A day makes a difference

What a difference a day makes. Every hour I feel better than the last. I was up and about all day today for the first time since before Thanksgiving. I can talk normally again and am coughing a bit less. Still winded and a bit fatigued, but I feel happier and more alive. I think it’s safe to say I’m going to survive this. And also it’s safe to say that I don’t ever want to go through this again.

This morning, on an old oak tree right out our back window, sat a big bald eagle. It was eating a meal up in the tree! There were about five crows huddled around it, harassing it and trying to steal its meal. We have seen the bald eagle and the crows around here a few times before. Usually when we see them, the crows are chasing and cawing the eagle away with all their might–and the eagle leaves! Crows are fearless and relentless birds. They are tough. But this time, the eagle was tougher. Seeing those birds in the tree today was a metaphor for me–the crows are the pneumonia and the eagle is me, my life. I am winning this time, and I’m glad for that.

I hope everyone out there is happy and well.

xoxo

Getting better

Today I am up and about. Despite being short of breath and fatigued, it is good to be out of bed. Physically, I’ve turned the corner. Emotionally, I’m still pretty stuck in a painful and negative place. Today it’s anger that’s rearing its head. It has been waiting to come out, I guess–trapped in my lungs.

Anger is here because my ego is on full blast right now. My ego has been hurt. I know that sounds ridiculous, but that’s how it is. I feel like I shouldn’t have to clean the house when I have pneumonia. I feel like the three people I live with should be able to take care of everything when I am sick. I feel like Alan should have washed the bedding that I’ve been lying in 24/7 for 10 days. I feel like Alan should have changed to dirty furnace filter when I asked him to a week ago so that I could breathe clean air. Why? I don’t know. Perhaps it’s because that would make me feel loved and cared for. Loved and cared for in the way that I love and care for my family when they are sick.

Anna has been very caring and loving, and being that she’s only ten years old, I don’t expect a huge amount from her in terms of caregiving and house cleaning. She’s probably been the most attentive one in the house. It’s meant a lot to me. I feel unconditionally loved by her. It is a gift, and I am grateful for it. There have been a a few times over the course of 20 years that I’ve been bedridden, and each of these times I’ve gone through this same thing. Feeling forgotten, feeling uncared for, feeling unloved, living in a dirty house. What am I supposed to learn from this?

I really do believe that these feelings and events are here to teach me something. What is it? Perhaps I need to learn that I am loved and lovable, with or without the kind of demonstration of love that I prefer. I want acts of service. That’s my love language. What better time to provide that than when I’m sick? At least, that’s my logic.

The logical part of me know I need to just let this go. Let go of the need for a clean house. Let go of the desire to be loved through acts of service. Let go of the judging part of me that thinks I’m not loved. Let go of the guilt I feel for admitting these feelings and writing them in my blog. Because feelings are okay. And because I am loved, probably more than I will ever know.