Forced to Rest

At the beginning of November, I had a passing thought. I hadn't been sick since January. I'll admit that I felt pretty proud at that moment. Sickness and I don't have a great relationship. I'm the type of person that fills my calendar and is on the go most of the time. Sickness slows me down, and it's never a good time to be sick because there's always something going on. I'm too busy to take time off.

But sometimes there isn't really a choice, and I'm forced to rest. About a week after I had the thought of the last time that I had been sick, I got laryngitis. I felt fine, but I had no voice. As a teacher, that's a problem. So I took three days off to recover. They were the best sick days I've ever had, because I felt fine and had energy so I was still able to get things done, but I really couldn't teach. I still went in to work after school and graded papers since I had to go to pick up my daughter anyway. It wasn't so bad. I was sick, but felt pretty good and didn't get too far behind. 

About a week and a half later, I came home from school with a scratchy throat and a cough. I had felt fine that morning, but this virus came on quickly. By that evening I had a fever of 102, chills, and aches. Two more days off of work and a weekend of rest allowed me to recover. This illness was not as productive as the first since this time I felt terrible. Another forced rest at a busy time of year. 

With two illness under my belt, I was already regretting my thought at the beginning of November, and beginning to feel like I had jinxed myself. I'm not normally superstitious, but this might be an exception. 

During final week of school before Christmas break, I woke up at four in the morning with stomach pain. I didn't want to admit that I would need to call in yet again, but as the hours passed and the pain remained, I knew that I would not be able to teach that day either. My husband took the kids to school, and while he was gone I text to ask him if he would take me to the emergency room when he got back. Knowing that I'm not one to admit that I'm sick or need help, he dropped our daughter off early and came back to take me to the emergency center near our house. 

The emergency center was amazing! They got me into a room before I had done much more than put my name on the paperwork. The doctor saw me soon after and let me know what tests they were going to run. He hadn't been gone long before they got me for the CT scan. The results were back soon revealing that I had appendicitis. Another forced rest, and this time it was going to be longer than a couple of days.

By 3:15 pm, I was in the operating room. It was startling how quickly everything went, and it testified to how urgent my situation was. Doctors and nurses seemed surprised that I had only started feeling pain that morning, so I figure my appendix was in pretty rough shape. I was in enough pain by this point, that I was happy to be getting surgery.

It's now been two weeks since my surgery. I've found that I'm a very impatient patient. Since the surgery was laparoscopic, I had placed unrealistic expectations on my recovery. I expected to be sore for a couple days, and then be feeling almost back to normal. For a week and half I barely moved from my spot on the couch because it was the only place I felt comfortable. Sleeping was difficult because every position hurt. Finally, I turned a corner, and felt more tender than sore. I praise God for the timing of that, because the first day that I wasn't in a lot of pain was the day before Christmas Eve. This allowed me to attend our Christmas Eve service at church and go to all the family activities planned through Christmas weekend. 

It's not surprising that I often push myself too hard and end up feeling a little tender as a result, but the doctor was pleased with my progress yesterday. I'm still in stretchy pants because jeans are not comfortable, and I still have to take it easy or I'll regret it later. I still have another 2 weeks of lifting restrictions as well. 

This was not how I envisioned my November and December going. I didn't want to spend most of my Christmas break in pain on the couch. Still there have been some benefits to this forced rest. I've had some nice evenings of relaxation with my family. I've had some extra time to write. My husband has taken very good care of me, and it's been nice to be spoiled a little bit, nice to be cared for instead of caring for everyone else for a little while.

There's a saying that if we don't schedule time to rest, our bodies will choose a time to rest for us. I run my life too busy, too stressed, with too little sleep, and my body forced me to rest - again and again and again. I need to be better about making time to rest, choosing to say no, and taking care of me. 

I'm not one to make resolutions for the new year, but I do believe in being aware of where I need to change and grow. This is something I need to work on as I enter 2023. I need to plan more time of rest, get better sleep, and take better care of me. 

 Photo by Pixabay: https://www.pexels.com/photo/blur-close-up-coffee-coffee-cup-236699/

New Year, New Meh

 

Maybe the last couple of years have been too tough, or maybe last year ended on such a sour note that it already has effected the new year, but there wasn't a lot of joy for me heading into 2022. Usually the new year brings a certain amount of anticipation, hope that things will be better, or that things will fall into place. I experienced none of that with the changing of the calendar.

In fact, I probably entered this year with a healthy dose of skepticism, and whole lot of angst, and if I'm honest, in a state of depression. Nothing will change. It will only get worse. There is no hope. 

I didn't realize how hard the last couple of years had been on my mental health. After all, my family has been relatively healthy, our jobs were secure, we didn't have a lot of struggles that we witnessed around us, so who am I to complain? I'm blessed. How can I be stressed? Then I went to a trauma conference. They talked about how normally people experience stress daily and it's a little hill that quickly recedes. Someone who has experienced trauma has more of a spike when stress comes along and they are unable to recover easily, so they sit in this state of stress and depression until their body can regulate and go back to normal. As soon as I saw the graphic, I realized that I had been spiking over and over and over again the past two years. 

On top of that, the year ended in a way that absolutely plunged me into depression. My life will never be the same, and I don't know how to cope. While I'm the first person to say that there is no shame in seeking help, I'm the last person to admit that I need help. Instead I heap more guilt on myself. You're so blessed! How could you be so ungrateful? You should be able to fix this! What's wrong with you? If that weren't enough, I don't even know how to go about finding help. And that makes me even more depressed and more stressed because I have no idea where to even start and for goodness sake why can't I even do that right?

So, how did 2022 start? My classroom added a new student and it completely shifted the dynamic of my already chaotic class. On top of that, my husband started the year off sick for probably a week and a half to two weeks which left me frustrated (I'm a terrible nurse) and feeling very alone as we isolated to try to keep the rest of us well. And now, in spite of isolating, I'm sick, and back in isolation away from my entire family. My illness happened near my oldest child's 18th birthday so there's also a certain amount of guilt at 'ruining' what ought to have been a special event.  

And now you might be wondering why you're reading such a depressing post. Is there any light, any hope, any lesson to be learned in the middle of my mess? Of course there is.

I am slowly learning to ask for help. I am looking for counseling. I am working through some of the issues that hit so hard at the end of last year. In fact, it's no coincidence that my church's women's Bible study to start this year is Forgiving What You Can't Forget by Lysa Terkeurst. Yeah, God practically put neon lights around that one for me. 

I even have some goals for this year. I'm hoping to publish at least two more books this year - one more in the Holliday Hotel series and another Christmas novella. I heard of another publishing opportunity that I'm going to pursue. I don't know how that opportunity is going to go, but I'm praying. In my classroom, I am focusing on baby steps both academically and relationally. For my family, I am working on being a better wife and mother. I think I've let my moods challenge my relationship with my husband and children the last couple of years, and I want to repair what I can. 

Maybe I don't have a word for the year, a resolution, or a verse, but that doesn't mean I'll remain stagnant this year. God is working in me. He has me in a place where I need Him, a place where my weakness will demonstrate His strength. He is always faithful, always good, and He never, ever gives up on me. Everything I go through is an chance to grow, to become the masterpiece He sees when He looks at me.