Its amazing when I look back now and see how dumb I was with my health.
I've always heard that hindsight is 20/20, but I honestly was more
embarrassed about my declining health whenever anyone else was able to
see it. I didn't want to be a burden on anyone, and yet, I was causing
more concern than if I would have faced up to it and had it taken care
of sooner.
First was the sedentary lifestyle. I literally got to where I would sit
on our couch for 23 out of 24 hours each day, only getting up to go to
the bathroom. I got to where I could not climb into bed or didn't have
the gumption to walk back to the bedroom, so I even "slept" on the
couch. I'd sleep for an hour or so, wake up, watch TV for 2-3 hours,
then try to sleep some more. I got to where my speech would slur when I
was worn out, which was unbelievably embarrassing to have my Mom or
hubby looking at me with such concern and confusion.
It got to the point where my 5X clothes were tight. I split nearly every
pair of size 14 underwear in half. My shirts fit me like a baby doll
tee. I even got to the point that the one pair of shoes I had that fit
me no longer could be squeezed into. More embarrassment. When faced with
my sisters last spring when my Dad died and seeing the pity and concern
in their eyes, I wanted to just become invisible.
Those first visits to the cardiologist over the summer over my legs were
embarrassing. I had to ask for the nurse to bring me a chair from their
break room out in the waiting area because all of the chairs had arms
and I could squeeze my butt into them.
I finally broke down and rented a wheelchair because walking was just
too much. I had bedsores on my butt from sitting on the sofa so much. I
was nothing but a huge, fluid filled, fat ball of pain. And yet, I
always brushed it all off as if all was normal.
In the back of my head though, I was terrified. I never slept long not
only because I was uncomfortable, but also because I was afraid if I
went to sleep, I was not going to wake up. I thought alot about who was
going to find me. I hoped it wouldn't be Daniel - one of my nephews
found my brother the morning he died, and I know it messed him up for
life. Its not that I wanted Randall to find me, but I prayed to God that
He would get him through it.
Fast Forward through the hospital stay all 67 days of it, even through
the 59 days I have since been home - I am left with a fading scar on my
neck from the trach (I'm so thankful the redness has gone away and its
so much less noticeable), two small scars on my right bicep from the pic
line, and plenty of emotional scars. I think about this experience
every day. Part of me thinks, it was just a hospital stay! The more
logical part admits it was a hugely traumatic experience, one that I'll
never forget, but one I am so grateful to have lived to remember.
Each day I get a little stronger, but there are things that do get me
down. Like my knees. I obviously have arthritis in them, likely damage
from my weight, and they hurt so very much so often. The dampness, the
cold weather, walking too much. It makes me feel like I am 100 years old
on most days.
The other disheartening side effect is my hair. I had reasonably thick
hair, but no more. I've lost at least 60% of it. You can see my scalp
and my forehead is much higher now. I looked up causes, and well, I am
the poster child : traumatic illness, rapid weight loss, and I'm on 2
medications that notoriously cause hair loss. Every time I brush my
hair, I have to clean out the causalities. This was something that I
used to have to do only about every two weeks. Needless to say, I own a
collection of bandanas and hats now, but even they make me feel so
conspicuous.
Still, they are small prices to pay on the road to getting well. A
journey of 1000 miles begins with a single step. May God never let me
forget those first shaky steps as I clutched that walker in physical
therapy in the hospital. Each step will bring me one step closer to all
He wants me to be.
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