Weak and Shattered

Day before yesterday, I hit a brick wall. Actually, it was a concrete post.

But I am using it metaphorically.

For 10 days, I'd felt lifted up by an invisible force.

Then, in an instance, I collapsed back into waves, just as we witnessed the jet-packers do in Newport Bay week before last.

There were about 5 or 6 people in Amie’s room, all trying to do different things at once. A sweet Asian chaplain wanted to pray, while a sweet Hispanic aide wanted to bathe. The Eastern European nurse was trying to deal with Amie’s medications, while a male nurse tried to move her into a more comfortable position. Amie was trying to communicate her needs as loudly as possible. It was like the United Nations, with everyone talking at once. Or the Tower of Babel. Attempting to restore order out of the chaos, I started to get rid of some of the many cups of half-drunk liquids that were everywhere. Suddenly, the nurse flipped out.  I'd accidentally thrown out some pain meds mixed with juice that were to be taken orally through a large syringe.

She left the room in a state, and then I left the room in a state and completely lost it.

Lost my composure, my cool, my control.

Thankfully, the waiting room was empty. I closed the door and let the tears fly.

I can’t do this anymore. Why are we here in this dark place of suffering AGAIN? What does the future hold? This is all too hard and ugly and awful. I am so TIRED!!!

I called my husband to vent.

Afterwards, I slunk back into the room, but it was obvious to all what had been going on. I am not a pretty crier. My nose and eyes swell up and turn bright red. By this point, the chair bath was almost finished. The aide looked up at me and said, “Mamacita, you okay? Can I get you some water?” I teared up again.

After a good nose-blowing in the adjacent bathroom, I came out and told Amie that I was fine. I went to the corner of the room where we have hidden away drinks and snacks. Some anonymous angels* had delivered a giant basket of goodies to the ICU. As I foraged through the basket looking for a drink, I noticed the card: 

Many people have written us wonderful words of encouragement since Amie’s accident. Some kind souls have said how “amazing” our family is, how “strong” I am, how “full of faith.” These words have buoyed me up, given me hope, and helped me to feel safer and unalone.

But in compliance with the Truth In Advertising organization, I have to confess the reality. I am none of those things. Our family is none of those things. Please don’t put us up on some kind of ‘suffering pedestal.’

We are just average sinners in need of daily grace.

But we know where to turn for help…

yet again.

*******************

“But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect

 in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses,

 so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties.

For when I am weak, then I am strong.” (II Cor. 12: 9-10)

(*We found out later that it was Katherine's Moms In Prayer group. Thank you, angels!)

Also, the room number pictured above was Amie's ICU room. She is currently in 6623.