I read in Isaiah and Jeremiah this morning while I drank coffee and inhaled all the steroids. Did some laundry, made some phone calls. Rebekah made nice tasty eggs for lunch. After lunch the kids went with me to WalMart to pick up a few things. I felt very tired after we got home. Tried to read The Idiot, but only made it through a couple chapters before I started going cross-eyed. Yet I couldn’t sleep. It’s the Prednisone. The doses are lower now, but I still have two more days of 40mgs ahead.
The hospital called to arrange the first Xolair injection on Wednesday morning.
Sikki got home around 3:30. I got out of bed and went for a brisk walk on the east end of Holden Beach. Breathing was difficult, but I got to see the sun set:
On Thanksgiving weekend 2015, ten years to the day from my father’s sudden death on 11/28/2005, I went to the couch with several layers of blankets, congestion, and a fever which culminated in my calling out from work on 11/30/15, six Mondays ago.
The pneumonia forced exploration of an issue I’d been pressing through at work and home: the constant wheezing and coughing I’ve experienced for years. Back when I still had one foot in Delaware and one in North Carolina, I went to an allergist and pulmonologist hoping to get the issue resolved. But I didn’t learn anything I didn’t already know and ended up owing a bunch of money for medical treatment that yielded neither diagnosis nor prognosis nor plan. The lack of answers from the first round of expensive medical inquiries made me angry and resistant about going back for more. So I didn’t.
But the lung infection twisted my arm. So here I am, seven weeks later, with a diagnosis of COPD and persistent asthma, waiting on the next step (in both physical and spiritual terms). To people who inquire I say I’m taking a day at a time. I know these events — indeed all the events of my life — are purposeful, are ordained in God. He knows the best ways to reveal Himself and detach us from the things that are holding us back from walking with Him.
But I’m bored. When I want to write, my mind is foggy. Words are far-away clouds. When I make a list of things I want to accomplish around the house and yard, I become listless. If I try to watch a movie I’m sick of it in twenty minutes. I try to read and my eyes drift over the lines and don’t connect the images with my mind. Nothing is exciting or gripping.
I have never felt this way before: this old, this tired.
This is a season. I know that. I just want this waiting period to be what it should be, what He has in mind. I want to be changed. I want fresh vision. Something has to die if we are to know the power of His resurrection.
Yet those who wait for the Lord
Will gain new strength;
They will mount up with wings like eagles,
They will run and not get tired,
They will walk and not become weary.