Today marks my eleventh week doing Hemo with my
fistula. Eleven weeks isn’t so long – 3 months,
but fistula time is actually like dog years – much longer. 100+ hours, but its not like I’m counting J In that time I’ve had a lot of firsts and
learned some surprising lessons.
For instance, today I learned two new things about myself:
1)
I cannot will my blood to clot.
My will-power didn’t work when I wished for
the laundry to fold itself & didn’t stand up to the chocolate cake, I’m not
sure why I thought I would do any better over my blood flow.
2)
The smell of my own blood makes me queasy.
This lesson followed on the heels of lesson
one. My chair was needed by the next
person and so the nurses set me in a chair directly in front of the newest
patient. Uncertain whether I was the spectator or the one-woman show – I made
every effort to cut the show short – in doing so I created a major production
& left a bloody mess in my wake – hence lesson two. I’m not usually given to squeamishness, but
it seems with age comes wuss-dom.
Eleven weeks has given me time to become more comfortable in my own skin. In the early days of my fistula I was very insecure about how others would perceive my scars. A dear friend called me on this fear & challenged me to use my scars to share about God's work in my life. I'm so blessed to have such honest friends, reminding me of my purpose & God's goodness! I don't try hiding my scars anymore -- they are all mine, I've earned each one and God has taught me so much in the course of getting them. I could, however, use some retorts for all the curious comments about -- 'it looks like it hurts' or 'what happened to you' -- I would welcome any suggestions -- my material is getting worn out :)
No comments:
Post a Comment