Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: Chillax (04/03/14)
- TITLE: What? Me Worry?
By Judith Gayle Smith
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Cannot find suitable clothes, remember that clothes haven’t been laundered for months. Only sis’s frilly outfits, several sizes smaller, occupy hangers, dominating the closet. Wear bed sheet for transfusion?
Same dream, this time driving away and witnessing horrible crash on freeway before me. Eleven year-old boy on unwieldy bicycle . . .
Fire trucks, police cars and an ambulance screams, lighting up the valley below me. I don’t understand. The crash happened smack in front of me. Shouldn’t everybody be on the freeway?
Hubby arrives, takes me down the hill to share descriptive witness with police, but find soothing doctors instead.
Doctors feed me yummy salad, calm me down and inform me I have "overstress syndrome." They bring in my sister Barb, and she eats her proffered salad. I am shocked that she too might be overstressed . . .
Having Fibromyalgia can cause anxiety – and I am always defending myself “I don’t have anxiety, I CAUSE anxiety.”
Let me rephrase that. Anxiety has the unenviable ability to crash upon one’s weary head. Yes indeed.
Yesterday morning, my dear hubby surprised me with a totally unacceptable blood flow – overflowing his Depends. Here comes anxiety, fluttering its delicate wispy bright crimson wings right in our faces.
The ambulance whisked us away to the Emergency Room. The decision was made to spend some in-patient time at the hospital. Tests, scans and chaotic worrying.
I slept overnight on a makeshift cot – watch out for the middle metal bar. Three pillows to sink into – good for muffling my not so silent screams.
This morning I awoke to the misery of an unhappy husband unable to sleep – because of my insufferable unstoppable snoring.
My gal friend called – she boards with us and keeps my troubled sister calm. She wanted to bring me needful items to keep me neat and clean while residing with Mike in the hospital. Bless her.
I unhesitatingly and painstakingly instructed both her and my sister to pack up my fancy new CPAP machine and my worn laptop. Eureka. I solved two problems with one thought, thank You Lord.
My friend brought a gallon jar of juice, a brand new large Nutella (Heaven in a jar, consisting of cocoa and hazelnuts), a small jar of crunchy peanut butter and a pint container of freshly ground almond butter.
love that gal. She also brought almost a basket filled with glorious fruit, four changes of clothes, my bedroom slippers, Bugs Bunny lunchbox with cosmetics, camera and glasses.
Thankfully she remembered the CPAP machine for my Sleep Apnea – greatest snore buster ever invented. She packed my laptop and I am now able to make my deadline, preventing a break in consistent, faithful keying all the golden prose that must be shared with all those in a praying-for-us radius.
My sweet friend has a shrill voice that immediately drew many people around her – the staff earnestly beseeching whispers instead of Ethel Merman bellows. I led her to a far away surgery waiting room. She unloaded the cart filled with overflowing goodies, beaming, and gifted me with her sweet thoughtfulness.
She relaxed me with her chatter, and for a brief time I unwound from the not-knowing angst of why my lover lost so much blood. I had spent the morning and early afternoon wondering if the random circulating doctor would come to tell us the what, why, where and when of Mike’s alarming condition, and when we could go home.
I managed to pile all of the extras back in the shopping basket for her to wheel back to the bus stop, two route changes to home.
We headed back to Mike’s room – just missing his visit with the long-awaited doctor. Sigh.
Good news! Mike can eat solid food (two days of near starvation) and possibly return home tomorrow or the next day. Did I mention how great God is? The doctors found no cancer – just inflammation in his gastrointestinal tract, and that could be dealt with on an outpatient basis.
Mike just devoured two gorgeous roast beef sandwiches, roasted red potatoes and a beautiful slab of New York Cheesecake. I personally would have started him with chicken noodle soup and ice cream.
But no nausea and bleeding now, and everyone here is “happy dancing.”
Me? I’m chillaxing . . .
Mayhaps the Captain of my dreams knows me better than I do?
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