One Little Froggie In A Milk Pail

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.