I hate the pain in my chest, centered under my arms, that makes typing this, right now, so very had. I have to keep my elbows out, and occasionally turn away to take a few deep and painful breaths.
I hate the pain in my upper abdomen that throws off my balance; I walk tilted to the right, dragging my feet, and yesterday that caused a bad fall in which I landed on something solid...right over the pancreas. You can bet that hurt, and still does. Collected a nice bruise, too.
I hate bruising easily, now, like an over-ripe banana.
I hate incontinence, both bowel and bladder, and I really hate the black blood that I pass. It's a sign, and not a good one.
I hate puking; the heaves really, really hurt, and bleach is my friend. The blood that passes is red.
I hate the systemic pain that makes it an ordeal to hug Barbara. The best I can do is an A-frame hug, and a pat on the back. For her, that is; it hurts too much for her to pat me on the back.
I hate that I can provide Barbara with so little help. I've been able to maintain upper-body strength through a vicious exercise programme (during which I routinely pass out, and puke blood, and it's made me able to take up the slack when Barb's back (hurt in a 2005 car wreck) gives out. I can still carry her, literally. But I can't drive to the store, or go with her to the holiday social functions to which she's been invited. I do make sure that she goes; she needs it.
I can bench-press a Buick, but I can't go to Wal-Mart to get cold medicine for my wife. There is some kind of meaningful irony there, but I'm so tired of meaningful ironies.
I hate the cynicism I feel when I watch The Voice, and hear young people talking about this being the last chance for their dreams. My dream is to function as well tomorrow as I did today, and I now I won't, and I have little patience for those who weep about the possibility that they may not become superstars. And that's wrong; they have a right to their dreams; they don't walk in my boots, and I should not,mentally, force them to do so.
I'm tempted to say, "All this hate...it's poison, and I should just accept the circumstances as God's will, something that I don't yet have the perspective to understand."
God hates sin, and illness was brought into the world by Original Sin.
And God hates that. and its effects, right by my side.
Musical accompaniment comes from Creedence, with Bad Moon Rising. Listen, and come along with me. Please.
Please pardon my slow response to comments. I'm doing my best, and your comments are really precious to me.
Still hoping to get the new and improved version of Blessed Are The Pure Of Heart up and running in the near future. Just haven't had the energy to do it yet...but if you would like to read it, please say so in your comment and I'd be glad to send you a PDF (which should fit your Kindle).
Marley update... been moved to a sanctuary, and Bay County will revise their 'dangerous dog' codes.
If you can, please do leave a comment. I am trying to answer all, and I am failing, but please know this - I read and treasure each one.
Below are my recent releases on Kindle -please excuse their presence in the body of the blog. I haven't the energy to get them up as 'buttons' in the sidebar. You can click on the covers to go to the Amazon links.