Here, as we enter into the month of Lyme disease awareness, I am convinced more than ever of the need of it; and not because I am not getting better, but because, due to awareness, I am. Granted, this awareness was very hard to come by, and self-sought for the most part, but it is what has the ability to save lives. Please share what you know with your family and friends. It could save a life. It could prevent the quality of one from ever being compromised. Educate yourself on the facts. For those seeking information, The Canadian Lyme Foundation is a wonderful and reputable resource for this. As is the interview with Janet Smith in this documentary, made by the amazing Ruth Fréchette.

In other news: last week marked the third birthday of my little boy. I can hardly call him a baby anymore, except maybe to say, “my baby”, as he has grown up so much, becoming more capable; compassionate; intuitive; skilled; intelligent; and witty as time passes by. We held a party for him, and I had to fight against all type-A, creative, and OCD tendencies so as not to overdo it. I love party planning, and cake decorating, which made it a challenge for sure. So, we rented a play space. I did this months in advance, after completely missing out on Matt’s birthday, due to the flu of a lifetime.  I know that my health, and in turn, my mind, cannot be relied on 24/7. So, I seized a lucid moment back in February and booked the play space then, in case I didn’t get another opportunity until it was too late. If nothing else, no matter how sick I was, we had somewhere to host. The idea of cleaning up (before and after), decorating,  planning activities, preparing food, etc, etc, had me feeling so anxious just thinking about it, that I knew a party at home would not work for us this year. And since Jack gets to play with others his age so rarely, I really wanted to give him the gift of a “playdate” above all else.  My mother-in-law generously made the most unique cake “to order”; graciously allowing my input on the creative planning, and executing it perfectly.  It was by far, the most anticipated part of the celebration for Jack , who had also been planning for months-- planning on having a volcano cake for his birthday, that is! And he was not disappointed!

 

Who wouldn't love this cake?!

The week before Jack’s party I was herxing. It took all of my energy to make a comprehensive checklist, and drag myself out with a friend to get last minute items such as plastic tablecloths and forks. I would be darned if I was going to miss that party. I told myself I would be there “no matter what”; and because I know, even when I set my mind like steel that things don’t always turn out my way, I began to pray. The day came about, and while I wasn’t the help I always want to be, I was a lot more help than usual. My checklist was thorough, and I had gathered many of the items in one place, bagged and ready to go; the rest were already predetermined,  and Matt bustled around to get it all packed up.  I fully expected from day one to have to sit back in my reclining lawnchair and watch as the activity took place, and I was okay with that; so long as I got to go.

Making a wish...

 Annual events bring about a serious time of reflection for me, and this was no exception.  Surprising everyone, most especially myself, at how involved I was able to be at Jack’s party this year brought me back to last year’s “party.” It consisted of a cake, made for Jack by his daddy and godpapa. A few gifts wrapped in construction-zone themed paper, and a balloon to match. (The men really did so well in pulling together something special for Jack!) I was so ill, I slept the majority of the day away, barely able to get out of bed to pee, I was in so much pain; and so, the festivities were held in my room: song, cake, gifts, and all, with our friends standing and sitting around the bed to partake.

It only took me a few days to rest up from Jack’s party this year; and the recovery was not only faster, but less intense than I had anticipated, as well. By mid-week, the sun was shining, and I was itching to get out of the house. I have been talking about the desire to start walking a few times a week, weather and health permitting, and slow to start—just enough to get me moving again. Jack and I talk often about the things we will do when I am better, and going to the park-- just the two of us-- is high on his list. There is one that is about a 10 minute walk from our house, and as I was feeling well, I seized the opportunity, cell phone in hand (in case I couldn’t make it back home), and headed out. It was wonderful. My little boy is so grown up, and as we walked, we talked, taking in the world around us. It was like experiencing a rare miracle; I felt, and still feel, beyond blessed by it. 

On our way home, we spotted a baby jackrabbit. So small, than when it hunched up, it looked no bigger than a river rock, maybe six inches in length. From afar, it blended so well with the dead leaves that, had we not seen it moving before it noticed us and froze into position, we would have mistaken it for a smooth stone. Jack ran up to it without scaring it away, and we crouched down, a mere 3 feet away, and studied it, the three of us unmoving. It was young enough to still have his down, more akin to a baby duckling than a rabbit; though looked like it would soon fall off in the heat and be replaced with the glossy hair that covered his long ears. Jack was delighted; even more so when he found out that it was called a jackrabbit, though he did have to check first that I wasn’t “just teasing” him. I felt great—aching no more when I arrived home than when I had left, and filled to the brim with gratitude for the time with my son outdoors, alone, and together. And when I kissed him later, he still smelled of the outdoors: sunscreen and grass and the summer wind in his hair. I hope I remember that day forever. I hope I remember gratitude like that forever, and that my appreciation won’t fade as my abilities strengthen; but rather that they would grow hand-in-hand, and always stay that way.

Last night my good friend came over and helped me clean up and organize my room. It has been a task staring me in the face, all day, every day, for far too long; and when I was not paralyzed by illness, I would be over the thought of where to even start. With her help, it was manageable-- if still anxiety-inducing and overwhelming. I pushed myself too hard, but it was worth it! We worked hard, and my room-- oh, my room! I have a floor! And a dresser-top! I garbaged and recycled the growing piles of papers that had very few articles of importance woven throughout (but who would have known that before going through it all?!) while she worked to put what mattered in their rightful places. It was the best gift she could have given me: peace and beauty around me as I recover.

Today Jack and I attempted the park again. This time, we were on a Dinosaur bone/fossil hunt. We brought a pail and "digger" (a plastic hand-powered grapple/shovel type toy he got for his birthday) and we found toe "bones" and foot "bones" and even a TAIL!!  (And to think, all those people passed them by as tree branches!) At one point, I thought maybe we should head back, but questioned myself as to whether or not it was just laziness, and pushed myself to stay an extra ten minutes. A mistake on my part, and maybe I should have known better. All of a sudden I was hit with pain, and we headed home. Jack had little warning, and resisted, wanting to do this, and that, just a little longer. Who could blame him? I did not want to bring my illness with me to the park. I tried so hard to leave it at home, away from Jack's childhood and our memory making, if just for a time; but alas, I had to surrender, explaining to him Mommy didn't feel well, and had to go home right away. And while we were both disappointed, it was still a great excursion, and well-worth it—even if Jack had to tuck Mommy into bed when we got home. Every once in awhile I question myself like that: “Am I just being lazy?” or, “Maybe I could if I just tried…” And while I may be able to, it doesn’t mean it won’t have serious repercussions (of pain or fatigue or a hit to my immune system)—avoidable, if I had just listened to that voice inside of myself. The one that tells me today is not a good day to take the stairs; or the one that tells me I would be alright to spend some time out on the couch instead of in bed; or vice versa, for a million other scenarios. I have to remember that I am NOT a lazy person-- that sometimes-- I simply can’t. As much as I want to take my progress and run with it, I still have to listen to my body when it is asking for two steps back, or it will end up demanding four, instead.

All of this is good. Being present and involved in Jack’s birthday party; getting to take him to the park; being able to work hard and clean my room; and, learning that not only do I not have to defend myself and my fluctuating abilities to others; but that I don’t have to defend them to myself, either. I have good days, and I have bad days. But the bad days-- they aren’t lasting nearly as long; and the good days-- they are slowly becoming great ones. There is a light! 

Blessings always,

Kate 

 "You have made known to me the path of life; 

You will fill me with joy in Your presence,

with eternal pleasures

 at your right hand." 

Psalm 16:11

"If we hope for what we do not see, we eagerly wait for it with perseverance." 

Romans 8:25