Written Jul 21, 2012 10:24am by Renee Albracht
I hit my first real bout with depression. This round has been worse than the last. Last time, it took a day before I started feeling bad. This time, I never even made it out of the parking garage before I got sick.
Last time, I started feeling better on Thursday and although I didn't make it into work then, either, I was at least up and about doing some light housework. This time, I actually got worse on Thursday and spent the entire day in bed on Friday.
Even before the chemo on Monday, my right eye was itching, due to allergies, I thought. The doctor thought nothing of it and recommended I continue to take Claritin in the morning and Zyrtec at night. By Thursday, it looked more like a sty and hurt and itched terribly.
By Friday morning, my right eye was all but swollen shut. Not only that, due to the constipation of chemo, my stomach ached. I called the doctor and although he believes it probably is a sty, he gave me an antibiotic. I cannot risk any infections.
So, since I could not see, I spent the entire day in bed. Luckily, God graced me with sleep. When I was awake, I fought depression. I leave for my trip in a few days. Will I feel better by then? Why is this session so much worse? Yes, I know the doctor said it would be up and down, but I thought the downs would come later in the treatment, not now! Would I no longer have the good weeks in the middle of the bad?
I did not answer the phone or any texts. I did not get online. I was feeling sorry for myself and in no mood to hear positive reinforcements. I didn't want to hear how strong and brave I am. I surely didn't feel strong and brave.
I have been reading a book given to me by a dear member of my Sunday school class. At first, it was a little difficult getting into it. Her writing style is so unique. It is more like hearing her most inner, personal thoughts than reading a book, a little disjointed for my taste. But, I quickly got over the writing style and was immediately immersed in her story. One particular story about God's grace has stuck with me. I believe that, as well as my Bailey (which I'll hit on later), saved me from succumbing to deep, dark depression.
One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp. Ann is a farmer's wife. She tells of her son getting his hand caught in a big industrial fan. Having spent countless summers on my grandparent's farm (some of my fondest memories), I appreciate her tales and can perfectly visualize the scenes. She is as petrified as any mother and rushes him to the hospital. The son is lucky and there is only minor damage which requires surgery, but at least he gets to keep his hand. When she returns home, her own mother says, "by the grace of God."
That same day, a Mennonite family loses a son to another farming accident. Ann recalls thinking, "Where is the grace of God there? Where would God's grace be if her own son had lost his hand? If he had died?"
Her point is not that God's grace was with her and not with the Mennonite family. Her point is that the grace of God is in all things--whether we can see it or understand it or not.
She tells a story of an angel killing a baby. The family cannot understand why an angel would do this. The angel tells them he did it because the baby was going to grow up to be a very bad person. We do not understand God's ways most of the time.
I hung on to that small saying, "grace of God" yesterday. "Thank you, Father, for keeping me in bed today. Thank you for this swollen eye." Was I really thankful? Of course I would have rather been working or at least up and able to see, but I do not need to understand God's ways. Maybe if I had gone to work, someone would have sneezed on me and given me pneumonia! Maybe I simply needed a lesson on grace. Did I mean it? Only partially, but His grace is all I had and what I needed most.
When I finally answered my phone, my ex-husband told me about the massacre at the theater in Colorado. For a good part of the night, I watched the news coverage about that. Someone said God was watching out for his baby. Was God not watching out for the twelve who were killed or the countless others injured or otherwise affected by this tragedy? I do not think God caused that man to do what he did, but I do believe His grace is in all of it. Hard to see? Absolutely. Does my inability to understand make it any less real. I sure hope not! "Thank you, God, that I am lying sick in bed and not grieving over a loved one."
"Thank you, God, for letting me sleep tonight after having slept all day."
I woke up forgetting about the grace of God and sinking further and further into a depression. I had a bad dream that Bailey was being taken from me. She was not dead yet, but the vets tried to convince me to put her down. I have been having a lot of dreams about losing her lately. I wake up and feel the rising and falling of her tummy as she sleeps beside me. "Thank you, God, that it was just a dream."
By the grace of God I fall back asleep. I wake up feeling even lower. I can no longer lay on my side. My shoulders hurt. I can no longer lay on my back. My shoulder blades hurt. I try laying on my stomach, but that, too, is uncomfortable. I lay, uncomfortable, on my back in the darkness of the room, sinking further and further into self pity. My mind is fully alert and restless, but my body is sick. "What did I do to deserve this? I wasn't supposed to get cancer." Job, too, cried out to God. He, too, felt sorry for himself at times. I felt myself sinking. Where is the grace of God?
Both of Mike's daughters are here. They are up. Mike is up and his big dog, Delila is up. Bailey hears them and is anxious to join them. But, she does not want to leave Momma's side. She runs to them then runs back to me. She lays down for a few minutes then runs off again. I tell her it's okay. She can go be with the girls. Momma is just going to stay in bed. But, she won't leave me.
She runs off again then comes back. This time, she doesn't get back in bed. She stands at the edge of the bed and paws at it. When I do not respond, she cries. Momma is a sucker for that little cry. That cry can get me to do just about anything. She does not want to stay in bed, but she will not leave Momma. That cry from my faithful best friend and daughter and angel got me out of bed. The grace of God. "Thank you, God, for my Bailey girl."
No comments:
Post a Comment