One Little Froggie in a Milk Pail
Dorcas Annette Walker
My life resembles the story of two frogs that jumped into milk pails. One little frog gave up and drowned. The other frog kept kicking until he churned the milk into butter and was able to hop out. I feel like a mixture of the two. Somehow, not of my doing, I’ve landed in a milk pail. Some days all I can manage to do is float and keep my head above the surface as I grasp for a solid surface to rest on. I wonder how on earth I will ever manage to get out of the milk pail with constant fatigue and pain overwhelming me. Other days I kick in rebellion not willing to let this crazy Lyme disease get the better of me. I manage to churn up particles of butter resembling tiny steps taken towards normalcy or any small goal that I’ve managed to accomplish. Every so often I find a solid lump of butter, claw my way to the top, and take inventory of where I am. I keep telling myself that all those swirls of yellow floating around me are positive proof that I have gained ground from where I was when I landed in the milk pail to start with. Even the milk looks a bit thicker. Just as I get confident to make a great leap for freedom, I slip back down into the milk. As the milk sloshes around my face I am taunted by the fact that I am still imprisoned in my milk pail of life. It’s then I’m tempted to give into despair. How much longer can I keep kicking? Churning milk into butter is lots harder than it looks, especially when you are the only one that is doing the kicking. Friends and family cheer me on. Every so often one peers down at me to ask how I am doing. I tell myself that I am not alone, even if it is just me in this cold metal milk pail. But the stark reality hits me in the face. I realize that no matter how much others want to help it really is up to me to keep kicking… keep hoping that the milk in life I’ve been given will soon turn into golden butter.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Friday, October 17, 2008
Celebrate the Small Stuff
Celebrate the Small Stuff
Dorcas Annette Walker
-Today I got a shower. Once more I feel like a civilized human.
- I brushed my teeth. Joys!
- I didn’t have enough energy to get dressed, but at least I have on a new pair of PJ’s.
- I was able to check my emails that have been piling up like fallen leaves in autumn.
- After resting a bit in my recliner, I hung up a load of wash outside and breathed in the fresh air.
- Then I rocked a spell on my front porch and watched the tiny hummingbirds and Lucy Lou race madly about in the sunshine. What bliss!
- After lunch, I brushed my cats enjoying the feel of soft fur under my fingers and listened to them purr back to me.
- I filled up the bird feeders on the porch, talked to my birds, and listened to them chattering away in the trees like a bunch of gossips. My birds are so much fun to watch though the window on days when I can’t get outdoors.
- When Dana got home I was able to stroll through my neglected flowerbeds. Each bloom was a delight to see.
- It has been a wonderful day! My pain has been managed enough where I could function in a halfway normal manner again and I’ve been able to stay awake enough to enjoy the day.
Dorcas Annette Walker
-Today I got a shower. Once more I feel like a civilized human.
- I brushed my teeth. Joys!
- I didn’t have enough energy to get dressed, but at least I have on a new pair of PJ’s.
- I was able to check my emails that have been piling up like fallen leaves in autumn.
- After resting a bit in my recliner, I hung up a load of wash outside and breathed in the fresh air.
- Then I rocked a spell on my front porch and watched the tiny hummingbirds and Lucy Lou race madly about in the sunshine. What bliss!
- After lunch, I brushed my cats enjoying the feel of soft fur under my fingers and listened to them purr back to me.
- I filled up the bird feeders on the porch, talked to my birds, and listened to them chattering away in the trees like a bunch of gossips. My birds are so much fun to watch though the window on days when I can’t get outdoors.
- When Dana got home I was able to stroll through my neglected flowerbeds. Each bloom was a delight to see.
- It has been a wonderful day! My pain has been managed enough where I could function in a halfway normal manner again and I’ve been able to stay awake enough to enjoy the day.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Purple PJ's and Pearls
Purple PJ’s and Pearls
Dorcas Annette Walker
It is Sunday and the house is silent since the guys left for church. I feel like a ghost as I wander from my recliner to the kitchen. I think of all my friends at church and wish that I was there with them. Instead I’m a prisoner of pain and fatigue. I feel depressed wishing that my life was not constantly over-shadowed by the affects of Lyme disease.
I force myself to take a shower even though it expends precious energy; the warm water smoothing aching muscles and hurting joints. I feel like I’ve joined the human race once more. I put on a set of soft lacy lavender/purple PJ’s that my sister gave me for my birthday last year. It was a perfect gift since most days consists of wearing pajamas instead of dresses. Whenever I am unable to get out to church and be with my friends on Sunday I wear my purple PJ’s.
I brush my teeth shuddering at the thought of neglected past days. I used to automatically brush my teeth twice a day. Now nights I struggle to remember if I brushed my teeth that morning or not. The haggard lady staring back at me in the mirror gives me a scare. Anger rises inside at what I have become. I’m tired of dragged around like a pale shadow. I start working on my face plucking stray eyebrow hairs and camouflaging the dark circles under my eyes until I see a resemblance of myself in the mirror. I glance at my watch. It is almost noon. Where has the time gone?
I push myself to brush out hair that hasn’t been combed in three days cringing at the sweaty feel of hair needing to be washed. Then the irony strikes me. I’m the girl who used to fix my long dark hair often times twice a day while traveling with my husband going to church night after night from state to state. I always prided myself on being put together. I took for granted the compliments I received of being told that I always had every hair in place and looked so well groomed. I loved to dress with a bit of pizzazz matching shoes and pocketbooks to flowery hats. Now I can’t keep my hair brushed out daily. I fix the front pulling my hair back into a fancy silver barrette. Then I braid the back and tie the braid up in a lavender scrunchy. I put on my Sunday watch and the strand of pearls my sister gave me. My body feels like I’ve put in a hard day’s work. As I rest in my recliner I feel elegant even though I’m only dressed in my lavender PJ’s.
Dorcas Annette Walker
It is Sunday and the house is silent since the guys left for church. I feel like a ghost as I wander from my recliner to the kitchen. I think of all my friends at church and wish that I was there with them. Instead I’m a prisoner of pain and fatigue. I feel depressed wishing that my life was not constantly over-shadowed by the affects of Lyme disease.
I force myself to take a shower even though it expends precious energy; the warm water smoothing aching muscles and hurting joints. I feel like I’ve joined the human race once more. I put on a set of soft lacy lavender/purple PJ’s that my sister gave me for my birthday last year. It was a perfect gift since most days consists of wearing pajamas instead of dresses. Whenever I am unable to get out to church and be with my friends on Sunday I wear my purple PJ’s.
I brush my teeth shuddering at the thought of neglected past days. I used to automatically brush my teeth twice a day. Now nights I struggle to remember if I brushed my teeth that morning or not. The haggard lady staring back at me in the mirror gives me a scare. Anger rises inside at what I have become. I’m tired of dragged around like a pale shadow. I start working on my face plucking stray eyebrow hairs and camouflaging the dark circles under my eyes until I see a resemblance of myself in the mirror. I glance at my watch. It is almost noon. Where has the time gone?
I push myself to brush out hair that hasn’t been combed in three days cringing at the sweaty feel of hair needing to be washed. Then the irony strikes me. I’m the girl who used to fix my long dark hair often times twice a day while traveling with my husband going to church night after night from state to state. I always prided myself on being put together. I took for granted the compliments I received of being told that I always had every hair in place and looked so well groomed. I loved to dress with a bit of pizzazz matching shoes and pocketbooks to flowery hats. Now I can’t keep my hair brushed out daily. I fix the front pulling my hair back into a fancy silver barrette. Then I braid the back and tie the braid up in a lavender scrunchy. I put on my Sunday watch and the strand of pearls my sister gave me. My body feels like I’ve put in a hard day’s work. As I rest in my recliner I feel elegant even though I’m only dressed in my lavender PJ’s.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
One Normal Day
One Normal Day
Dorcas Annette Walker
The other Sunday I had one day of being myself- something that hasn’t happened for months. Once I got up and took my pain meds my bones and joints didn’t bother me like usual. I put a roast in the crock pot, ironed a dress to wear, and then got ready for church. I had to keep telling myself to slow down as I felt energy surging through my body. I was afraid it would suddenly leave like it has all too often before. It felt strange to feel strong after dragging around for so long.
Excitement welled up inside me on the drive to church. After not being away from the house for a couple of weeks, my eyes drank in familiar sights. I felt as though I had come back home from being away on a long journey. The world looked brand new. I savored the sight of each tree and flower reveling in familiar landscapes that I had forgot.
When I walked my feet wanted to skip and dance, but I restrained myself as any quick movement threw me off balance, settling instead to walk sedately on my own without having to lean on my husband’s arm for support. It was an invigorating to feel independent again instead of being reduced to the helpless clinging-vine of a woman I had become. I realized that I felt no pain. It was actually scary. Had some kind of miracle happened?
All my senses were alive. Instead of the shell of my body being at church with the real me looking on from the shadows while trying to focus through pain, I now could take in every detail without concentrating until becoming exhausted. I sang in the choir feeling once more a part of my home church and not some visitor. Even though the possibility of collapsing when I got back home hovered in the back of my mind it didn’t dim the joy of being with all my friends, who have supported me faithfully in prayer for so long. What a rejoicing and hugging time we had being together again.
Back home I set the dining room table, served the meal, and then washed up the dishes like I always had in the past. While my guys laid down for an afternoon nap, I walked outside soaking in the beauty of the warm summer day. My flowers reached out to welcome me as I mentally made note of all the things that needed to be done. I wished I could grab my trowel and wade in to restore my neglected flower beds back to their former glory, but I restrained myself. I sat on the front porch, answered some letters, and puttered around like I used to do before Lyme disease took over my life. I wanted to pinch myself to make sure that I wasn’t dreaming.
The hours flew by swiftly… all too fast. I wanted to grab time and stop it. I chatted with my sister on the phone. She sounded so happy that I was having such a good day. Then still feeling like myself, I went to church that evening to hear Dana preach. It had been months since I last heard him preach, much less got out in the evening. Usually by nighttime I am always exhausted and drag around. The regular organist was absent so I played the organ - a huge step of faith as you need a clear mind. I’ve tried different times to play the piano at the house to stay in practice, but often have to quit because it takes so much concentration that I quickly become exhausted and fatigued. My fingers flew over the keys like before and it was a wonderful to feel the music flowing out from my finger tips. I played along for the specials songs, even though I hadn’t practiced, instinctively hitting the right notes like I used to do when playing by ear. The church folk were so excited to see me again that night.
We came back home, I changed into my PJ’s, and then Dana and I relaxed and watched a DVD. He was amazed that I was still up, going, and feeling okay. All too soon it was bedtime. Even though I was feeling tired, it wasn’t the draining exhaustion like usual. I reluctantly crawled into bed not wanting the day to end. I fell asleep with a smile on my face and slept soundly until I woke up once again in pain. Even though I’ve been back in bed again and have had to struggle through rough days of chronic pain the memory of my one normal day helps to sustain me. I will always treasure the unexpected gift that I was given.
Dorcas Annette Walker
The other Sunday I had one day of being myself- something that hasn’t happened for months. Once I got up and took my pain meds my bones and joints didn’t bother me like usual. I put a roast in the crock pot, ironed a dress to wear, and then got ready for church. I had to keep telling myself to slow down as I felt energy surging through my body. I was afraid it would suddenly leave like it has all too often before. It felt strange to feel strong after dragging around for so long.
Excitement welled up inside me on the drive to church. After not being away from the house for a couple of weeks, my eyes drank in familiar sights. I felt as though I had come back home from being away on a long journey. The world looked brand new. I savored the sight of each tree and flower reveling in familiar landscapes that I had forgot.
When I walked my feet wanted to skip and dance, but I restrained myself as any quick movement threw me off balance, settling instead to walk sedately on my own without having to lean on my husband’s arm for support. It was an invigorating to feel independent again instead of being reduced to the helpless clinging-vine of a woman I had become. I realized that I felt no pain. It was actually scary. Had some kind of miracle happened?
All my senses were alive. Instead of the shell of my body being at church with the real me looking on from the shadows while trying to focus through pain, I now could take in every detail without concentrating until becoming exhausted. I sang in the choir feeling once more a part of my home church and not some visitor. Even though the possibility of collapsing when I got back home hovered in the back of my mind it didn’t dim the joy of being with all my friends, who have supported me faithfully in prayer for so long. What a rejoicing and hugging time we had being together again.
Back home I set the dining room table, served the meal, and then washed up the dishes like I always had in the past. While my guys laid down for an afternoon nap, I walked outside soaking in the beauty of the warm summer day. My flowers reached out to welcome me as I mentally made note of all the things that needed to be done. I wished I could grab my trowel and wade in to restore my neglected flower beds back to their former glory, but I restrained myself. I sat on the front porch, answered some letters, and puttered around like I used to do before Lyme disease took over my life. I wanted to pinch myself to make sure that I wasn’t dreaming.
The hours flew by swiftly… all too fast. I wanted to grab time and stop it. I chatted with my sister on the phone. She sounded so happy that I was having such a good day. Then still feeling like myself, I went to church that evening to hear Dana preach. It had been months since I last heard him preach, much less got out in the evening. Usually by nighttime I am always exhausted and drag around. The regular organist was absent so I played the organ - a huge step of faith as you need a clear mind. I’ve tried different times to play the piano at the house to stay in practice, but often have to quit because it takes so much concentration that I quickly become exhausted and fatigued. My fingers flew over the keys like before and it was a wonderful to feel the music flowing out from my finger tips. I played along for the specials songs, even though I hadn’t practiced, instinctively hitting the right notes like I used to do when playing by ear. The church folk were so excited to see me again that night.
We came back home, I changed into my PJ’s, and then Dana and I relaxed and watched a DVD. He was amazed that I was still up, going, and feeling okay. All too soon it was bedtime. Even though I was feeling tired, it wasn’t the draining exhaustion like usual. I reluctantly crawled into bed not wanting the day to end. I fell asleep with a smile on my face and slept soundly until I woke up once again in pain. Even though I’ve been back in bed again and have had to struggle through rough days of chronic pain the memory of my one normal day helps to sustain me. I will always treasure the unexpected gift that I was given.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
The Other Body
The Other Body
Dorcas Annette Walker
I wake up and turn to jump out of bed like usual, but my body refuses to move. I have to concentrate to move my arm and finally painfully slowly roll over. It takes me a couple of tries until I can sit up. The effort leaves me trembling. What has happened to me? This isn’t my body. I feel like I weight 400 pounds instead of my usual 135. Whose body did I wake up in?
When I finally drag myself to the bathroom I see a stranger in the mirror; someone haggard with dark circles under their eyes and hair that has been neglected. Surely it can’t be me! I search for some sign of recognition of myself, but I seem to have disappeared. My shoulder’s slump in despair and I stagger back to bed. I painfully crawl back under the covers. All I want to do is disappear in sleep, blot out this life, and someway find myself again.
I hate this person who is clumsy, drops stuff, and stumbles around having to hold onto the walls for balance. I find it hard to complete simple tasks like getting dressed or brushing my teeth; stuff that I used to do automatically. Now it drains what little energy I have.
I can’t focus enough to talk in complete sentences. I have to concentrate not to mumble or slur my words. My husband teases me that I sound like I am drunk. I start to ask a question and then forget what I was asking. It is like the computer screen of my mind keeps going blank and I have to scroll up and down my memory searching for the right word. It feels like my brain has crashed on me. I try not to panic. What if I my brain suddenly decides to shut down completely? This thought lurking at the back of my mind haunts me.
Dorcas Annette Walker
I wake up and turn to jump out of bed like usual, but my body refuses to move. I have to concentrate to move my arm and finally painfully slowly roll over. It takes me a couple of tries until I can sit up. The effort leaves me trembling. What has happened to me? This isn’t my body. I feel like I weight 400 pounds instead of my usual 135. Whose body did I wake up in?
When I finally drag myself to the bathroom I see a stranger in the mirror; someone haggard with dark circles under their eyes and hair that has been neglected. Surely it can’t be me! I search for some sign of recognition of myself, but I seem to have disappeared. My shoulder’s slump in despair and I stagger back to bed. I painfully crawl back under the covers. All I want to do is disappear in sleep, blot out this life, and someway find myself again.
I hate this person who is clumsy, drops stuff, and stumbles around having to hold onto the walls for balance. I find it hard to complete simple tasks like getting dressed or brushing my teeth; stuff that I used to do automatically. Now it drains what little energy I have.
I can’t focus enough to talk in complete sentences. I have to concentrate not to mumble or slur my words. My husband teases me that I sound like I am drunk. I start to ask a question and then forget what I was asking. It is like the computer screen of my mind keeps going blank and I have to scroll up and down my memory searching for the right word. It feels like my brain has crashed on me. I try not to panic. What if I my brain suddenly decides to shut down completely? This thought lurking at the back of my mind haunts me.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
The Night Owl
The Night Owl
Dorcas Annette Walker
The rest of the world is sleeping as I slowly ease my body down in the recliner to try and lessen my level of pain. All is silent except for the sound of my husband snoring in the next room. Even Lucy Lou, my faithful companion, is curled up at my feet sleeping leaving me totally alone in the dim darkness. I turn on the lamp beside me and try to read to divert my mind, hoping that my pain lowers enough so I can lie back down in bed and relax enough to fall asleep. Time seems to drag. The page blurs in front of me. I blink my eyes and try to focus while ignoring the nagging pain radiating throughout my body. My head falls over jerking me awake from a semi-doze. My entire body is begging for relief that sleep will give if only I can get to that state.
I have a choice. Take a pain narcotic and get enough relief to fall asleep, but leave me the next day feeling dopey and dizzy with my balance affected or try and trick my body into relaxing enough to fall asleep and then feel like myself the next day. If only my crazy bones would cooperate and let the pain lessen just a slight bit I could control my life without another pill. My fogged mind argues back and forth. To pop a pill or not to pop a pill- that is the question of my life.
Dorcas Annette Walker
The rest of the world is sleeping as I slowly ease my body down in the recliner to try and lessen my level of pain. All is silent except for the sound of my husband snoring in the next room. Even Lucy Lou, my faithful companion, is curled up at my feet sleeping leaving me totally alone in the dim darkness. I turn on the lamp beside me and try to read to divert my mind, hoping that my pain lowers enough so I can lie back down in bed and relax enough to fall asleep. Time seems to drag. The page blurs in front of me. I blink my eyes and try to focus while ignoring the nagging pain radiating throughout my body. My head falls over jerking me awake from a semi-doze. My entire body is begging for relief that sleep will give if only I can get to that state.
I have a choice. Take a pain narcotic and get enough relief to fall asleep, but leave me the next day feeling dopey and dizzy with my balance affected or try and trick my body into relaxing enough to fall asleep and then feel like myself the next day. If only my crazy bones would cooperate and let the pain lessen just a slight bit I could control my life without another pill. My fogged mind argues back and forth. To pop a pill or not to pop a pill- that is the question of my life.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Life from a Prescription Bottle
Life from a Prescription Bottle
Dorcas Annette Walker
I never used to be one to take pills for an ache or pain. In fact growing up pills scared me as I often would choke trying to get one down. I can remember my mother arguing with me to try and get me to take something for relief for a headache- I would rather suffer it out than to face swallowing a pill. As a teenager I had low iron levels so I got used to taking the small iron pills. When I was expecting the large prenatal pills were a nightmare until I discovered that breaking them in two and putting them in a spoonful of applesauce made the pills easier to swallow. After the birth of my daughter I hemorrhaged badly and was underweight so finally consigned myself to taking a daily multivitamin with the faithful iron pill to keep me going. When I got my first tick bite that triggered Lyme I swallowed the antibiotic pills- anything to get back to normal.
Then pain started flaring up that ibuprofen no longer controlled. My doctor had me take Advil. Soon that wasn’t keeping my pain under control, so he added Celebrex and then Neurontin. My dosage kept getting increased until I was bedfast. Once I realized that Lyme’s had come out of remission, I was put on a daily regiment of antibiotic pills that lasted nine months. The only way I could tolerate taking the antibiotic pills was to take them at night as they make you wretchedly sick, despite popping Phenergan. Pain pills tend to destroy your stomach lining so my meals are eaten with a handful of pills. Shopping trips on good days or visiting with my daughter and grandkids has to revolve around remembering to take my pills so that the level controlling my pain will not bottom out. From past experience (of landing back in bed due to intense pain) whenever I go out I grab my pills in case we run late. I live with chronic pain. Unfortunately the narcotic to keep severe pain under control makes you feel sleepy and drugged. Some days I dither back and forth whether to choose a pain pill or try and ignore the pain so I will have a clear mind.
Pills have a way of multiplying and overtaking your life- you daren’t think about all the side affects or you’d go crazy. Popping pills is a love hate relationship. I hate the fact that my life is tied to yucky orange-tinted bottles decorated with strips of paper for dosage, directions, number of refills, narrow labels for warnings all topped by a white cap. I feel vulnerable realizing that my life is controlled by pills. Yet I gladly swallow them down every day in order to be able to stay on my feet and partially enjoy a normal life. And when I start to feel independent all it takes is a shifting of my pain to a high level to find myself heading back to the mini pharmacy in my kitchen cabinet and reaching for a bottle of pills. Speaking of which, I have to bring this to a close. It is time for me to go and pop some more pills.
Dorcas Annette Walker
I never used to be one to take pills for an ache or pain. In fact growing up pills scared me as I often would choke trying to get one down. I can remember my mother arguing with me to try and get me to take something for relief for a headache- I would rather suffer it out than to face swallowing a pill. As a teenager I had low iron levels so I got used to taking the small iron pills. When I was expecting the large prenatal pills were a nightmare until I discovered that breaking them in two and putting them in a spoonful of applesauce made the pills easier to swallow. After the birth of my daughter I hemorrhaged badly and was underweight so finally consigned myself to taking a daily multivitamin with the faithful iron pill to keep me going. When I got my first tick bite that triggered Lyme I swallowed the antibiotic pills- anything to get back to normal.
Then pain started flaring up that ibuprofen no longer controlled. My doctor had me take Advil. Soon that wasn’t keeping my pain under control, so he added Celebrex and then Neurontin. My dosage kept getting increased until I was bedfast. Once I realized that Lyme’s had come out of remission, I was put on a daily regiment of antibiotic pills that lasted nine months. The only way I could tolerate taking the antibiotic pills was to take them at night as they make you wretchedly sick, despite popping Phenergan. Pain pills tend to destroy your stomach lining so my meals are eaten with a handful of pills. Shopping trips on good days or visiting with my daughter and grandkids has to revolve around remembering to take my pills so that the level controlling my pain will not bottom out. From past experience (of landing back in bed due to intense pain) whenever I go out I grab my pills in case we run late. I live with chronic pain. Unfortunately the narcotic to keep severe pain under control makes you feel sleepy and drugged. Some days I dither back and forth whether to choose a pain pill or try and ignore the pain so I will have a clear mind.
Pills have a way of multiplying and overtaking your life- you daren’t think about all the side affects or you’d go crazy. Popping pills is a love hate relationship. I hate the fact that my life is tied to yucky orange-tinted bottles decorated with strips of paper for dosage, directions, number of refills, narrow labels for warnings all topped by a white cap. I feel vulnerable realizing that my life is controlled by pills. Yet I gladly swallow them down every day in order to be able to stay on my feet and partially enjoy a normal life. And when I start to feel independent all it takes is a shifting of my pain to a high level to find myself heading back to the mini pharmacy in my kitchen cabinet and reaching for a bottle of pills. Speaking of which, I have to bring this to a close. It is time for me to go and pop some more pills.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
The Neglected Wardrobe
The Neglected Wardrobe
Dorcas Annette Walker
I hold onto the sides of my closet to keep my balance and stare at the rows of clothes hanging inside my closet. Bright colors draw my attention as my eyes roam up and down the coordinated colors ranging from light to dark. I reach out and touch a silky fabric yearning to feel it against my skin. How long has it been since I wore a dress? I touch another sleeve and then another as the rainbow of greens, purples, then pinks all call out, pick me! I feel dizzy and overwhelmed with all the choices to choose from. What should I wear? Feeling refreshed after taking a shower I want to get dressed instead of wearing pajamas. I reach out for a blouse and skirt then place it back on the rod, then another. I feel exhausted at the thought of having to iron an outfit. I close my eyes to concentrate. What would be quick to iron or is there something I could wear without ironing that wouldn’t look wrinkled? Instead of all the colors cheering me up, I feel depressed. Will I ever be able to get dressed like I used to? Before Lyme’s I had no clue how much energy it took to pick out an outfit, iron it, and put it on. Now taking a shower depletes my stamina and the thought of trying to pick out a dress among the many choices saps what little energy I have. Slowly I turn and walk away. By the time I put on a pair of comfy pajamas and sit down in my recliner I am trembling with the exertion expanded. At least today I don’t have to lie in bed and stare at dresses that tantalize me with their bright colors.
What dress shall I wear today? I’ve tried to work through my pain determined to go to church this Sunday morning, but finally have to admit defeat. My pain level is too high to endure traveling and sitting. I even ironed a dressy outfit to wear that I haven’t worn in over a year. Now that I have to stay at home I have no desire to wear the ironed dress waiting for me. It will only remind me of what I am missing. So should I choose another outfit to pick up my spirits or simply grab something out of the closet that I wear for everyday? I run my hand down the line of bright print dresses each one a memory of fun times before Lyme’s invaded my life. Dresses that send clues about the kind of person I am; my individuality. The choice is too overwhelming. I need to lie down. As I turn to leave my eyes catch sight of sandals all lined in boxes to match my outfits. When was the last time I wore shoes? I can’t even remember. What has Lyme’s reduced me too? I am no longer the person I used to be. I close my closet doors to shut out the memories.
Dorcas Annette Walker
I hold onto the sides of my closet to keep my balance and stare at the rows of clothes hanging inside my closet. Bright colors draw my attention as my eyes roam up and down the coordinated colors ranging from light to dark. I reach out and touch a silky fabric yearning to feel it against my skin. How long has it been since I wore a dress? I touch another sleeve and then another as the rainbow of greens, purples, then pinks all call out, pick me! I feel dizzy and overwhelmed with all the choices to choose from. What should I wear? Feeling refreshed after taking a shower I want to get dressed instead of wearing pajamas. I reach out for a blouse and skirt then place it back on the rod, then another. I feel exhausted at the thought of having to iron an outfit. I close my eyes to concentrate. What would be quick to iron or is there something I could wear without ironing that wouldn’t look wrinkled? Instead of all the colors cheering me up, I feel depressed. Will I ever be able to get dressed like I used to? Before Lyme’s I had no clue how much energy it took to pick out an outfit, iron it, and put it on. Now taking a shower depletes my stamina and the thought of trying to pick out a dress among the many choices saps what little energy I have. Slowly I turn and walk away. By the time I put on a pair of comfy pajamas and sit down in my recliner I am trembling with the exertion expanded. At least today I don’t have to lie in bed and stare at dresses that tantalize me with their bright colors.
What dress shall I wear today? I’ve tried to work through my pain determined to go to church this Sunday morning, but finally have to admit defeat. My pain level is too high to endure traveling and sitting. I even ironed a dressy outfit to wear that I haven’t worn in over a year. Now that I have to stay at home I have no desire to wear the ironed dress waiting for me. It will only remind me of what I am missing. So should I choose another outfit to pick up my spirits or simply grab something out of the closet that I wear for everyday? I run my hand down the line of bright print dresses each one a memory of fun times before Lyme’s invaded my life. Dresses that send clues about the kind of person I am; my individuality. The choice is too overwhelming. I need to lie down. As I turn to leave my eyes catch sight of sandals all lined in boxes to match my outfits. When was the last time I wore shoes? I can’t even remember. What has Lyme’s reduced me too? I am no longer the person I used to be. I close my closet doors to shut out the memories.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Life On The Farm
Life On The Farm
Dorcas Annette Walker
Yesterday was a slow day for me, but I was able to get dressed and comb my hair by afternoon- what bliss. I felt civilized at last! I was battling to stay awake with no energy. The rainy chilly day outside matched my mood so I sat in my recliner by the fire and crocheted. Dwight left Sun afternoon to go down to Nashville to stay with his sister and will be coming home Thurs. Eloise (my rabbit foot cat) that usually stays in Dwight's room must have been feeling lonely. I ended up with Eloise stretched out on the top of the recliner at my head, Annabelle (my long hair calico) curled up in my lap purring, while Lucy Lou snoozed at my feet as I crocheted. I almost felt guilty for enjoying it so much. There have been some weeks when it is all I've been able to do to get my newspaper assignments in for my cooking column, Creative Mountain Cookin. Each time I push the button to send in another article and photo, I breathe a sigh of relief and collapse for the rest of the day. I'm always afraid that one week I won't be able to make the deadline. If nothing else it has helped raise my confidence pushing myself beyond what I think I can do and keep my brain cells active. I have learned to work and do stuff while in pain (thankfully there are levels of pain) as long as my pain level stays under a certain point because if I waited until I didn't hurt I'd never do anything. Chronic pain has taught me to stay angry enough to push myself. I refuse to give up! Other days when my pain level is high or I can't stay awake, I go into a zombie mode where I'm in bed and I mentally shut down to survive another day. When my pain level is lower I ignore it the best I can and do what I am able to do- some days are more than others. For each task I accomplish (like get dressed or comb my hair) I mentally act like it is a great achievement to help spur me onward. My biggest frustration is not becoming overwhelmed on the days when I can do a few things as by then my list of stuff to do is staggering.
I have determined this year to find something each day to enjoy no matter how small. Every day that I can I go outside (even if I have to bundle up in my PJ's) for a little bit as it helps clear my mind just to get out of the house. Hopefully it will also build up my strength. I can’t believe how weak I am. On days when I am unable to go outside I sit in my rocker in the sunroom and watch the birds. One day I saw six brilliant red cardinals sitting in my trees surrounding my sunroom while their mates took a turn at my bird feeders. It was awesome! I love (and my cats do too) watching the birds at my feeders. I have managed to keep my feeders filled on the back porch. Dana built an incubator and there are four brown eggs incubating on my table in the sun room. Since the weather dips up and down we have to keep changing the light bulbs to keep the temperature at the right level. Talk about mental stimulation! When Dana is gone Sunday’s preaching, guess who gets to baby-sit his incubating eggs and gather the eggs from the chickens? I got five eggs Sunday- the highest number of eggs yet.
Dorcas Annette Walker
Yesterday was a slow day for me, but I was able to get dressed and comb my hair by afternoon- what bliss. I felt civilized at last! I was battling to stay awake with no energy. The rainy chilly day outside matched my mood so I sat in my recliner by the fire and crocheted. Dwight left Sun afternoon to go down to Nashville to stay with his sister and will be coming home Thurs. Eloise (my rabbit foot cat) that usually stays in Dwight's room must have been feeling lonely. I ended up with Eloise stretched out on the top of the recliner at my head, Annabelle (my long hair calico) curled up in my lap purring, while Lucy Lou snoozed at my feet as I crocheted. I almost felt guilty for enjoying it so much. There have been some weeks when it is all I've been able to do to get my newspaper assignments in for my cooking column, Creative Mountain Cookin. Each time I push the button to send in another article and photo, I breathe a sigh of relief and collapse for the rest of the day. I'm always afraid that one week I won't be able to make the deadline. If nothing else it has helped raise my confidence pushing myself beyond what I think I can do and keep my brain cells active. I have learned to work and do stuff while in pain (thankfully there are levels of pain) as long as my pain level stays under a certain point because if I waited until I didn't hurt I'd never do anything. Chronic pain has taught me to stay angry enough to push myself. I refuse to give up! Other days when my pain level is high or I can't stay awake, I go into a zombie mode where I'm in bed and I mentally shut down to survive another day. When my pain level is lower I ignore it the best I can and do what I am able to do- some days are more than others. For each task I accomplish (like get dressed or comb my hair) I mentally act like it is a great achievement to help spur me onward. My biggest frustration is not becoming overwhelmed on the days when I can do a few things as by then my list of stuff to do is staggering.
I have determined this year to find something each day to enjoy no matter how small. Every day that I can I go outside (even if I have to bundle up in my PJ's) for a little bit as it helps clear my mind just to get out of the house. Hopefully it will also build up my strength. I can’t believe how weak I am. On days when I am unable to go outside I sit in my rocker in the sunroom and watch the birds. One day I saw six brilliant red cardinals sitting in my trees surrounding my sunroom while their mates took a turn at my bird feeders. It was awesome! I love (and my cats do too) watching the birds at my feeders. I have managed to keep my feeders filled on the back porch. Dana built an incubator and there are four brown eggs incubating on my table in the sun room. Since the weather dips up and down we have to keep changing the light bulbs to keep the temperature at the right level. Talk about mental stimulation! When Dana is gone Sunday’s preaching, guess who gets to baby-sit his incubating eggs and gather the eggs from the chickens? I got five eggs Sunday- the highest number of eggs yet.
Friday, May 2, 2008
A Tank Half Full of Gas
A Tank Half Full of Gas
Dorcas Annette Walker
Little did I realize that one day my life would end up resembling my neglected car sitting in the driveway. In the past when I drove my car I was always made sure that I had a full tank of gas. As soon as the gas gauge would show half empty I’d stop and fill it back up. I’ve always had a secret fear of being stranded alongside the road with an empty gas tank. Now each day when I wake up I wonder just how far I will make it through the day. Some days after my pain pills kick in I manage to get dressed by dinnertime, only to discover that my energy has run out. The rest of the day has to be spent in my recliner or back in bed. More times than I care to remember, by the time I get up, pop my pills, and eat breakfast I am physically drained as though finishing a day of hard work that leaves me no option but to stagger back to bed totally exhausted like a car with an empty gas tank.
A good day consists of being able to keep going (between numerous breaks) all through the day and cook a simple supper instead of lying around. If I’m lucky to still be up on my feet by supper time, my energy level starts dropping very fast. Sometimes after cooking supper I’ll be so exhausted I have to rest in the recliner before I can eat. Despite my fluctuating energy levels, I refuse to give up and stay in bed as long as I can make my body move. I keep making lists (that keep growing) of things that need to be done. Each day I have to guess how much energy I will have without any gauge to register my energy level. It’s kinda like driving a car with no gas gauge. I start a task hoping that my energy will not suddenly drop without warning. When that happens I barely am able to make it back to bed before collapsing.
There is nothing like living with the uncertainty of one’s strength to undermine your self confidence, especially when day after day you are not able to do simple tasks that you once did automatically. Do you have any idea how much energy it takes to get a shower, dress yourself, brush your teeth, or comb your hair? I now have the energy levels for each task down to a fine science. I feel kin to the senior residents that shuffle down nursing home hallways- folks that I used to pity. Now I am one of them as I concentrate to keep my balance making a conscious effort not to stagger or limp when I walk. At times the energy it expands is simply too much. So I face each day wondering if my energy tank will be half full or half empty.
Dorcas Annette Walker
Little did I realize that one day my life would end up resembling my neglected car sitting in the driveway. In the past when I drove my car I was always made sure that I had a full tank of gas. As soon as the gas gauge would show half empty I’d stop and fill it back up. I’ve always had a secret fear of being stranded alongside the road with an empty gas tank. Now each day when I wake up I wonder just how far I will make it through the day. Some days after my pain pills kick in I manage to get dressed by dinnertime, only to discover that my energy has run out. The rest of the day has to be spent in my recliner or back in bed. More times than I care to remember, by the time I get up, pop my pills, and eat breakfast I am physically drained as though finishing a day of hard work that leaves me no option but to stagger back to bed totally exhausted like a car with an empty gas tank.
A good day consists of being able to keep going (between numerous breaks) all through the day and cook a simple supper instead of lying around. If I’m lucky to still be up on my feet by supper time, my energy level starts dropping very fast. Sometimes after cooking supper I’ll be so exhausted I have to rest in the recliner before I can eat. Despite my fluctuating energy levels, I refuse to give up and stay in bed as long as I can make my body move. I keep making lists (that keep growing) of things that need to be done. Each day I have to guess how much energy I will have without any gauge to register my energy level. It’s kinda like driving a car with no gas gauge. I start a task hoping that my energy will not suddenly drop without warning. When that happens I barely am able to make it back to bed before collapsing.
There is nothing like living with the uncertainty of one’s strength to undermine your self confidence, especially when day after day you are not able to do simple tasks that you once did automatically. Do you have any idea how much energy it takes to get a shower, dress yourself, brush your teeth, or comb your hair? I now have the energy levels for each task down to a fine science. I feel kin to the senior residents that shuffle down nursing home hallways- folks that I used to pity. Now I am one of them as I concentrate to keep my balance making a conscious effort not to stagger or limp when I walk. At times the energy it expands is simply too much. So I face each day wondering if my energy tank will be half full or half empty.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
I Propose, But My Bones Dispose
I Propose, But My Bones Dispose
Dorcas Annette Walker
3 AM: Saturday night I shift restlessly in bed as pain keeps pulling me awake interrupting my sleep. My pain increases enough that I come out of the fog to realize that I need to get up and take more pain medication. I fumble in the darkness for the button light on the clock beside my bed as pain shoots through my body and groan when I see that it is only 3 o’clock in the morning. Not another night of interrupted sleep! My bones scream in protest as I stand, fight for balance, and slowly walk out to the kitchen to warm up some hot chocolate in the microwave to take with my pain medication. Every move I make increases my pain level. After popping a pain pill I concentrate on not spilling the hot chocolate as I stagger across the living room to my recliner and turn on a lamp. Sweat pops out on my forehead and I feel like I’m going to collapse any second. I grit my teeth and slowly settle myself down in the recliner as more pain shoots through my body. I gasp for air and try to slow down my breathing. My hand automatically reaches downward for a magazine in the basket beside my recliner. It will take a half an hour at least for me to feel any relief. Hopefully the colorful pictures or a short article will distract my mind until the pain pill kicks in. Lucy Lou sighs and settles down at my feet. I echo her sigh. Maybe I’ll be able to get enough rest to make it to church this Sunday later on in the morning. I miss seeing my friends and hate the isolation of being forced to stay at home due to pain. After an hour I start to feel a bit groggy. Hopefully a little bit longer my body will relax enough so I can go back to sleep. Two hours later I ease back in bed and let sleep overtake me once more.
7 AM: I can barely focus on my husband’s voice through the sharp pain that hits me as I come back to consciousness. He is asking me if I’m going to be able to go to church. I cry out in pain and turn my head shutting my eyes. Pain surges through my entire body like a raging fire and I grip my teeth to keep from screaming. Try to relax! I order my body as it tenses up under another onslaught of pain. Relax and go back to sleep! I chant over and over inside my head as I feel myself slowly sink back down.
10 AM: When I wake up again it is after 10 o’clock. I won’t be making it to church this Sunday. I blink away tears. Once again my life is interrupted due to pain. I feel depressed seeing the sunshine and beautiful day outside my window. The window stands like a barrier between isolation and normalcy. Too many times I’ve been trapped inside when I want to be out like everyone else. I take more pills and eat a bowl of oatmeal with fruit. I can hardly stay awake to finish my breakfast and gratefully crawl back in bed not waking up until my husband and son come home for lunch.
3 PM: That afternoon still in my PJ’s I try to read in the recliner fighting a strong urge to sleep. I want to stay awake and not miss the entire day. I’ve missed too many days already out of my life. My body will not cooperate and I find myself dozing off and on. I finally give in and stagger back to bed. My life has become reduced to sleeping, waking up, popping pills, eating, and sleeping again. I wake up around suppertime. The house is silent again. My husband and son are back at church and I am alone. I take more pain medication and scrounge around in the refrigerator for leftovers. I manage to stay awake reading a magazine in the recliner until my husband and son comes home from church.
9 PM: I can no longer stay awake so I head back to bed feeling totally wrung out and exhausted as if I have put in a hard day’s work. I drop into a sound sleep and don’t know anything until the next morning.
The next day my pain is under control, but I feel angry and depressed. I’ve missed another day in my life. Why God? Why couldn’t my bones behave and let me be normal again? I didn’t even get to enjoy the sunshine and take a walk outside yesterday. When will I gain back control of my life? I don’t want to spend the rest of my days staggering around trying to stay awake, living in my recliner, and fighting pain. There is so much I yearn to do: writing, painting, working on crafts, sew a quilt square for the church quilt, feed the birds, work in my flower gardens, clean my house, catch up on the wash, not to mention the pile of dirty dishes in the sink…
Dorcas Annette Walker
3 AM: Saturday night I shift restlessly in bed as pain keeps pulling me awake interrupting my sleep. My pain increases enough that I come out of the fog to realize that I need to get up and take more pain medication. I fumble in the darkness for the button light on the clock beside my bed as pain shoots through my body and groan when I see that it is only 3 o’clock in the morning. Not another night of interrupted sleep! My bones scream in protest as I stand, fight for balance, and slowly walk out to the kitchen to warm up some hot chocolate in the microwave to take with my pain medication. Every move I make increases my pain level. After popping a pain pill I concentrate on not spilling the hot chocolate as I stagger across the living room to my recliner and turn on a lamp. Sweat pops out on my forehead and I feel like I’m going to collapse any second. I grit my teeth and slowly settle myself down in the recliner as more pain shoots through my body. I gasp for air and try to slow down my breathing. My hand automatically reaches downward for a magazine in the basket beside my recliner. It will take a half an hour at least for me to feel any relief. Hopefully the colorful pictures or a short article will distract my mind until the pain pill kicks in. Lucy Lou sighs and settles down at my feet. I echo her sigh. Maybe I’ll be able to get enough rest to make it to church this Sunday later on in the morning. I miss seeing my friends and hate the isolation of being forced to stay at home due to pain. After an hour I start to feel a bit groggy. Hopefully a little bit longer my body will relax enough so I can go back to sleep. Two hours later I ease back in bed and let sleep overtake me once more.
7 AM: I can barely focus on my husband’s voice through the sharp pain that hits me as I come back to consciousness. He is asking me if I’m going to be able to go to church. I cry out in pain and turn my head shutting my eyes. Pain surges through my entire body like a raging fire and I grip my teeth to keep from screaming. Try to relax! I order my body as it tenses up under another onslaught of pain. Relax and go back to sleep! I chant over and over inside my head as I feel myself slowly sink back down.
10 AM: When I wake up again it is after 10 o’clock. I won’t be making it to church this Sunday. I blink away tears. Once again my life is interrupted due to pain. I feel depressed seeing the sunshine and beautiful day outside my window. The window stands like a barrier between isolation and normalcy. Too many times I’ve been trapped inside when I want to be out like everyone else. I take more pills and eat a bowl of oatmeal with fruit. I can hardly stay awake to finish my breakfast and gratefully crawl back in bed not waking up until my husband and son come home for lunch.
3 PM: That afternoon still in my PJ’s I try to read in the recliner fighting a strong urge to sleep. I want to stay awake and not miss the entire day. I’ve missed too many days already out of my life. My body will not cooperate and I find myself dozing off and on. I finally give in and stagger back to bed. My life has become reduced to sleeping, waking up, popping pills, eating, and sleeping again. I wake up around suppertime. The house is silent again. My husband and son are back at church and I am alone. I take more pain medication and scrounge around in the refrigerator for leftovers. I manage to stay awake reading a magazine in the recliner until my husband and son comes home from church.
9 PM: I can no longer stay awake so I head back to bed feeling totally wrung out and exhausted as if I have put in a hard day’s work. I drop into a sound sleep and don’t know anything until the next morning.
The next day my pain is under control, but I feel angry and depressed. I’ve missed another day in my life. Why God? Why couldn’t my bones behave and let me be normal again? I didn’t even get to enjoy the sunshine and take a walk outside yesterday. When will I gain back control of my life? I don’t want to spend the rest of my days staggering around trying to stay awake, living in my recliner, and fighting pain. There is so much I yearn to do: writing, painting, working on crafts, sew a quilt square for the church quilt, feed the birds, work in my flower gardens, clean my house, catch up on the wash, not to mention the pile of dirty dishes in the sink…
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Beside Still Waters
Beside Still Waters
Dorcas Annette Walker
I groan and roll over as my body protests. Not another day in bed! I shut my eyes in frustration. Will I ever be normal again? Even my doctor isn’t exactly sure what is going on. I went from being an active person to an invalid seemingly overnight. Why God why? Then a verse from the Psalms comes to my mind. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters. Psalms 23:2 Life certainly has become still now-a-days compared to the hectic pace I used to keep up with before.
First I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia. Maybe my past history of rheumatoid arthritis caused the flare-up. Who knows. All the tests from a stay in the hospital came back normal despite constant headaches, fatigue, and increasing bone pain. I started tracking each day looking for patterns in weather, stress, anything that would give me a clue why I’d wake up with pain radiating throughout my body that exhausted me until I was unable to get out of bed. The constant headaches grew worse as my pain intensified, whick increased pain meds barely affected. Some days I can’t wake up enough to function. Other times the fog in my mind is so severe I was unable to concentrate leaving me feeling confused and scared. I have to hang on the walls to keep my balance. My doctor ordered more tests done as numbness spread to my hands and feet causing me to trip and fall when I try to walk. I started using a walker. I went to a rheumatologist and neurologist. I only got worse. One night the pain in my head intensified to such a degree that I couldn’t sleep. My husband rushed me to the emergency room. I passed out and had mild seizures. A CT scan was done, but everything came back normal. I was put on migraine medication, which only helped for a couple of weeks then was useless. My doctor shook his head in frustration as my symptoms kept increasing.
I don’t have enough energy to get dressed. My goal for a day consists of trying to take a shower or brushing my teeth. I had to give up my kid’s class at the local church where my husband pastored. I couldn’t lead the choir or play the organ. Next I resigned my position as the missionary leader. Instead of doing visitation with my husband, people now brought food to the parsonage. Deep inside I know that God has a purpose in everything that happens, but it is hard to focus on the positive as days dragged by and I was in bed more than up. I feel guilty seeing my husband trying to cope with the unfamiliar territory of housework, cooking, and washing clothes. I try to pray when my mind is clear enough. I remind the Lord how useful I could be if only He would heal my body. Before I had always been an active person that kept going no matter how sick I felt. Now my body refuses to respond to my demands. I feel depressed and useless. On days of intense pain I pop pain meds that put me under only to wake back up in severe pain.
My blood work never showed the presence of Lyme’s disease from tick bites that years before antibiotics had knocked out of my system. Desperate I called a Lyme’s specialist. As soon as I began describing my symptoms I was told that my Lyme’s had come back out of remission. I was in the third stage needing to get on antibiotics immediately. My local doctor agreed to start me on antibiotics to see if it would help. Within a week’s time I began to feel like myself again and the headaches were not as severe. I was hoping by a month’s time I’d be back on my feet again, but I am still bedfast. When will I be normal again? When can I get up for good?
It reminds me of when I was a child and my mother would put us kids down for an afternoon nap. Often I was full of energy and didn’t want to lie still. After what would seem like hours I’d call for my mother. Isn’t it time to get up? My mother would say, “Lay back down, Dorcas. It isn’t time to get up yet. I’ll tell you when you can get up.” It would seem forever until she would say, “You can get up now.” My heavenly Father knows best how long I need to rest quietly beside the still waters. So I’ll try to be patient a bit longer. When I get discouraged He sends me signs of His love. A phone call from a friend to tell me that they are praying for me, a get well card in the mail, even the chirping birds outside my window remind me that God is in control. He has a plan for my life. I can trust Him. I finally get my aching body comfortable and close my eyes. I will not fight the overwhelming fatigue but rest. Maybe tomorrow I will be able to be back up on my feet again. Meanwhile I’m not alone. Beside me a furry, fat cat is purring.
Dorcas Annette Walker
I groan and roll over as my body protests. Not another day in bed! I shut my eyes in frustration. Will I ever be normal again? Even my doctor isn’t exactly sure what is going on. I went from being an active person to an invalid seemingly overnight. Why God why? Then a verse from the Psalms comes to my mind. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters. Psalms 23:2 Life certainly has become still now-a-days compared to the hectic pace I used to keep up with before.
First I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia. Maybe my past history of rheumatoid arthritis caused the flare-up. Who knows. All the tests from a stay in the hospital came back normal despite constant headaches, fatigue, and increasing bone pain. I started tracking each day looking for patterns in weather, stress, anything that would give me a clue why I’d wake up with pain radiating throughout my body that exhausted me until I was unable to get out of bed. The constant headaches grew worse as my pain intensified, whick increased pain meds barely affected. Some days I can’t wake up enough to function. Other times the fog in my mind is so severe I was unable to concentrate leaving me feeling confused and scared. I have to hang on the walls to keep my balance. My doctor ordered more tests done as numbness spread to my hands and feet causing me to trip and fall when I try to walk. I started using a walker. I went to a rheumatologist and neurologist. I only got worse. One night the pain in my head intensified to such a degree that I couldn’t sleep. My husband rushed me to the emergency room. I passed out and had mild seizures. A CT scan was done, but everything came back normal. I was put on migraine medication, which only helped for a couple of weeks then was useless. My doctor shook his head in frustration as my symptoms kept increasing.
I don’t have enough energy to get dressed. My goal for a day consists of trying to take a shower or brushing my teeth. I had to give up my kid’s class at the local church where my husband pastored. I couldn’t lead the choir or play the organ. Next I resigned my position as the missionary leader. Instead of doing visitation with my husband, people now brought food to the parsonage. Deep inside I know that God has a purpose in everything that happens, but it is hard to focus on the positive as days dragged by and I was in bed more than up. I feel guilty seeing my husband trying to cope with the unfamiliar territory of housework, cooking, and washing clothes. I try to pray when my mind is clear enough. I remind the Lord how useful I could be if only He would heal my body. Before I had always been an active person that kept going no matter how sick I felt. Now my body refuses to respond to my demands. I feel depressed and useless. On days of intense pain I pop pain meds that put me under only to wake back up in severe pain.
My blood work never showed the presence of Lyme’s disease from tick bites that years before antibiotics had knocked out of my system. Desperate I called a Lyme’s specialist. As soon as I began describing my symptoms I was told that my Lyme’s had come back out of remission. I was in the third stage needing to get on antibiotics immediately. My local doctor agreed to start me on antibiotics to see if it would help. Within a week’s time I began to feel like myself again and the headaches were not as severe. I was hoping by a month’s time I’d be back on my feet again, but I am still bedfast. When will I be normal again? When can I get up for good?
It reminds me of when I was a child and my mother would put us kids down for an afternoon nap. Often I was full of energy and didn’t want to lie still. After what would seem like hours I’d call for my mother. Isn’t it time to get up? My mother would say, “Lay back down, Dorcas. It isn’t time to get up yet. I’ll tell you when you can get up.” It would seem forever until she would say, “You can get up now.” My heavenly Father knows best how long I need to rest quietly beside the still waters. So I’ll try to be patient a bit longer. When I get discouraged He sends me signs of His love. A phone call from a friend to tell me that they are praying for me, a get well card in the mail, even the chirping birds outside my window remind me that God is in control. He has a plan for my life. I can trust Him. I finally get my aching body comfortable and close my eyes. I will not fight the overwhelming fatigue but rest. Maybe tomorrow I will be able to be back up on my feet again. Meanwhile I’m not alone. Beside me a furry, fat cat is purring.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
The Bag Lady
The Bag Lady
Dorcas Annette Walker
Who the stranger in my mirror staring back at me? She looks pale and wan. It can’t be me. Those pain-dulled eyes ringed with dark circles are not mine. My cheeks are always rosy and my eyes sparkle with life and laughter. And her greasy hair. Horrors! My hair is always combed and neat. I search in vain for my face. Have I totally disappeared? I recognize familiar features, but this stranger looks older than me. Where did I go? This person stinks. I shudder trying to remember just how long it has been since I had a shower. I am shocked to see stains on my pajamas. How did they get there? My finger and toe nails need to be trimmed. How could I have let myself go? I look like one of the homeless people on the street that I used to pity. My body needs a major overhaul. At what point did I give up? When did the simple act of brushing my teeth become too much of a burden to do? I step in the shower and begin scrubbing my body reveling in the feel of warm water as pulsates over tense muscles washing away the signs of neglect. When I am dry I have to sit down so I can catch my breath. I still have to trim my nails, wash my hair, and hopefully get dressed. I won’t stop until I am civilized from head to toe, even if it takes all day. That evening I relax in my recliner feeling like myself. I promise that I will never let myself get like that again.
A week later: I glance in the mirror and see the bag lady again. No! Go away! I hate you! Get out of my life! I turn my head away from the haunting image in my mirror. Despair overwhelms me as I hang onto the sink trying to keep my balance. Pain escalates and I stagger back to bed. It takes all my energy trying to survive in my world of pain. The bag lady will have to wait.
Dorcas Annette Walker
Who the stranger in my mirror staring back at me? She looks pale and wan. It can’t be me. Those pain-dulled eyes ringed with dark circles are not mine. My cheeks are always rosy and my eyes sparkle with life and laughter. And her greasy hair. Horrors! My hair is always combed and neat. I search in vain for my face. Have I totally disappeared? I recognize familiar features, but this stranger looks older than me. Where did I go? This person stinks. I shudder trying to remember just how long it has been since I had a shower. I am shocked to see stains on my pajamas. How did they get there? My finger and toe nails need to be trimmed. How could I have let myself go? I look like one of the homeless people on the street that I used to pity. My body needs a major overhaul. At what point did I give up? When did the simple act of brushing my teeth become too much of a burden to do? I step in the shower and begin scrubbing my body reveling in the feel of warm water as pulsates over tense muscles washing away the signs of neglect. When I am dry I have to sit down so I can catch my breath. I still have to trim my nails, wash my hair, and hopefully get dressed. I won’t stop until I am civilized from head to toe, even if it takes all day. That evening I relax in my recliner feeling like myself. I promise that I will never let myself get like that again.
A week later: I glance in the mirror and see the bag lady again. No! Go away! I hate you! Get out of my life! I turn my head away from the haunting image in my mirror. Despair overwhelms me as I hang onto the sink trying to keep my balance. Pain escalates and I stagger back to bed. It takes all my energy trying to survive in my world of pain. The bag lady will have to wait.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
It's a Dog's LIfe
It’s a Dog’s Life
Dorcas Annette Walker
Did I really think that life was normal again? Who was I kidding?
Outside my window a beautiful autumn morning mocks me as I lie in bed. I yearn to feel warm sunshine on my face as I work in my neglected flowerbeds or smell the scent of clean wash hanging on the clothesline. Not spending the day stuck in bed. I fight back tears of frustration. I need to be in my kitchen making potato salad for the fish fry tonight at my home church that I’ve looked forward to with so much anticipation for a month. Instead I’m battling a headache and trying to get my bone pain under control. Lucy Lou, my mixed poodle, lies beside me. As if sensing my distress she licks my hand in sympathy. Maybe if I stay in bed for a couple of hours I can make a dessert for tonight instead of fixing potato salad. Chronic fatigue threatens to overwhelm me. I prop my body up with pillows so I can read a book to help keep me awake. I turn a couple pages trying to concentrate. The words blur before my eyes and I feel my body sag sideways. The next thing I know I’m struggling to wake up. Lucy Lou is on her back beside me snoring. A glance at the clock tells me it is past lunch time. I stagger out of bed hanging onto anything handy to help me to stay upright. By the time I fix a yogurt shake, take another pill, and convince Lucy Lou to come back inside I am exhausted. Lucy Lou sits beside me hoping for a tidbit as I drink my lunch and try to read. For some reason every time I eat my dog thinks she needs to share my food. When I ignore her, Lucy Lou flops down and begins chewing on her rawhide bone. My eyes feel heavy and it becomes too much of an effort to read so I let my body roll over and close my eyes in relief. The next thing I know my husband, Dana, is calling my name. He has come home from work. I force myself awake. He assures me that there will be plenty of food. All I need to do is get dressed. I slowly get out of bed hanging onto the side of my dresser bureau trying to get my balance. I feel dizzy, disoriented, and every bone in my body hurts with each step that I take. Lucy Lou runs around me in circles oozing boundless energy that makes me jealous. When I barely make it to the bathroom without falling I realize that I won’t be going anywhere. It is a relief just to get back in bed. My husband and son, Dwight, leave for the fish fry promising to bring me back a piece of catfish. The house once again is silent. I turn on my side trying to lesson the nagging pain in my spine. Outside my window the world has turned to twilight. Lucy Lou flops down beside me and heaves a big sigh. I reach over and pat her silky ears. I know, sweetheart, it’s a dog’s life, huh?
Dorcas Annette Walker
Did I really think that life was normal again? Who was I kidding?
Outside my window a beautiful autumn morning mocks me as I lie in bed. I yearn to feel warm sunshine on my face as I work in my neglected flowerbeds or smell the scent of clean wash hanging on the clothesline. Not spending the day stuck in bed. I fight back tears of frustration. I need to be in my kitchen making potato salad for the fish fry tonight at my home church that I’ve looked forward to with so much anticipation for a month. Instead I’m battling a headache and trying to get my bone pain under control. Lucy Lou, my mixed poodle, lies beside me. As if sensing my distress she licks my hand in sympathy. Maybe if I stay in bed for a couple of hours I can make a dessert for tonight instead of fixing potato salad. Chronic fatigue threatens to overwhelm me. I prop my body up with pillows so I can read a book to help keep me awake. I turn a couple pages trying to concentrate. The words blur before my eyes and I feel my body sag sideways. The next thing I know I’m struggling to wake up. Lucy Lou is on her back beside me snoring. A glance at the clock tells me it is past lunch time. I stagger out of bed hanging onto anything handy to help me to stay upright. By the time I fix a yogurt shake, take another pill, and convince Lucy Lou to come back inside I am exhausted. Lucy Lou sits beside me hoping for a tidbit as I drink my lunch and try to read. For some reason every time I eat my dog thinks she needs to share my food. When I ignore her, Lucy Lou flops down and begins chewing on her rawhide bone. My eyes feel heavy and it becomes too much of an effort to read so I let my body roll over and close my eyes in relief. The next thing I know my husband, Dana, is calling my name. He has come home from work. I force myself awake. He assures me that there will be plenty of food. All I need to do is get dressed. I slowly get out of bed hanging onto the side of my dresser bureau trying to get my balance. I feel dizzy, disoriented, and every bone in my body hurts with each step that I take. Lucy Lou runs around me in circles oozing boundless energy that makes me jealous. When I barely make it to the bathroom without falling I realize that I won’t be going anywhere. It is a relief just to get back in bed. My husband and son, Dwight, leave for the fish fry promising to bring me back a piece of catfish. The house once again is silent. I turn on my side trying to lesson the nagging pain in my spine. Outside my window the world has turned to twilight. Lucy Lou flops down beside me and heaves a big sigh. I reach over and pat her silky ears. I know, sweetheart, it’s a dog’s life, huh?
Monday, March 31, 2008
Lyme Light
Lyme Light
Dorcas Annette Walker
I’d like to shed some light on Lyme’s disease, which has become a debatable subject in the medical field. I don’t have any doctorate behind my name. I’m just a patient that lives with an incurable disease. It all started with a tick bite- something I thought at the time insignificant. Now I’m in the third stage battling to get this disease back into remission before it attacks my vital organs. You can read about how it all started at: www.dorcasannettewalker.com. I want to give the disease of Lyme a human face, a voice, to raise awareness of a silent epidemic that changes a person’s entire world. I need a listening ear as I vent my frustrations on my journey back to normal and relight the spark to once again believe that my life will count for something. It seems incredible that a tiny tick could cause so much havoc- reducing my busy lifestyle where I had everything neatly compartmentalized into struggling day by day to function normally. I’ve stumbled into a twilight zone where one is dependent on pills to exist. I struggle amidst the fog in my brain to find a door, an exit, to where life is normal. I yearn to join the mass of humanity that races past me just out of reach. My spirit rebels at living on the sideline with a body that refuses to cooperate. There has to be a light somewhere that will lead me out of this confusion into freedom. So I’ll keep searching, reaching to find the key to unlock my prison.
Dorcas Annette Walker
I’d like to shed some light on Lyme’s disease, which has become a debatable subject in the medical field. I don’t have any doctorate behind my name. I’m just a patient that lives with an incurable disease. It all started with a tick bite- something I thought at the time insignificant. Now I’m in the third stage battling to get this disease back into remission before it attacks my vital organs. You can read about how it all started at: www.dorcasannettewalker.com. I want to give the disease of Lyme a human face, a voice, to raise awareness of a silent epidemic that changes a person’s entire world. I need a listening ear as I vent my frustrations on my journey back to normal and relight the spark to once again believe that my life will count for something. It seems incredible that a tiny tick could cause so much havoc- reducing my busy lifestyle where I had everything neatly compartmentalized into struggling day by day to function normally. I’ve stumbled into a twilight zone where one is dependent on pills to exist. I struggle amidst the fog in my brain to find a door, an exit, to where life is normal. I yearn to join the mass of humanity that races past me just out of reach. My spirit rebels at living on the sideline with a body that refuses to cooperate. There has to be a light somewhere that will lead me out of this confusion into freedom. So I’ll keep searching, reaching to find the key to unlock my prison.
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