I used to love this blog. Then it got to be like a job. I was trying to force things to post about. I stressed over it. So I quit. Tried to come back last year, couldn’t quite pull it off. But life is a funny thing. Just when you think you have nothing more to say something happens and you realize there were a ton of things to say, stories to tell, events to share. Some of the problem is Facebook/Twitter. Why keep up with a whole blog when you can click share or post pics to tell your story?
But life can’t be told in 140 characters can it? And even the most mundane Facebook post can spark uncivil war. So maybe it’s time to revisit the old Suburban Guerrilla homeblog. Tell some stories that need to be told and some that don’t. There have been a lot of things happen in this trailer park since I last posted regularly. Lots of epic tailgates. Two puppies have joined the crew and one has been lost. The Princess and Budman have grown up and out.
So I think I’ll try to go back and capture some of those stories. Memorialize some of those precious memories. Share some of those good times. And that is important because life brings unexpected changes. We’re all going to need those great memories as we live through some not so great times.
Life can change in an instant. In our case it was not like a lightning bolt. More like a slow motion train wreck. It started with a cold. Or the flu. Or some other passing annoyance that just hung around. The Esposa got sick. Then her Mother passed away. Facing a long car trip we decided to hit the ER for a Z pack and maybe an inhaler. In and out we thought. Go early in the AM, out in time to stop for lunch while the pharmacy filled the prescriptions.
Within an hour pneumonia was diagnosed. Within two she was in the ICU. By dinnertime on a ventilator, packed in ice to bring down her 105 degree fever. Within 24 hours chemically paralyzed and strapped into a device that kept her flipped on her front side so her lungs could expand. Within 48 hours tests confirmed she had Legionnaire’s pneumonia. We almost lost her. Christmas came and went. Then New Year’s. But she fought her way through it. Weak and beat down. All we needed was a couple of weeks in rehab. Physical therapy. Get her strength back.
Doctors at the rehab hospital were concerned about a potential intestinal blockage. They ordered an abdominal CT scan. Then they scheduled another for the next day, with dye this time. What they didn’t say was that they found concerning liver spots on the first one and needed the second to confirm a diagnosis. A diagnosis that no one would enunciate. It was there in their downcast eyes. In their lowered voices. Transferred back to the big hospital for more confirming tests, biopsies and such.
After 4 days the diagnosis was clear, but the tests would take several more days to come back. So we fought our way out of the hospital, lined up some home nurses and she got to sleep in her own bed for the first time in three weeks. Oncology appointments. Chemotherapy. Surgical insertion of a chemo port. Now, just fight through it. It’s just lost hair and nausea.
Four weeks in, oncologist notices an irregular pulse rate. Referred to a cardiologist. Diagnosis? Atrial Fibrillation. More pills. More risk. More worries.
Multiple times throughout this truly slow motion two month and counting train wreck I have thrown up my hands. “Jesus take the wheel!” But I always grab it back, try to fake like I’m in control again, only to realize (once again) that I’m not in charge here.
So to keep myself from looking forward past the next round of meds, the next round of chemo, the next doctor’s appointment; I’m going to look back. Write stories about the good times. Road trip to Tuscaloosa to watch Johnny Football beat Bama. Buying a boat last summer. Nights at the Dixie Chicken. Years worth of good memories to retain, relive and retell.
A sweet distraction from the truth. The truth is that I lack the faith and courage to relinquish control of my life to God. And maybe while I’m distracted I can finally cede control. Finally have the faith that I need to have. And let God take control.