Saturday, March 3, 2007

My dearest God,

Yesterday I won the teddy bear, the really big one. With all the force in the world, my mallet struck the pad and the object went flying upward, striking the bell. I was a winner!

On the Craz-E-Ometer I hit 1000! My husband was sick. No fever (actually 97.2 degrees which he calls "sub-normal", therefore, deadly.) No headache. First blood pressure reading was high. That was pretty normal because he has "white coat syndrome" which means his pressure goes sky high when he thinks about having it monitored. To his credit it did stay up most of the day, but only a few points above his normal when you factor in the syndrome. He did take an additional pill. And he had the chills.

"Do you think it's my heart? Do heart problems cause chilling? I never expected to slip so fast. I'm not sure I'm going to make it. Oh. Oh. Oh. I'm going down fast. I'm urinating all the time. Do you think I have kidney failure? Do you think I'm going to make it?" All...day...long. My only reprieve was when I went to the grocery store. Aah!

He wasn't feeling well when he first got up. He knew I was cleaning the house so he started to help by making the bed. I told him not to worry about it. I could do it. At the dawn of the day I was calm, peaceful. Stress had not yet hit. "Just get some rest." I encouraged him. But he wandered through the house, offering his one liners. I kept working.

It was mid-morning when the levels began to rise. He laid down on the couch. "I'm so cold. Ooh. Ooh." I was still cleaning. "Do you need a blanket?" I asked. "Ooh, yes. I'm just not going to make it." He assured me. "Harold, you have a bug, not a deadly disease." I told him. "You just don't know. My pressure is at stroke level." He retorted back in a barely audible voice. I kept working.

About lunch time I asked if he was hungry. (Of course, I was still working.) Well, he could eat a little something, he told me. "Oatmeal with a little fruit. Put milk on it. I like cream over it. And maybe a little tea." I fixed his lunch and put it on a tray, then carried it into the living room, placing it across his lap." "Ooh, I just don't know if I'm going to make it. I'm really, really sick." He reminded me as if I had forgotten what he had said five minutes earlier.

Throughout the day the stresses increased. And I kept working. I was nearing the midline (500). I tried deep breathing and even prayer. I cleaned in another room. But he found me. By this time he was bent over, his hair askew and he wore a navy colored blanket around his shoulders. Reminded me of one of comedian Tim Conway's characters. "Give me a hug. I'm just not going to make it! I may not be around much longer." He was right, I was ready to kill him.

Later in the afternoon my daughter called and I told her Harold was sick. "Oh, no." She said, trying to comfort me. (She did live through a lot of years at home.) "Is he dying?" She asked. "He says he's not going to make it." I said with a smug grin on my face. "Well, tell him I hope the end is peaceful." She remarked.

A few minutes later the phone rang again. I looked at the number. He said he would take it. "Hello...oh sure. That will be fine." A strong voice. Even chuckled one time. When he hung up, I ran into the living room and threw myself on his lap. "It's a miracle. It's a miracle. You're back from the brink. You're going to live! You're going to live!" I kept saying. The voice dropped back and he slid down the chair, head drooping to one side. "No, no. I'm not well. I'm not going to make it."

By evening I was hovering at the 900 mark! I had tried every method I knew to comfort, show compassion but my efforts failed miserably. This man was going to be sick and he was going to keep recalling it to my mind over and over and over and over again. I couldn't take it any longer. I lost it! I screamed and said, "If you're planning on going soon, let me know so I can make plans!" By the time darkness fell he was lucky to be alive!

I could hardly stand the man. I realized God knew what was best. Women would bear the children. The men, the screaming (like the shot) would be heard round the world.

My patience was sorely tested. By the time I won the teddy bear, I didn't even like its color. I didn't want it! The bell was ringing and ringing and ringing. Ok, ok, ok. I got it!

We really are different, men and women. We view the world differently, uniquely. Our perspectives can be so far off from one another. We can drive ourselves crazy.

As I reflect back upon the day, I realize two things. First, I worked 12 hours and got most of the house cleaned, laundry finished, dryer repaired, Frosties put away, trash emptied, bills paid, letter written, calendar dates entered, door carried to garage, grocery shopping done, e-mails typed, and a trip to the bank scratched off my list. Secondly, if you loosen up a bit, you can see the insanity in a losing battle. Laugh a little. No! Laugh a lot! Don't take yourself so seriously. It could ruin your health and you could wind up in jail. And keep on working, laying aside any tools that could be used as weapons. Whew!

Do you ever laugh, God?
Do you ever think
that your children
will ever get it right?
Do you ever give up on us?
Because I sure do.
Sometimes I lose it.
I mean really lose it.
I am tested to the inth!
And sure enough,
I will cross over the line
and lose my temper.
Frustration,
a red face,
pressure climbing,
a quick pulse,
all signs
of a brewing storm.
Teach me patience.
And I know
what I'm saying
and I know
how it comes.
More tests.
Not today.
Can I have a break today?
I need it!

Have I told you lately that I love you, Andrea