Fear & Trust

More Seizure Coma Death Moments

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by Elizabeth

This blog post is brought to you by a 100% Harm Avoidance gal, in the spirit of a life lived the Seizure Coma Death way. I present to you now, purely for your reading pleasure, true stories from this last month:

I.

A fever and a hacking cough recently afflicted my youngest daughter. One night as she’s crying in pain, I wake to give her more Tylenol, to bring down her fever. I leave her room thinking, “Hmmm, she’s worse than the night before, when she slept all night without her fever spiking.” I begin to worry thus: Oh no, it’s probably that new mutant strain of the flu that’s worse than most flus but starts as a regular cold and gets worse and worse and worse until. . . it moves into the lungs and my baby might DIE.

II.

And then, as I crawl back into bed, I notice that my big toe is hurting. This is my OTHER big toe, because the first one is already fighting an infected/ingrown nail. When I realize both toes are hurting, I think, Oh no!!! I have DIABETES!! I never knew a 5-pound weight gain could be enough to propel me into type 2 diabetes. I am going to be stuck the rest of my life having to take meds for this.

So I toss and turn awhile and Jonathan finally notices and asks, “Are you ok?” I answer, “NO! I am not ok! I think I have diabetes. Both my toes hurt. My feet aren’t healing.” He retorts, “The reason feet are a problem for diabetics is because they CAN’T feel their feet, not because they CAN; your feet are fine. Go back to bed.” So I try. Even though my toes are still in pain.

The weather here affects my feet I guess, making them more dry and calloused than usual. So maybe I need to invest in some sort of foot cream.

But probably not Metformin.

Yet.

III.

Later that week, a killer mosquito attacks Jonathan and me. First, it attacks him. We had gone to bed early that night to try to recover from the sleep loss associated with, you know, COUGHING KID. So we are tossing and turning, in and out of sleep, listening to our dear sweet little hacker, when suddenly he jumps out of bed, all flustered, saying a mosquito bit him on the lip. It’s swelling HUGE, and it hurts. I give him the Benadryl cream and we look for, but cannot find, the Perpetrator.

mscd

I cover my entire self with the sheets, except for my face, so I can, you know, BREATHE, and I fall back asleep. Then about an hour later, I wake up with a pain in my lip, and it’s a teeny tiny bit itchy. Fearing the worst, I run to the bathroom, only to discover a bite that is TAKING OVER MY FACE. Numbness and tingling spread all the way down to my chin. My lip simultaneously balloons outward and swells all the way INTO my mouth, where I can feel the bulge on the inside of my lips. I think: And when the swelling reaches my windpipe, I will die.

So I slather on the Benadryl cream and search for that blasted mosquito. When I finally find it, I swipe at it with the electric bug zapper. The zapper buzzes the mosquito no fewer than 5 times (usually 1 or 2 zaps is enough to slay a mosquito). When it falls to the ground, it is STILL WRITHING. Of course, even a mosquito as hardy as that can’t survive my foot: one stomp finishes the job nicely.

It takes all night for the swelling on my lip to go down. The tingling doesn’t fully subside until later the next day.

But my airways are still intact.

For now.

Seizure, Coma, Death

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by Elizabeth

Jonathan and a friend, on his last day at the hospital.

Jonathan and a friend, on his last day at the hospital.

Seizure, coma, death: the end process of all diseases. My husband Jonathan discovered the end results of disease in nursing school, where one of his instructors made the phrase seizure, coma, death somewhat of a joke. Me? All I had to do was be born the harm-avoidant, overreacting hypochondriac that I am. I can extrapolate any symptom or situation all the way to end-of-life processes. And I don’t need the help of nursing school to do that; I can do it all by my lonesome self.

Seizure, coma, death: it’s the place I always go. For me, the worst option is always the first option. Case in point?

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On Writing

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by Elizabeth

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

You may have noticed that I’ve taken quite the break from blogging. {More likely, though, you have not noticed any such break.} The break was originally unintentional, but it morphed into something more intentional. {And more on those intentions in a future post.}

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Trailing Spouse: He Heard, “Go!” and I Said, “No!”

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The Lord had said to Abram, “Go from your country, your people and your father’s household to the land I will show you.” Genesis 12:1

When my husband first told me, rather excitedly, that he wanted to apply with Team Expansion to become a missionary in Cambodia, I did not in any way share his excitement. I had many mistaken ideas about missionary life – mistaken ideas that told me, “No! Never! Don’t go!”

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Twenty Seconds

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One night this week, we awoke to loud, repetitive banging on our outside door. There were three guys — one at the door, and two others in a big van. They eventually left. But I was as shaken as my poor door, and we later learned it may not have been just a few guys at the wrong house. It could have been people trying to break in and steal from us, by tricking us into opening our front door for them. That possibility shook me even more. I found myself in a very familiar state: Much Afraid.

We usually take our kids outside to play in the afternoon, but that day, I didn’t want to go. I forced myself to walk out the front door. I didn’t want to do it, but I knew if I didn’t go then, that the next time would be even harder. So I picked up my chair, walked over to the neighbor, and sat down to talk with her.  We had a lovely time together. We talked about Bible translation, and how long I plan to live in Cambodia. . . We talked about the differences between Khmer and English and French. . . We talked about missing people who are far away from us. . . And we even talked about the night before.

To feel such community with a Cambodian — one of the reasons we came here — was very healing for my heart that night.

So I’m re-posting what I wrote in last May’s newsletter. I apparently still need those 20 seconds of insane courage.

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In the movie We Bought a Zoo, the recently widowed dad tells his adolescent son, “Sometimes all you need is 20 seconds of insane courage.”

As the following story illustrates, I’ve often needed courage in my life. Toward the end of 6th grade, I heard an announcement for students who were interested in intramural volley-ball during the next school year. I was interested in intramural volleyball. I hesitated. I looked at the door. I watched a sports-y blonde girl leave for the meeting. I wanted to go. I don’t know why I wanted to go learn about intramural volleyball – hadn’t I always been afraid of balls hitting me on the head?? I looked at the door longer. I was afraid to get up out of my seat and go. I was afraid people would know I was interested in volleyball. I was afraid to leave in the middle of elective and miss some-thing. I was afraid if I went I would be stuck in intramural volleyball for-ever even if I changed my mind. My fear became glue in my seat. Even after I knew it was too late to attend that meeting, I looked at the door and wished I had gone. And I have always been so embarrassed that I was embarrassed, that I never told anyone that story.

20 seconds of courage?? Is that really all I need? The young woman who lives next door seems very sweet but shy. I have been thinking, praying, about getting to know her. I know enough Khmer to exchange a few short, insignificant sentences.

Last week we were playing outside with our kids one evening. I saw her. I hesitated. Was she staying outside or going back inside? Would she think something was wrong with me if I try to talk to her? I haven’t ever talked to her before. Jonathan knows about my fears and my hopes. He gave me a nod. That nod said, take 20 seconds and go talk to your neighbor!

I took a deep breath. I picked up baby Faith. I walked over to the newly married neighbor lady. I said something. I am not sure, but I think I asked her about her baby. I stayed, and we talked a little in Khmer. She talked with her friends in Khmer, too, and I have no clue what they were talking about. It felt. . . uncomfortable.

But I did it, I walked from my front door to her front door. A distance that is farther than the sum of its steps. A distance that is truly an ocean apart. With 20 seconds of insane courage.

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“I’ll follow wherever You lead. Where You send I will go, I will go. To the ends of the earth, or down the street, Where you send I will go, I will go”

That’s the 3rd verse to a song Jonathan wrote (If you want to listen, you can click here, and then click on “One Thing” to download). Its piercing truth stays with me: now that I’ve gone to the ends of the earth, I must still go down the street.

courage