{Down but not out.}

Dear Blog,

Life is not easy. And lately I've been a little testy. You see I had the opportunity to talk to an amazing woman who has had health issues similar to my own. She is a gorgeous wife, mother of eight and grandmother to dozens. She has an amazing attitude and carries herself with spunk and sparkle. As we talked I flooded her with questions which spilled so fast I don't know how she grabbed any of them. But she caught hold of one I've been desperate to have answered.

"What can I do to feel better?"

 She smiled softly and said, "Take care of yourself. Carve out time just for you."

I got a little weepy at the simplicity of that statement and added it to my healing list: Eat bushels of fruits and vegetables, consume my daily allowance of fiber, exercise daily--even if it's just a little light yoga or a ten minute walk. Don't drink alcohol, soft drinks or smoke cigarettes. Cut out all processed sugars. Open myself to guided meditation, eastern medicine and purified water. And live with a rock solid positive attitude, chew on platitudes with breakfast.

But before I could fully process "me time" into my daily regime she added,

"But I can't say you will every fully recover. There will always be physical struggles."

If she hadn't revealed this statement with such kindness I would have thought she kicked me in the stomach. Because I've believed/hoped/prayed a healthy diet and attitude are enough to shrink a tumor and heal a soul. And that snippet of truth is one bitter pill to swallow.

I'd thought I'd been handling things really well. In truth? I've been mired in denial. Things aren't that much better. I have seen improvement. But damn it. I'm only 37, I'm not ready to feel so old. And I am MAD! I'm so angry I want to throw dishes at the walls. I DON'T WANT TO HAVE PHYSICAL STRUGGLES! Sometimes there's so much anger inside me the worlds not big enough to contain my epic tantrum!

But . . .

I really like my dishes and don't want to repaint the walls. And I live with the most patient man in the world. Who tells me it's alright to be angry. Which sort of takes the hissy wind out of my sails. Then I cry and he holds my hand, even though I am sure he wants to throw a couple dishes himself.

He leaves me alone and I pray which lately is really not much more than the muttered word help. Then the tears subside and I find peace and I pray for others like me, who might be hurt, angry and scared. Because the greatest lesson I've learned this summer is that prayers are more powerful when they are performed on the behalf of someone else. I've witnessed miracles for others. And I've received some too. Maybe I will always have physical struggles, maybe I won't. But I know my good days are a gift from a prayer performed by another. And I'm grateful. Thank you. I'm praying for you too.

Love,

Kristi