Infectious Musings Part 1

Ok, so let me start by saying that for the past 6 days I've been battling an infection. This isn't any sort of play on words or deep analogy, the bacterial universe gifted me with an actual infection. Three to be exact: bladder, urinary tract, and kidney. A triple threat trifecta that has kept me under house arrest. Yet, as I waltz towards the effervescent light of recovery I have placed a whole new pair of spectacles on my face. They're not so much rose colored, as they are reflective.

I suppose I should start at the beginning, as stated before, I've heard it's a very good place to start  ("...when you read you begin with A,B,C when you sing you begin with doe, re, me..." Sound of Music anyone? No? Ok moving on...)

Flash back to last Thursday.
I walk into work.
Our department secretary greets me at the door asking how I'm doing today.
My answer?

"I think I need to go to the urgent care."

As if to be a hive full of bees, my coworkers swarmed in from their offices with concern.
After a quick discussion of who would drive me, our secretary grabs her keys and we make our way to the car.

Walking had never been so difficult before.

Fast forward to the doctor's office.

My mom comes into the examination room holding my baby niece (who was very well behaved and brought much comic relief through this whole experience. Thanks Peaches.)

Soon the tests began
Blood test...CHECK
Urinalysis...CHECK

From there we head to the hospital

Ultrasound (to check for kidney stones)...CHECK

Ultrasound band...so fashionable.

The whole time my mom and I are trying to keep my dad, sister, and fiance in the loop about everything. I've never been more thankful for the cellphone.

At last we are free to go...kind of.

My mom graciously took me back home with her to be in her care and I was ready to lay down and never get up (in a non-dead sort of way). Until I got a call saying that I needed to go into a CT scan. Apparently there was risk of blockage and if they found something it could mean a trip to the ER.

So we went back to the hospital the next day.

I don't know if you've ever had a CT scan before, but it's kind of like being sucked into a giant doughnut. It talked in a kind of robotic voice too...telling me when to breathe and what not. So it had that going to for it.

Once I stepped off the machine the tech told me that it would take 24 hours to get the results.
Back home we went to become pawns in a waiting game.

David (my fiance) came to be with me that evening (and the one following as well). I opened the door and he walked up with a bouquet of lilies, a card, and a balloon. Definitely a sight for sore eyes :)

The next morning my phone rang bright and early. Attached to the other line was the voice of the doctor with the results of my ultrasound. (Dun, dun, dun...too dramatic? Yeah, probably).

Everything was clear. No stones, no blockage.

Praise God.

I'm happy to say I'm on the mend and am cleared to go back to work soon. The power of prayer, antibiotics, and support of loved ones is strong. Yet, I can't leave this experience without seeing God work through all of this.

He tends to be good at that.

Different

I feel deep tonight. Like the type of deep you get when you can finally take some time to think about life and all of it's meaning. The who's, what's, when's, where's, and why's that spiral around in an ominous orb that floats above our heads constantly causing us to question what the next movement we make will be. A fortuitous bubble that only God can pop, or grow.

Or something like that

To do such a bold thing would take much more than a simple dance of digits across an idle keyboard into a parallel world of words and thoughts.

It takes time, something I've found that I take for granted. Especially now as my life fills with arrangements, priorities, and incessant things to do. Is that necessary bad? No, I enjoy staying busy. Yet, I wouldn't say a lack of reflection time is all together grand either.

But tonight, the quiet came.

I was walking home from a coffee date with an old high school friend (I hadn't seen her for years, but I'm happy to say we picked up right where we left off) and came across this house.

It catches my eye every time I walk past it. So beautifully out of place it sits facing a line of suburbia type townhouses. An unkempt lawn with a chain link fence that winds it's way around the the perimeter. I'm not sure if it's inhabited (if so, it's probably weird that I'm posting a picture of their house on the internet....eh, oh well), but I hope the owners never change it.

It's a reminder to me that, as a human race we aren't meant to be the same. I never understood why people made fun of others for their differences, especially the ones that they are gifted with from birth. I don't say it as something they can't help, because I don't see why we should have to help the"differences" we're naturally born with. As if each little imperfection required an apology.

I'm left handed. Now, was that something I was born with? I'm not sure, all I know is that my mom has a picture of me eating yogurt left handed in my highchair when I was little. But it's something I was definitely made fun of for. On top of that I write with a left-hander's hook so it wasn't uncommon for kids to look at me and ask me why I write so weirdly. I know that this is nothing compared to racial persecution or homosexual harassment, but nonetheless it made me question myself. As if a specific hand could define me as a person, but because I broke the right-handed mold I was different.

Normalcy, in my opinion, is a relative term. What is normal for one person can be completely outrageous for the next dependent on lifestyle, beliefs, cultures, what have you. Everyone has different needs, and we must recognize that there is no such thing as a human cure-all.

Besides, what's the fun in having a million copies of the same person?

We are beautiful because we aren't alike.