end the agony.
(On the other hand, I believe with everything in me that I can speak death or life words into the lives of others. Through my words I can sow positive thoughts into my kids or negative. I can sow life-giving words or life-sucking words. And I choose to sow life most of the time. I'm working on all the time, but I am a work in progress.)
Last week as I heaved my kneecaps up to my chest bone I had numerous thoughts. One, I am thoroughly convinced that throwing up so much through six pregnancies has left my innards deformed. I think there are things that no longer work, like the shut-off valve. When most people are finished vomiting, they stop. Right? That's not rocket science. It doesn't work for me. I keep heaving until all the bunyans are dislodged and an hour's worth of pee has escaped. And I'm very loud and I have no control over the volume. Trust me, if I could control the volume I would. After all, I've thrown up in more public places than I care to think about. Yes, it would be nice to delicately puke in Walmart's purse department, gingerly wipe my face and move on, but no, that's not the way it works. Masses have gathered and watched me and offered to call ambulances and such, and all the while I say, "No, really I'm fine. This is just something I do."
When I was pregnant with Rachael, we lived in an apartment - very unfortunate for my fellow apartment dwellers. I vomited often and loudly. One rare moment of bliss, Gordon and I were laying on the sofa talking. Suddenly we heard the people beneath us making the most awful noises. We quietened to listen. Then Gordon and I said in unison: "They're making fun of you [me]." They had company over and were showing the company what they had to listen to regularly. I was embarrassed and felt so vulnerable. I wanted Gordon to go and confront them and say something to make them choose a higher road. Instead he said, "Boy, are they ever good. That sounds just like you. This is so hilarious."
Last week Mindi announced that our Photo Challenge Color for March is green. Because I was sick and thinking sick thoughts, I was reminded of my neon green vomit days with Stephanie's pregnancy. Yes, I have a vomit story for just about every occasion. You may be thinking that I'm lying. I'm considering doing a series on some of my public vomiting experiences. Now that's a series I've never seen before.