Here I am laying in the hospital with tubes and needles imbedded in every available vein. I can barely adjust my laying position without pulling on something. I haven’t eaten in two and half days. My mouth is so parched I can feel wrinkles on the top of it. What am I even doing in here?. I have things to do. A 90th birthday party to organize. An Etsy shop to start. Pies, tarts and sourdough to bake. A dog to train. A daughter to send off across the sea. My roots aren’t done. I am in desperate need of a pedicure. My pantry’s a mess. And I am laying here doing nothing. All I can hear is the constant pumping of the blood pressure machine attached to my left arm. As I trace the folds in the blanket and notice how it matches the chipped nail polish on my toes, I wonder why this happened. How did this happen? Having a stroke was not on my todo list.
I often imagined that it was quite possible I would have a heart attack. I mean, my dad died of a heart attack upping my risk factor exponentially. I knew I was eating whatever I wanted. Lots of butter and salt. Sugar and fat. All the delicious, treacherous things. I knew I would rather lay in bed in the morning and luxuriate with the sun streaming in, casting lines on the walls through the blinds, than get up and workout. Whenever, I didn’t feel good, which was rare, I always prayed “Lord don’t let me be having a heart attack”. I just assumed if I got sick it would be by way of a heart attack. So a stroke really took me by surprise.
I know God didn’t exclaim “Oh no, Geri had a stroke, what are we gonna do now?” That blows my whole plan for her. No….He knew it was coming. He did not cause it, of that I am sure, but He did know it was coming. It was me that exclaimed “Oh no, I had a stroke, now what am I gonna do?’ But I believe He said…I know this is coming but I’m going to let it happen because I can work this together for her good. It never seems like it, in the moment. I mean, what’s good about a stroke? What’s good about being in an ambulance or emergency or the neurological ward or the stroke ward. I guess it’s better than prison (although the food sure isn’t). But I had a LOT of time to think. A LOT. It was only 6 days but I am not used to laying in bed for a solid 6 days. I thought all the thinks. I wondered all the wonders. I pondered all the ponders. I rehashed all the events that led me to this place. I wracked my compromised brain trying to figure it all out. What conclusion did I come to?
Well, it still baffles me. I am sure it will unfold over time. But this I know for sure, God is not done with me yet. If He was, I wouldn’t be here writing this right now. I’d be walking streets of gold with a butter pecan waffle cone and my new perfect, healthy body. But here I am, 10 weeks later….still cognisant. Absolutely no speech impediment (much to the chagrin of others). Still using my motor skills to drive and bake and cook and write and watch movies and read books and paint and rub my dogs belly. Only this time round, I am going to pay more attention to how I am living in this battered and abused (by me) body.
I feel blessed coupled with gratitude. It doesn’t always turn out so well for others. I dodged a bullet. I don’t for a minute believe that God didn’t take care of me. Didn’t spare me. Didn’t heal me. Isn’t continuing to heal me. I may be left with a few thorns in the flesh….I may not. We will wait and see. But whatever the outcome, I am still here and I am responsible for me. The steward of my health and my relationships. The steward of my finances and my choices. The steward of my actions and my inner thoughts. I am still required to love others. Still required to be kind. Still required to be generous. Still required to follow hard after Him. No more drifting into lalaland and thinking I’m invincible, infallible, impervious to what is common to mankind. Maybe God will use this experience for me to bless someone. To empathize with someone. To bring someone hope where there is none. Or to just still be here when someone desperately needs me.
The Red Plaid Apron 