When You Have to Give Yourself Grace

Sometimes we have to give grace to other people who are having a hard day.

 

And sometimes that person is me.  

I wrote this really nice blogpost the other day about being thankful for the sense of smell--even--and maybe especially--when I am not allowed to eat the yummy food that I am smelling that other people are eating. I happened to feel thankful that day without even a pity party. So I might have sounded sorta--well, super woman or something, which I am not. That was just a day that was a little bit awesome.

Because then there are days like today when I came slowly walking out of the clinic after a treatment that had been followed by an IV bag of minerals which leaves me a little tired, woozy, and maybe even a little sick. Especially on an empty stomach. 

Because just when I had not had chemo for nearly two weeks and so my appetite had come back by last night, and I was able to eat a nice big supper last night and a nice big breakfast this morning, then suddenly I am on the 24-fast for IPT chemo again. I weighed 89 pounds yesterday, and had gained a whole pound and four-tenths by this morning so I was above 90 pounds again. 

Only to have to fast and have chemo again to knock out my appetite for most of the rest of the week.

For a little bit, I just spouted off how I felt to Jonathan in the car. I was not feeling thankful at all, even if a few days ago I was thankful I was not being treated in the cancer clinic pictured above that we passed on our way somewhere. Or at Mayo Clinic which we pass sometimes.

I spouted off how grumpy I was about fasting and being tortured with chemo and all sorts of other things. And then I thought it would be healthier to tell Jonathan about my various conversations with other patients or staff or nurses today. That helped, and I quit being quite so grumpy. I came home and curled up under a quilt and asked Jonathan to put on some music. Which he helpfully did.

Until one of the songs was being sung about someone's own funeral and how people were going to bring flowers and "not miss me when I'm gone."

And I came raring up out from under my quilt and said something kinda loud about that awful song.  By then the song was done, and Jonathan switched to some different kind of music. And I went to the kitchen and remembered that I must not nibble one bite. But I was thirsty, and I got a glass for water, and then I remembered.

 Yes, I could be thankful for water. So many people in the world don't have clean water. I drank a nice glass of water and washed my hair in nice clean water, too. 

It helped to remember to be thankful for what I did have, for what I was allowed, and to stop moping about the supper I could not have. 

(Another patient had been drinking only green juice for literally three weeks straight. She is a pastor's wife and said she is used to fasting a lot over the last five years. She isn't afraid of fasting, but just when she could break her fast of three weeks on green juice and eat a couple small meals, then she is on her own 24-hour water fast before IPT chemo, too. But not a word of complaint. She was rejoicing over the pretty red breakfast drink she had been given at breakfast time and was now allowed to have. "Apple pie juice" she called it, as she delighted over that delicious drink, which I, by the way, had to save until tomorrow.

 And then after washing my hair and cutting up some veges for tomorrow evening soup when I come home from chemo and a dental appointment, I still had to put together two different injections I do at home. I had to draw up and mix peptides and inject a half-inch needle of them into my tummy. And then I had to draw up and inject mistletoe, which stimulates immune response, which in turn fights cancer. There was quite a significant lump of fluid under my skin when I was done pushing the syringe. And it stung. But oh well, it's just for a bit. I did it myself this evening because when I ask Jonathan to do it so I won't have to poke myself, he sits there holding the needle for a bit while I imagine the pain ahead of time and then he pokes a lot faster than I do. So tonight I did it myself. 

I'm not sure which is better, or worse, but at least it helps to keep busy instead of being grumpy. 

And I blog. It helps.

Last night I ironed. Which reminds me that I need to go out and pull the clothes out of the dryer in the garage now. Even if it's dark. 

But that means it's cooler and it's time to go up and check the mail. Last night there were two cards. 

Having people care helps. 

And forgiving myself helps a lot. Not to mope because I moped, or go into a pit of despair because I ranted a little bit about cancer miseries to my husband in the car. 

Just to remember that I am chosen by God, loved, and forgiven. 

That's pretty special.