Well, I had my follow-up appointment at Vanderbilt on Tuesday. Dr. Sheller really is a special doctor. He has a quiet way about him and is so willing to listen to and answer any questions I may have. That's rare these days. He looked at the CT scan cd that I brought with me and was not pleased at all. He's going to have his team of radiologists look at it and see what they say. Basically though, there really isn't much they can do but just monitor me and try to make me comfortable. There was no need to run any more tests because there isn't anything more that they can do for me anyway that isn't already being done. If I make it through this episode of pulmonary embolism and pneumonia, there probably will be another one come about that I don't. We're taking precautions against the pulmonary emboli with the blood thinners, but they are no guarantee - just up my chances of not getting one a bit. Other than that, we've done all that can be done. He's agreed to leave me off the Imuran for at least another couple of weeks. Since I'm not feeling a whole lot better, I'm willing to concede that my taking the Imuran and getting the pneumonia and PE just might have been coincidental. Either way, I'm glad to have a break from it.
So basically, they just sent me home and are hoping for the best. Kinda sad when that starts to sink in. It's not easy for the doctors to admit and certainly not what you want to hear but I appreciate his honesty and know that if there was more he could do - he'd do it. Not that he's giving up, new stuff comes up everyday and I am one of their favorite patients - which is funny in itself. The rest is out of their hands, which has been the truth all along. I'm in God's hands and quite frankly, there is no place I'd rather be. And yet, I am also human, with human feelings and emotions. The song that keeps playing in my head is Tim McGraw's "Live Like You Were Dying" and it has always touched my heart. This week though, there is a new thought that has come to mind that I find is much harder to swallow... die like you are living. Think about it. The easy part is to appreciate all the blessings in my life. The people, the relationships, God's awesome beauty and works all around me, the list goes on. What's hard is not to dwell on knowing that it will all come to an end. One day I'll just cease to exist in this world. Of course, I realize we all will, but it's hard not to let that take front and center. It's hard to go through the everyday motions of life without wondering "what's the point?" In a lot of ways, it's freeing. I no longer fret over it if I have a scoop of ice cream while I'm watching tv at night - what's it going to do, kill me? But in a lot of ways, the everyday routine of things seems pointless. Oh I brush my teeth and shower everyday - Lord knows I couldn't stand it if I didn't. But I no longer worry that the house isn't spotless or that a picture isn't hanging just right. I no longer fuss over the towels being folded a certain way in the closet - yeah, I was that anal. It just doesn't matter. What I do notice and appreciate is that the towels are clean and where I can reach them, no matter how they're folded. The dishes are done and put away - most of the time - and that's a good feeling, although it's frustrating that I can't be the one doing them all the time. I do what I can but the bulk of the responsibilities for everyday life have fallen on Oliver.
Yesterday coming home we had the most amazing journey. Instead of coming home the interstate, we decided to take the Natchez Trace Parkway. It's a scenic route with hills and trees and loaded with wildlife. There are historical markers and information every couple of miles. We even stopped at the burial ground of Meriwether Lewis from Lewis and Clark fame. We saw deer and turkeys, butterflies galore, birds flying everywhere. We stopped at one point for a bathroom break and a quick lunch and just were mesmerized by the intrinsic beauty of God's creation. We saw an eagle fly high above the fields, with cows and goats below grazing and fish jumping in the pond. We saw a farmer in the distance moving a hale bale to a feeder in the horse corral. We listened to the quiet rustle of leaves as the wind blew through the trees as the brewing storm was picking up steam. We sat there, each lost in their own throughs. Me, sorry I didn't bring my camera, yet knowing that some things just can't be caught through a lens. This was a God moment for me. Somewhere in the turbulance that has entered my life, I found a peace that just cannot be explained. For just a moment I felt like that eagle, facing towards the storm, head on, and allowing the winds of that storm to lift me higher than I could have gotten on my power alone. Soaring high above all the storms rolling in and gaining strength in doing so. I can't stop the storms but that doesn't mean I can't use their power to get me higher. That eagle didn't stop one drop from coming down but it didn't get wet. It flew above it all. I want to be able to do the same.
It's hard not to focus on the storm when you just don't feel well. I'm in pain and it's hard to breathe most times, sometimes harder than others. I'm taking the meds as directed and doing everything that I'm supposed to. That's the ironic thing about this illness called Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis. You don't do anything to cause it and there isn't anything you can take to make it better. It is incurable. The only "cure" would be a lung transplant. With my insurance ending in December, my not having the cash on hand to be able to pay my way through it, already not being able to tolerate the heavy drugs I would need to take, my history now of pulmonary emobli four times, being diabetic, etc. - um, I'm just not a good candidate for one. So here I sit with the reality of the situation being that I may have only a few more weeks, perhaps a year, outside chance for two. Still I believe that my healing was bought and paid for at the cross. I truly believe in God's divine wisdom and that He can and will heal me in His time - no matter what form that healing may take. I don't need to grow new lungs and do cartwheels down the road to know that there is a God who loves me beyond compare, but I'm willing to do just that if His desire is for me to do so. I'm willing to share the testimony and the road that He has me on. The tragedy would not to allow Him to use me and my story to bolster someone else walking a similar path. I've read the stories of miracles and seen many myself. Enough to know that they are real and they are special. But I've also seen enough very faithful people lose their battles to know that not everyone wins on this earth. I believe that God is in control and I want His will to be done in my life - the good and the bad. As long as He is for me, I truly know that no one and no illness can stand against me and win.
I debated long and hard with myself on whether to open up and be honest with what I'm feeling to people. It's hard to be vulnerable and put yourself out there - raw and open. It would be easy to go around saying that I'm doing great - after all, I don't look THAT sick (although these past two weeks I haven't looked too hot). It's harder to be honest and to see the uneasiness of people because they just don't know what to say. I know their hearts when they tell me to get better soon.... kinda wish I could myself. Lord knows I'm fighting with all that I have and I will continue to do so until my very last breath. I'm not afraid of dying, I am concerned with getting up there and standing before God having missed doing something that I was supposed to do on this earth. So I will share my journey with those willinng to go down the road with me and continue to pray for the lost and for those who are going through all kinds of maladies in life. I will continue to do my part as best I can. I will continue to be - fearfully and wonderfully made - for as long as God allows me to be on this planet. I'm willing to answer any questiong anybody has, so if there is something you want to know, ask away. I'll be honest that my emotions are all over the board but I know that my faith is strong. It's been tested time and time again and I know without a doubt, that's a test I'm passing with flying colors. Still working on the fleshly things though.
I am reminded of a quote from the late, great, D. L. Moody. ""Someday you will read in the papers that Moody is dead. Don't you believe a word of it. At that moment I shall be more alive than I am now. I was born of the flesh in 1837, I was born of the spirit in 1855. That which is born of the flesh may die. That which is born of the Spirit shall live forever." Ok, my years would be filled in as 1956 and 1963, respectively, and the name will change to Hassett, but the sentiment is the same. In the meantime, I will be taking things one day at a time. Hoping and praying that this latest episode is just a minor setback in the scheme of things and that soon I will be up and running around with the rest of my clan. But for now, as I doze in my chair, I'm flying high above the clouds on the wings of an eagle, not totally oblivious to the storms heading my way and circling around me, but refusing to let them define who I am. I'm above those storms, safe and protected, soaring higher than I ever knew I could.
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