I know we need the rain, but enough already. Yesterday we had 2+ inches, and are at 1.8 inches so far today. So what can I do about it?
Well, I can complain, gripe, mumble, grouse, moan, and groan.
Or, I can think of it as reconstituted sunshine. Aaaah, liquid sun, coming down by the buckets full. I should be a nice rust color by Spring.
Or best of all, I can look at it as an example of God's blessings and love. They just keep coming, and coming, and coming. Even when I am filled to overflowing he continually gives me more and more. Oh, how my Father spoils me.
Do you ever feel like you're drowning in the outpouring of his love? I do.
Have a God day. I am.
Jan
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
My Object Lesson from God
Isn't it interesting how God works? Let me try to explain a series of events and how they spoke to me. First off, our Pastor's wife is teaching a study on Proverbs 31:10-31 and calling it "Practically Speaking," Each week, after Joan's teaching, two women share their testimonies dealing with the topic. The topics are: New Beginnings--Accepting Change, Our Need for Time Alone With Him, The Virtuous Wife, Raising Children Who Love God (2 parts), P.M.S. to Menopause and Beyond, The Renaissance Woman, and Excellence--Realizing Your Potential.
Well, months ago I was asked to share during the last day of our Bible study. I accepted the challenge . So during this time that I've been laid up with my foot I have done a lot of thinking about what to share in the ten minutes allotted. Since most of the women in my church didn't know me before my husband went to prison, they have no idea what giftings I was using in my other congregation. In those days I felt that I knew who I was in Christ and how he wanted to use me. I truly felt I knew my potential and was slowly moving in that direction.
Then came my own personal Hurricane Sandy that destroyed all I had been involved in and loved. I had to rebuild. As a mulled over my story, I decided that it was important to share the depression I went through and the fact that I am in therapy. I wanted to share God's faithfulness to me even when I was struggling to be faithful to Him, and to myself. I wanted to share my battle with the enemy--the self doubts, insecurities, anger, embarrassment, etc he bombarded me with. I wanted to share the challenge the Spirit continually whispered in my ear, "Take every thought captive", "Stand up against the lies."
There was more I wanted to share. I wanted them to hear that the repressed knowledge of my gifts and my potentials had started to resurface. I once again had hopes and dreams. But with these new found inspirations, hopes, and dreams came renewed battles and renewed disappointment with myself. I was choosing not to move on. Why, I don't really know.
I wanted to share all that garbage because I wanted women to know that just because one is a Christian doesn't mean she will never have struggles. I wanted them to know that the victory is the Lords even if they may not see it in its entirety for years. God knows what he has given us, what he wants us to do with it, and the tools to achieve it no matter what kind of battle is necessary.
I wanted the ladies to hear again what they had probably heard many times before, "Each of us is precious to Him, so precious, in fact, that he sacrificed his Son for us. The victory is his. He said so."
After putting myself through all that mental and emotional turmoil I began having doubts about sharing the struggles I have been going through. Then I looked through the outline Joan had put together for the study. At the end of it were two questions and two powerful statements.
1. Are you dissatisfied with your life?
2. Has depression crept into your life? How do you battle it?
Don't let the enemy lie to you.
You ARE worth more than fine jewels.
At this point I knew I was on the right track. My doubts were gone. God is so good.
This is where it gets interesting. I was stretched out on the couch as usual, and thinking how nice it will be when I'm set free from the big, heavy surgical boot on my foot and orders to stay down with my foot elevated. None of that will happen until my incision heals well enough that it no longer oozes. Until then, I won't be going anywhere or doing anything.
Then came the epiphany, my aha moment, the Lord's object lesson for me. Ready? My foot, with its slow-healing wound, is a picture of me with my still unhealed emotional portions. Until I deal with all of them instead of ignoring them, they will continue to weep and cause discomfort. They will keep me bound and unable to move on in victory. God knows what he wants for me. I have in inkling of what he wants for me. But, the choice is mine. As for my foot, I have done everything the Dr told me do. Can I do any less for my Lord?
Since that moment a few days ago, I have been back to the Dr. and given permission to drive, to sleep without the boot on my foot or pillows under my feet, to wear shoes as tolerated, to do household chores as my foot allows. My wound is healing! Thank you, Lord.
Now to let the Spirit continue searching, finding, and revealing the weeping, emotional wounds within me so I can let him heal them. Together, we can do this and I can realize my potential.
Isn't God amazing?
Have a God day, I am.
Well, months ago I was asked to share during the last day of our Bible study. I accepted the challenge . So during this time that I've been laid up with my foot I have done a lot of thinking about what to share in the ten minutes allotted. Since most of the women in my church didn't know me before my husband went to prison, they have no idea what giftings I was using in my other congregation. In those days I felt that I knew who I was in Christ and how he wanted to use me. I truly felt I knew my potential and was slowly moving in that direction.
Then came my own personal Hurricane Sandy that destroyed all I had been involved in and loved. I had to rebuild. As a mulled over my story, I decided that it was important to share the depression I went through and the fact that I am in therapy. I wanted to share God's faithfulness to me even when I was struggling to be faithful to Him, and to myself. I wanted to share my battle with the enemy--the self doubts, insecurities, anger, embarrassment, etc he bombarded me with. I wanted to share the challenge the Spirit continually whispered in my ear, "Take every thought captive", "Stand up against the lies."
There was more I wanted to share. I wanted them to hear that the repressed knowledge of my gifts and my potentials had started to resurface. I once again had hopes and dreams. But with these new found inspirations, hopes, and dreams came renewed battles and renewed disappointment with myself. I was choosing not to move on. Why, I don't really know.
I wanted to share all that garbage because I wanted women to know that just because one is a Christian doesn't mean she will never have struggles. I wanted them to know that the victory is the Lords even if they may not see it in its entirety for years. God knows what he has given us, what he wants us to do with it, and the tools to achieve it no matter what kind of battle is necessary.
I wanted the ladies to hear again what they had probably heard many times before, "Each of us is precious to Him, so precious, in fact, that he sacrificed his Son for us. The victory is his. He said so."
After putting myself through all that mental and emotional turmoil I began having doubts about sharing the struggles I have been going through. Then I looked through the outline Joan had put together for the study. At the end of it were two questions and two powerful statements.
1. Are you dissatisfied with your life?
2. Has depression crept into your life? How do you battle it?
Don't let the enemy lie to you.
You ARE worth more than fine jewels.
At this point I knew I was on the right track. My doubts were gone. God is so good.
This is where it gets interesting. I was stretched out on the couch as usual, and thinking how nice it will be when I'm set free from the big, heavy surgical boot on my foot and orders to stay down with my foot elevated. None of that will happen until my incision heals well enough that it no longer oozes. Until then, I won't be going anywhere or doing anything.
Then came the epiphany, my aha moment, the Lord's object lesson for me. Ready? My foot, with its slow-healing wound, is a picture of me with my still unhealed emotional portions. Until I deal with all of them instead of ignoring them, they will continue to weep and cause discomfort. They will keep me bound and unable to move on in victory. God knows what he wants for me. I have in inkling of what he wants for me. But, the choice is mine. As for my foot, I have done everything the Dr told me do. Can I do any less for my Lord?
Since that moment a few days ago, I have been back to the Dr. and given permission to drive, to sleep without the boot on my foot or pillows under my feet, to wear shoes as tolerated, to do household chores as my foot allows. My wound is healing! Thank you, Lord.
Now to let the Spirit continue searching, finding, and revealing the weeping, emotional wounds within me so I can let him heal them. Together, we can do this and I can realize my potential.
Isn't God amazing?
Have a God day, I am.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Appreciate Your Blessings and Give Thanks
Loss is something I had never really felt until almost five years ago--at least not deep down, painful-to-the-core loss. Sure there was loss when my kids left home, but I knew where they were going, what they were doing; and I was happy for each of them as they ventured off exploring the world unfolding before them. Their departures were something I had prepared for during their growing up years, but I had had no time to prepare for the life changing loss that occurred with my husband's admission of child molestation.
That loss, though sudden, took me a long time to feel or even recognize. I just kept on keeping on as if nothing had happened. I felt nothing even close to loss. In a confusing fog of "what in the world just happened?" and the dark clouds of "what do I do now?" I down shifted into survival gear. I might have been fooling myself into thinking I was superwoman and all was just fine, but I didn't fool very many others.
Even after writing some of my first therapy assignments about lost hopes and dreams, I didn't feel the losses I had written about. I didn't feel anything. As a result I had an extremely hard time even coming up with: an Alaskan cruise, more cross-country trips, increased prison ministry, backyard bonfires, and family camping. I didn't find them on the front burner of my things-to-do-stove. They weren't even placed on the back burner. They were completely removed from the stove; and I refused to let myself care they were gone. I also refused to even consider the possibility of ever having hopes and dreams again--even if they were God's hopes and dreams for me. Life had to be lived day by day. Just as I hadn't allowed any room for feeling anything during those days, especially loss, I allowed no room for "fantasy" either.
It wasn't until this summer that I really started feeling loss, emotional loss. I can stay alone for days at a time, but as I watched couples strolling the beaches and sidewalks in Maui I suddenly felt the pain of being without a mate, a companion, someone to hold hands with, cuddle with, and share my days with. Loss hit me between the eyes, not the loss of activities, events or ministries, but the loss of companionship and love. It hurt.
I dealt with the pain by ignoring it, then I moved on, that is until last weekend. That's when a neighborhood doe was shot and killed across the road from my house. (see my October 25th blog, "Goodbye, My Doe") Those few minutes of time shook me to the core. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted someone to hold me, but my family was all out of town. I sent texts to them. They quickly replied with "Oh no" and "I'm sorry, Mom". It helped a little. But in the death of a creature who had been a substitute companion for two years, I once again felt the pain of loss. And again it hurt.
So, having given "loss" much thought as I lie sprawled out on my couch and the weeks drag on, I have slowly realized another loss, that of independence. As I said earlier, I don't mind being alone for days at a time. What I didn't realize was the fact that I always had the ability to go whenever or if ever I wanted to. Now that option is gone. I cannot go anywhere outside my home without asking for a ride. I don't like it.
I pray that this time spent healing, no matter how long it is, will leave an indelible impression on my mind of what shut-ins must feel, of the frustration and needs of those who can no longer drive, or walk for that matter. It's so hard.
An indelible impression sounds great and wonderful, but it sure doesn't help anyone. What good will it do? Will I do something? Is there a call from the Lord here? I don't know right now.
There is a lot I don't know right now, but I know this. It is important to appreciate what I now have, and give thanks for it. It is important to appreciate the family and friends who surround me, and tell them so. Even more importantly, they need to know I love them--not just by actions, but by words. I really don't want it to be another loss that brings my many blessings into sharper focus.
Have a God night. I plan to.
I love you, Jan
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Oh, For A Bath
"Aaaaaah!" I sighed to myself as my imagination anticipated what was yet to come. I had spent the past few days figuring out the logistics. I thought my plan was going to work if... Everything hinged on the big IF. Here it is. If I had the strength to remove the shower doors from my tub and move them into the back bedroom where they wouldn't be in the way, I could do it. I knew I could. I could take a bath while keeping my right foot dry. I had to give it a try.
As I stood there, clad in my bathrobe and facing the glass doors, I lifted up on the first one. It cooperated! I cheered as I hoisted the door up, pulled the bottom edge over its rail, and lowered it to the floor. I had done it. I repeated the process on door number two. Success again! The doors were removed. Although they were heavy, I was finally able to maneuver them into the back bedroom. YEAH for me. (I don't like to ask for help)
What is all this fuss over a bath about? Well, ever since my foot surgery five weeks ago, I have had only sponge baths in order to keep my foot dry and to obey my doctors orders of "No showers, no baths." But, after awhile, a wet washcloth just doesn't do it. I want water: warm water, soothing water, soaking water, soapy water. I want steam, vapor, and aaaaaah comfort. Besides, the doctor finally said I could give it a try as long as my foot stayed out of the H20.
Now for my bath. More correctly, now for my trial run. I stood there staring into the tub and realizing there was one more big IF...if I could even get into the tub. Oh, I could sit on the towel-draped side easily enough--wrapped in my fuzzy, red robe. I could stand with my left foot in the tub and right leg holding my foot up above imaginary water. Lowering my body into the tub would be another matter. With little or no edge on one side of the tub and the uncomfortable shower door rail an the other, it was next to impossible to hang on to anything to help me lower myself in. My good leg just didn't have the strength to do it by itself. Bummer. If only the faucet and tap were on the right side of the tub I could have slid myself down the back of the tub into warm, liquid bless, but they weren't. Double bummer.
So what does a gal do? She puts water in the tub anyway, stands there with one foot in and one foot out, and splashes with glee. Half of me is very shiny, exfoliated and clean. The other half is sponged. Oh well, half a bath is better than none.
The hunt is now on for someone who has a tub with the faucets on the right side. I really want to soak sometime before my foot heals (which could be a couple more weeks). I think I might have found one. Now to call my daughter's mother-in-law and see if I can take a bath at her place. I really might do that. I really might. Or not because I would have to ask someone for a ride. Oh, I'll be glad when this is over.
Have a God day. I am, even though I lie here with my head propped up on two pillows and my feet on three. Life is good especially when I am half clean.
As I stood there, clad in my bathrobe and facing the glass doors, I lifted up on the first one. It cooperated! I cheered as I hoisted the door up, pulled the bottom edge over its rail, and lowered it to the floor. I had done it. I repeated the process on door number two. Success again! The doors were removed. Although they were heavy, I was finally able to maneuver them into the back bedroom. YEAH for me. (I don't like to ask for help)
What is all this fuss over a bath about? Well, ever since my foot surgery five weeks ago, I have had only sponge baths in order to keep my foot dry and to obey my doctors orders of "No showers, no baths." But, after awhile, a wet washcloth just doesn't do it. I want water: warm water, soothing water, soaking water, soapy water. I want steam, vapor, and aaaaaah comfort. Besides, the doctor finally said I could give it a try as long as my foot stayed out of the H20.
Now for my bath. More correctly, now for my trial run. I stood there staring into the tub and realizing there was one more big IF...if I could even get into the tub. Oh, I could sit on the towel-draped side easily enough--wrapped in my fuzzy, red robe. I could stand with my left foot in the tub and right leg holding my foot up above imaginary water. Lowering my body into the tub would be another matter. With little or no edge on one side of the tub and the uncomfortable shower door rail an the other, it was next to impossible to hang on to anything to help me lower myself in. My good leg just didn't have the strength to do it by itself. Bummer. If only the faucet and tap were on the right side of the tub I could have slid myself down the back of the tub into warm, liquid bless, but they weren't. Double bummer.
So what does a gal do? She puts water in the tub anyway, stands there with one foot in and one foot out, and splashes with glee. Half of me is very shiny, exfoliated and clean. The other half is sponged. Oh well, half a bath is better than none.
The hunt is now on for someone who has a tub with the faucets on the right side. I really want to soak sometime before my foot heals (which could be a couple more weeks). I think I might have found one. Now to call my daughter's mother-in-law and see if I can take a bath at her place. I really might do that. I really might. Or not because I would have to ask someone for a ride. Oh, I'll be glad when this is over.
Have a God day. I am, even though I lie here with my head propped up on two pillows and my feet on three. Life is good especially when I am half clean.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Goodbye, My Doe
BLAM
My peaceful
afternoon is torn asunder.
The windows shake.
My heart pounds.
Lightning bolts of
fear shoot through me,
As does the
question,
“Did they get her?”
BLAM
Thump-whump,
thump-whump
My surgical boot
leads me to a window.
There they stand,
two men, leaning on my neighbor’s fence.
There they stand,
looking into the field.
There they stand.
Did they get her?
VROOM-VROOM
The truck pulls
out onto the road.
My road, the one
in front of my house.
It stops just
past my house, barely past.
Out they climb,
into the field they go.
Back to the truck
they trudge.
They got her.
She was so
beautiful in life:
Sleeping in the
tall grass,
Standing on her
hind legs reaching for apples,
Nuzzling her baby,
Ears erect,
listening, ever alert.
They got her.
Now, limp in death
She lies in the
bed of a dirty truck—
Tossed in like so
much dirty laundry.
I fight back tears
of anger,
Tears of sorrow,
tears of loss.
They got her.
Goodbye, my doe.
You brought me
much joy.
I watched your motherly love,
Laughed at your
fawn’s playful leaps,
Awaited your
morning visits to my apple trees.
Goodbye, my doe,
you served God’s purpose well.
Friday, October 19, 2012
Freed to Sit Up
I am so excited. I feel like I've been released from prison even though I still have shackles around my leg. My doctor has granted permission for me to sit in my recliner with my foot propped up as long as it doesn't throb (my foot, not the recliner). If it does throb, I have to give up my throne and accept a bed, couch, floor, or anywhere else I can become prone with my foot higher than my head.
The shackles that remain are the orders to stay off it except to use the bathroom and grab something to eat, wear the five ton boot on my foot all the time, and seek transportation for my twice/week doctor appointments. But that is OK. At least I can sit up now.
Of course I am taking full advantage of this window of opportunity. My book is awaiting my attention. My puzzle books are anticipating being opened once more. My water bottle is full. My feet are up. My oatmeal bowl is empty. But, after being down flat for three weeks and up for 75 minutes, I'm ready to lay myself down again. I just can't handle so much excitement all at the same time.
This whole experience has been a reminder of something I have known and sworn by for years. No surgery is really minor or without risks. Any invasion into our magnificently created bodies is major, carrying unknown dangers. Before surgery, I anticipated a couple weeks of limited activity before getting back into the full swing of things. That is not the case. I don't know how long it will take for my incision to heal, but my doctor said we will be seeing a lot of each other.
It's a good thing I like this podiatrist. He explains what is going on, the good and the bad, answers my questions completely, and even suggested I buy stock in gauze pads, Steristrips, and ace bandages. Funny guy.
I guess I will get vertical for a while. My foot isn't throbbing, but my sitter is getting tired of being sat on.
Have a God day.
The shackles that remain are the orders to stay off it except to use the bathroom and grab something to eat, wear the five ton boot on my foot all the time, and seek transportation for my twice/week doctor appointments. But that is OK. At least I can sit up now.
Of course I am taking full advantage of this window of opportunity. My book is awaiting my attention. My puzzle books are anticipating being opened once more. My water bottle is full. My feet are up. My oatmeal bowl is empty. But, after being down flat for three weeks and up for 75 minutes, I'm ready to lay myself down again. I just can't handle so much excitement all at the same time.
This whole experience has been a reminder of something I have known and sworn by for years. No surgery is really minor or without risks. Any invasion into our magnificently created bodies is major, carrying unknown dangers. Before surgery, I anticipated a couple weeks of limited activity before getting back into the full swing of things. That is not the case. I don't know how long it will take for my incision to heal, but my doctor said we will be seeing a lot of each other.
It's a good thing I like this podiatrist. He explains what is going on, the good and the bad, answers my questions completely, and even suggested I buy stock in gauze pads, Steristrips, and ace bandages. Funny guy.
I guess I will get vertical for a while. My foot isn't throbbing, but my sitter is getting tired of being sat on.
Have a God day.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Wait for It
Wait for it. It is coming, but not right away. I'm talking about part two of Unseen Battles--spiritual ones. Here's the deal. Ironically, after writing about the marvels of the body's ability to form blood clots that prevent an invasion of the enemy, I got hit by the enemy.
The attack wasn't obvious until one week after surgery when it was discovered that my incision was still bleeding and weeping. It also was not healing. Now, after two weeks of bleeding, oozing, and not healing, some test results show that I have a staph infection that is treatable with antibiotics.
I don't mind taking the pills, but I am still confined to "bed" with my foot elevated. I am to still stay off it as much as possible. So I get up for the bathroom and to grab something to eat from the kitchen. My kids are keeping me supplied with meals.
My problem with blogging is trying to type while lying flat on my back. It just doesn't work too well. I can't see the keyboard, so correcting mistakes is difficult. And I make lots of mistakes. I have decided to not blog for a couple more weeks. By then, I should be able to have my foot down most of the time.
In the meantime I'm praying for complete healing and victory in the Unseen Battle with frustration.
Have a God day. I plan to.
The attack wasn't obvious until one week after surgery when it was discovered that my incision was still bleeding and weeping. It also was not healing. Now, after two weeks of bleeding, oozing, and not healing, some test results show that I have a staph infection that is treatable with antibiotics.
I don't mind taking the pills, but I am still confined to "bed" with my foot elevated. I am to still stay off it as much as possible. So I get up for the bathroom and to grab something to eat from the kitchen. My kids are keeping me supplied with meals.
My problem with blogging is trying to type while lying flat on my back. It just doesn't work too well. I can't see the keyboard, so correcting mistakes is difficult. And I make lots of mistakes. I have decided to not blog for a couple more weeks. By then, I should be able to have my foot down most of the time.
In the meantime I'm praying for complete healing and victory in the Unseen Battle with frustration.
Have a God day. I plan to.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Unseen Battles
The patient is supine on the operating table and just beyond the veil of consciousness. The only exposed skin on the patients body is her head and the right side of her right foot which had been swabbed a beautiful shade of Bentadine orange, and completely surrounded by sterile drapes. The masked and gloved surgical team with all their instruments are in place and ready to proceed.
As the razor-sharp scalpel pierces the skin and begins a slow, precise path down the side of the patient's foot; as the oozing blood is mopped up by the surgical nurse; as the patient continues her slumber under the ever-alert eye of the anesthesiologist, something amazing happens. An "Invasion Alert" sounds and resounds throughout the sleeping body. An unseen battle is about to be waged.
No sooner have those first drops of life's blood left their capillaries than the capillaries begin constricting, slowing the blood flow. Then, chemical messages and answering reactions begin. Platelets, always circulating, always ready to stand in a breach, receive the message and react. This attack is what they are created for. Platelets already at the invasion site became sticky, adhering together and forming small white clots to further stop the flowing blood. Incoming platelets, becoming sticky at the scene, throw themselves onto the forming barricade.
Meanwhile, a very complex chain of actions involving thrombin (produced by the liver) fibrinogin, calcium, vitamin K, and numerous amino acids transpire. Within sixty seconds of the initial blood loss, fibrin arrives on the scene, creating a web of blood-clot forming fibers which, along with the platelets, strengthen the body's ability to stem the blood flow. Even though the complex steps in the clotting process takes place all through the body, clots form only at the site of the attack.
Then, when the bleeding stops, the clotting process stops, but guards, the white cells, begin their patrol. Their mission is to seek and destroy any and all enemies, be they bacterial or viral, that may have made it through the breach. Their work, always endless, is now on high alert. No enemy can remain.
This is just the beginning. Now for cleanup and reconstruction. Dead or destroyed cells, including platelets and white cells, must be removed. Muscle will rebuild muscle. Nerves will rebuild nerves, epithelial cells-epithelial cells. No matter how large or small the rebuilding and reconstruction job is, the cells work tirelessly until they are done. They know when one side of the wound is connected to the other side. They know.
Amazing, absolutely amazing. That is all I can say about the body God created and blessed us with. It is so unbelievably complex, yet appears so simple to the untrained eye. Even the trained eye and mind has problems understanding how it works. Yet is does work and does it without being noticed. I don't see the exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide that takes place within the capillaries of my lungs. I don't witness my small intestines extracting nutrients and liquid from the meal I ate. I don't cheer as white cells attack the bacteria I ingested as I licked my fingers. And, whenever I suffer a cut or abrasion, I certainly am not aware of the unseen battle that rages inside the wound.
These are the thoughts that have been going through my head while I have been bed-bound with my right foot elevated for the past week. I had a large lipoma (fatty tumor) removed last Friday. There have been many other thoughts meandering around, too. I have thought about areas of my life regarding my husband, his crime, my emotional state, and the question I was asked recently, "Do you still see yourself as a victim?" It was then I realized this: There is another unseen battle that also rages. It is not within the microscopic workings of my body, but rather in the spiritual realm that surrounds me.
That will be tomorrow's blog.
Have a God day.
As the razor-sharp scalpel pierces the skin and begins a slow, precise path down the side of the patient's foot; as the oozing blood is mopped up by the surgical nurse; as the patient continues her slumber under the ever-alert eye of the anesthesiologist, something amazing happens. An "Invasion Alert" sounds and resounds throughout the sleeping body. An unseen battle is about to be waged.
No sooner have those first drops of life's blood left their capillaries than the capillaries begin constricting, slowing the blood flow. Then, chemical messages and answering reactions begin. Platelets, always circulating, always ready to stand in a breach, receive the message and react. This attack is what they are created for. Platelets already at the invasion site became sticky, adhering together and forming small white clots to further stop the flowing blood. Incoming platelets, becoming sticky at the scene, throw themselves onto the forming barricade.
Meanwhile, a very complex chain of actions involving thrombin (produced by the liver) fibrinogin, calcium, vitamin K, and numerous amino acids transpire. Within sixty seconds of the initial blood loss, fibrin arrives on the scene, creating a web of blood-clot forming fibers which, along with the platelets, strengthen the body's ability to stem the blood flow. Even though the complex steps in the clotting process takes place all through the body, clots form only at the site of the attack.
Then, when the bleeding stops, the clotting process stops, but guards, the white cells, begin their patrol. Their mission is to seek and destroy any and all enemies, be they bacterial or viral, that may have made it through the breach. Their work, always endless, is now on high alert. No enemy can remain.
This is just the beginning. Now for cleanup and reconstruction. Dead or destroyed cells, including platelets and white cells, must be removed. Muscle will rebuild muscle. Nerves will rebuild nerves, epithelial cells-epithelial cells. No matter how large or small the rebuilding and reconstruction job is, the cells work tirelessly until they are done. They know when one side of the wound is connected to the other side. They know.
Amazing, absolutely amazing. That is all I can say about the body God created and blessed us with. It is so unbelievably complex, yet appears so simple to the untrained eye. Even the trained eye and mind has problems understanding how it works. Yet is does work and does it without being noticed. I don't see the exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide that takes place within the capillaries of my lungs. I don't witness my small intestines extracting nutrients and liquid from the meal I ate. I don't cheer as white cells attack the bacteria I ingested as I licked my fingers. And, whenever I suffer a cut or abrasion, I certainly am not aware of the unseen battle that rages inside the wound.
These are the thoughts that have been going through my head while I have been bed-bound with my right foot elevated for the past week. I had a large lipoma (fatty tumor) removed last Friday. There have been many other thoughts meandering around, too. I have thought about areas of my life regarding my husband, his crime, my emotional state, and the question I was asked recently, "Do you still see yourself as a victim?" It was then I realized this: There is another unseen battle that also rages. It is not within the microscopic workings of my body, but rather in the spiritual realm that surrounds me.
That will be tomorrow's blog.
Have a God day.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
My Right Foot or Color in Motion
Here is an art project for today. Take a 4 x 6 inch piece of watercolor paper and cover it with a light reddish-orange wash--sort of iodine color. Now get the paper fairly wet and make a three inch wide diagonal swatch from right to left of reddish-purple, letting it grow to 5 inches in places if it is so inclined. Add various splotches of dark blue along the diagonal swatch. While this is still wet and blending, paint a half inch wide line of a deep purplish black down the middle of your diagonal colors. Let the colors bleed together, then let it dry. When completely dry, paint a fine black line down the middle of the deep purple color.
Now, if I were to name the resulting painting on looks only, I would probably call it "Violence" or "Color in Motion". In reality, I will name it, "My Right Foot". That is what my foot looks like following my surgery on Friday. The incision to remove a fatty tumor runs from my "this little piggy cried wee-wee-wee all the way home" toe toward my heel and turns north just before my ankle and continues northward for a couple inches. Because of the huge amount of trauma to my poor little foot, the bruising is very colorful indeed.
So here I now lie, flat on my back with my foot encased in a heavy boot and propped up on a pile of pillows. It has been five days now and will be several more days. I'm on a bed in my son's living room so I can be part of the action. A puzzle book, baggie of cherry tomatoes, empty plate that held a hard boiled egg, and bottle of pain pills (which I have not needed for over 24 hours) clutter a table to my left. A spy novel, laptop mouse, bell, glass of ice water, and cell phone are on a table to my right. A lazy kitty is peacefully sleeping at my right side. On my left side is a baggie of wonderful purple grapes that is getting emptier by the minute. In the midst of all this I am trying to type. It doesn't work very well, especially while lying down.
I'm not sure what I would have done without family to help me out this first week. I had no idea I would neither be allowed nor have any desire to be up and around. Not only were my doctor's instructions adamant and clear, but so also were the reports from my foot itself. "Keep me elevated, keep me elevated" it keeps muttering all day long. It never yells or screams. It just complains.
I can't complain, though. First off, my daughter took a day off school to accompany me to the Surgical Center for the operation. That meant making arrangements for a substitute teacher, making lessons plans for the whole day even though she wouldn't be in the classroom, and driving over an hour to get us to the Surgical Center. Then, my daughter-in-law picked me up following surgery to take me to their home for the week--an hour drive for her. Now she is playing nursemaid, bringing me food, filling my water glass, helping me readjust my boot, and just visiting with me.
I am so blessed.
Now I pray that I heal fast enough to go home this weekend. By then I shouldn't have to keep my foot propped up the required 6 inches, just not dangling on the floor. I should also be able to at least stand in the kitchen long enough to scramble an egg or make a sandwich. As it is now, I can only hobble down the hall to the bathroom and back. Oh well. Even though my foot might complain, I am not going to.
So there you have it, my saga since my last blog. And now, my friends, my grapes are gone, my water glass is half-full, the cat is awake, and I have to hobble down the hall...
Have a God day and look for his blessings. I will.
Now, if I were to name the resulting painting on looks only, I would probably call it "Violence" or "Color in Motion". In reality, I will name it, "My Right Foot". That is what my foot looks like following my surgery on Friday. The incision to remove a fatty tumor runs from my "this little piggy cried wee-wee-wee all the way home" toe toward my heel and turns north just before my ankle and continues northward for a couple inches. Because of the huge amount of trauma to my poor little foot, the bruising is very colorful indeed.
So here I now lie, flat on my back with my foot encased in a heavy boot and propped up on a pile of pillows. It has been five days now and will be several more days. I'm on a bed in my son's living room so I can be part of the action. A puzzle book, baggie of cherry tomatoes, empty plate that held a hard boiled egg, and bottle of pain pills (which I have not needed for over 24 hours) clutter a table to my left. A spy novel, laptop mouse, bell, glass of ice water, and cell phone are on a table to my right. A lazy kitty is peacefully sleeping at my right side. On my left side is a baggie of wonderful purple grapes that is getting emptier by the minute. In the midst of all this I am trying to type. It doesn't work very well, especially while lying down.
I'm not sure what I would have done without family to help me out this first week. I had no idea I would neither be allowed nor have any desire to be up and around. Not only were my doctor's instructions adamant and clear, but so also were the reports from my foot itself. "Keep me elevated, keep me elevated" it keeps muttering all day long. It never yells or screams. It just complains.
I can't complain, though. First off, my daughter took a day off school to accompany me to the Surgical Center for the operation. That meant making arrangements for a substitute teacher, making lessons plans for the whole day even though she wouldn't be in the classroom, and driving over an hour to get us to the Surgical Center. Then, my daughter-in-law picked me up following surgery to take me to their home for the week--an hour drive for her. Now she is playing nursemaid, bringing me food, filling my water glass, helping me readjust my boot, and just visiting with me.
I am so blessed.
Now I pray that I heal fast enough to go home this weekend. By then I shouldn't have to keep my foot propped up the required 6 inches, just not dangling on the floor. I should also be able to at least stand in the kitchen long enough to scramble an egg or make a sandwich. As it is now, I can only hobble down the hall to the bathroom and back. Oh well. Even though my foot might complain, I am not going to.
So there you have it, my saga since my last blog. And now, my friends, my grapes are gone, my water glass is half-full, the cat is awake, and I have to hobble down the hall...
Have a God day and look for his blessings. I will.
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