The Fighter

This post will not be terribly long, but I know some are curious to know how things are going since my last post did not include the results of my visit with the doctor about my wrist. The post will be relatively brief because 1) it is difficult to type and 2) I am growing weary of always having something to complain about. I am tired of being that person.

I got the MRI done Friday. I got the results on Tuesday. Inflamed tendon. Two shots and I have to wear a splint all the time for a month and at night after that. It is difficult, stressful, and annoying trying to text, type, and to do just about anything without the use of my dominant right hand.

Last Saturday I went hiking - 5.5 miles. Had a wonderful time. Got home to a very sick little girl. Bailey had vomited and pooped all over the house. Blood in both. Mike drove me to the pet ER while I wept. To make a very long story short, she has spent all but two days this week at the vet getting treatment for some sort of gastritis/ulcer problem.

She stayed home and seemed fine on Wednesday. Thursday morning she pooped nothing but blood. I took Bailey to the vet and just knew she was going to die. She looked so sad and helpless. The doctor thought stress made her relapse. I caused my baby to get sick again and have to spend the next two days back at the doctor.

I spent the day Thursday curled up in the fetal position in bed all day. My mom had called to check on me and asked how my spirit was doing. Not good. Bailey seems to be improving, but it's still not good. I am angry with God. It's one thing after another. Big things. I gave up on Thursday. Not suicidal give up. I just lost the fight in me. Thinking I was going to lose Bailey was harder than facing the worst days of cancer. She is my heart...or as I started calling her, my medallion (reference to the movie The Lost Medallion)

What caused me to be upset to cause Bailey to relapse and almost die? Someone once very close to me recently told me we needed to make a decision. Either work toward reconciliation or part ways. I was not ready to make that discussion yet. He made the decision for me Tuesday night, a very bad decision. I was hurt for him. He was so close to doing the right thing for himself and possibly for us. I was also mad at him for hurting those who loved him most. I'm not mad at him for causing me to cause Bailey to suffer. That is all my doing. She stresses out real bad when she sees me upset. I usually try my best to control my tears around her because of this, but I could not control the pain Wednesday night.

I took her for a checkup today. They didn't have the results of her new blood work back yet, but they took the catheter out and let me take her home again. They were happy with the way she looked and the fact that she ate dinner and breakfast and was able to keep it down. She has been napping beside me all day.

I get better as Bailey gets better, but my spirit is still not good. I hear the song about God being in the storms and countless sleepless nights and I believe it, but I just can't feel it. I know He is still by my side and loves me, but I just can't understand it. What lesson have I not learned? A friend said sometimes bad things happen for no reason. I don't believe that. One thing right after another? Why can't I have a breather for just a little while?

I'm not Job. I'm not so great a Christian that Satan has to be too worried about me to attack me like Job. I'm a good person, but not saintly good. I don't care to wonder why anymore. It is what it is. There is nothing I can do to change any of it.

Before Bailey relapsed, I felt like the Mark Wahlburg character in the movie, The Fighter. He was always the underdog. People wrote him off, but every time, he came back in the end and knocked his opponent out.

After Thursday, I now feel more like the scrawny, self-assured kid on Million Dollar Baby. He trains his heart out and just know he has something great inside of him. He just needs that chance to prove himself. He finally fights another kid. The other kid starts whipping him senseless. An old man (Morgan Freeman) comes to his aid and breaks up the fight. With only one gloved hand, the old man knocks out the other kid. The scrawny, self-assured kid realizes what happened as he watches the old man knock out his dream and he walks away from the scene a defeated loser.

On Thursday, I received a package in the mail. It was a shirt I had ordered. It's from Bon Jovi, has a boxer's taped hand on it, and says "The Fighter." I am wearing that shirt today. I feel like the loser kid right now, but I think I still have some fight left in me. It's just buried deep right now. I just need a little something from God. I'm just not sure what that something is...