Friends, it’s been a rough fortnight at the Nelson homestead.
Two weeks ago, the hubs got very sick. This would be distressing enough at any time, but it’s 2020, y’all. COVID-fears blended with the usual sickness-anxieties, and all our plans for the week promptly evaporated into mist. Thankfully, the COVID test came back negative, and my poor spouse eased his way back into recovery—just in time for me to come down with the exact same malady, one week later.
Now, I don’t get sick very often, so it’s been a rather shock-to-the-system sort of week. See, I’ve always considered myself to be on very good terms with my body. I push it to work hard, true, but I also try to take good care of it. Hence, I was unpleasantly surprised to find myself suddenly engaged in conversations like this:
Me: Please get up. Must pee.
My Body: Nope.
Me: Please. It’s not far to the bathroom.
My Body: NO MOVING.
Me: Let’s just sit up, ok? See? Was that so bad?
My Body: I hate you with the force of a thousand suns.
And then there were the many violent arguments about food and drink:
Me: Ginger tea? It’s good for digestion.
My Body: NO. NonononononoNO.
Me: Dry rice cereal? Just a few bites?
My Body: Well, maybe . . . NOPE.
Me: Hot, nutritious soup that Hubs came home on his lunch break to make just for me?
My Body: HOW. DARE. YOU.
Even Doc was worn out:
Finally, we reached a truce, and we are now happily in the “recovery” stage—which, for me and the hubs, means watching LOTS of The Office. (Hint: we started the first day he started feeling off, and we are now almost through season 4, so . . . yeah. Self-medication for the soul.) But, before the terms of my body’s peace treaty—eating gently, moving as little as possible, and watching the How to Train Your Dragon trilogy while Hubs is at work—run out, I thought it wise to engage in some self-reflection.
Despite the anxiety and all-around nastiness of the past two weeks, I’ve been amazed at the degree of RELIEF that settled in my soul. Most of the cares that normally populate my mind simply vanished, and the whole world seemed to narrow down to absolute essentials:
Is Hubs ok?
Is Doc ok?
Am I ok?
Now, as I recover and contemplate jumping back into the routine, I can almost hear my body pleading with the voice of Westley from The Princess Bride:
“GENTLY!”
I thrive on routine, but it’s also good to be shaken out of it every so often. In fact, I seem to need regular reminders; Tuesday, the first day I spent almost entirely in bed, was the four-year anniversary of the car accident that could have ended me—but, instead, taught me some of these same lessons about resting, receiving care, and treating myself GENTLY.
Maybe the routine doesn’t have to return in its entirety.
Maybe everything doesn’t have to get done just-so or by-this-time in order for me not to think the day wasted.
Maybe I can keep focusing on those essentials, and let other things settle back into place organically instead of trying to force 30 hours of activity into 24.
It’s been a rough year, friends.
Listen to Westley. Heed Doc:
Great words, Ruth.
Beautifully said!! Wise words!!!
Glad you’re on the mend and great reminder leading into this weirdly still stressful holiday season. Missing you!!
Miss you too!!!
Reading yhis current blog led me back by your link to the blog about your auto accident in 2017. God’s grace, indeed!
Yes! The accident was in 2016; I wrote about it one year later. It was a horrific experience, but ultimately redemptive. I am grateful!