It’s treatment time.....

It’s taken me a little time to write this update, not because I wanted to hide a not-so-fun time in healing but because admitting to weakness is just something that doesn’t come easily to me.

I’ve kept an unbelievably tight lock on my feelings, really for as far back as I can remember. My earliest memory of such was on a day when I was really small, I’m guessing I might have been around four years old... I remember I was kneeling upon a kitchen chair at the kitchen table in my childhood home with my crayons and colouring book and I remember being so content in that one moment. And I remember my mom having left the kitchen to check on my brand new baby sister and I remember starting to cry... When my mom came back into the kitchen and saw me crying while continuing my colouring, she tried everything she could to get me to open up and tell her what was wrong and why I was suddenly so upset... but I couldn’t let myself tell her. I knew that day, exactly what was hurting my heart enough to make me cry just as surely as I still know and feel it today looking back through the long years that have passed. I don’t have very many early childhood memories, at all, most of my memories start from around when I was eight, but there are a few earlier ones that are filled with just SO much emotion they’ve stuck with me. Having seen my mom so upset in knowing that I was upset taught me to be more careful, even at that incredibly young age. I’m starting now, at the ripe old age of forty-six, to see that bottles aren’t maybe the best holders of feelings. Still, it’s hard to open up when hard moments are had.

And my first IVIG treatment week, well, those moments were hard.

I was grateful to not have a lot of time to stew over my IVIG treatments beginning. I had less than a week between the Neurologist appointment when treatments were ordered and the day my treatments began at the hospital. During the almost weeklong wait my emotions were everywhere and tears hit me often and without warning throughout. I had never even slightly expected to be starting treatment this far along in my healing so that was a shock in itself, but I think the tears finding me was even more of a shock because crying just is so not me... y’know, bottler of feelings and all. Anyhow, the tears that kept hitting me were for so many different reasons, it was confusing and figuring out on-the-fly how to deal with so many feelings was pretty brutal. I had tears of relief that help was still available, of regret that a horrible misdiagnosis had stolen my first opportunity for treatment, of hope that I might get back to my old self again sooner than never, of fear over not knowing how my body would react to the treatment, of worry over not knowing what exactly was going to be happening during the treatments but mostly my tears were those of an indescribably thankful heart.

Day One of IVIG treatment was both okay and not so okay, at the same time... but my GRATEFULNESS was seri’sly and far beyond over the top!! I hadn’t been told anything on the treatment procedures so I had been very nervous going in without knowing just exactly what to expect. I had, like most in this age of on-line information would, searched Google and YouTube for IVIG treatment how’s but didn’t really find much that was helpful or anxiety-easing. The few videos and articles I did find were more of ‘complaint videos’ which kind of just added to my nervousness so I ditched the search idea after only a few moments and decided to just deal with whatever was to happen... as it was to happen. Please know that I am NOT judging anyone for sharing only the awfulness of their treatments... it actually turned out that I had some awfulness, too, it’s just that it really angsted me out and I had wanted to go in to the hospital feeling ready and hopeful rather than scared and dreading. But I was scared and I was dreading.

All I had been told from my Neurologist was that the first round of treatments would be done daily for five days and could take anywhere between two and six hours each day for the IVIG infusions. I’d prepared my hospital activity bag with some of my greatest comforts; crossword books, sudoku books, my favourite four-colour click pen, I’d even made cheese biscuits that morning to bring along for an easy-on-the-nervous-tummy snack with grape juice boxes for a treat drink... aaand I brought with me my beloved Aviator headphones and my Dennis Parker CD of serious awwwesomeness ...more on that in just a little bit.

It was already quieting down when we arrived at the hospital for my 4:30 appointment, and I was happy for that because my soul just does better in quiet. Enz was true to his word and had me to the hospital ON time and WITHOUT snarkiness so things had started out well! After checking in and getting all hospital-braceleted up, a nurse came almost immediately to bring me back into a treatment room and helped get me settled comfortably on the stretcher while explaining what was going to happen and getting ready to get my IV started. I felt immediately at ease with how relaxedly confident and genuinely kind-spirited the nurse was but my skin and vein were not nearly as impressed as my hand fought hard against the IV insertion. I had honestly expected the IV going in to be the easy part, I’ve never had an issue with needles and my pain threshold is so high it’s actually scary at times, I can deal with pain as long as it’s my own... I just can’t take the pain of seeing anybody else hurting. But the pain of the nurse trying to get that needle in me was PAIN, an extra ‘fun’ symptom of hypersensitive still healing nerves, I guess. I was able to hold myself perfectly still, I didn’t flinch in the slightest but tears did well up and quietly roll. The nurse apologized as she pierced and wriggled and angled to try and get that IV needle set, and she almost had it, blood flow and all... and then it was gone. The nurse felt sooooo bad and didn’t want to do another try and even though I assured her it was okay and promised her that I wouldn’t pull away and said, “God bless the hands that sometimes have to hurt in order to help...” She still couldn’t give it another go and called in her teammate to try. In the end, it had taken the two nurses and four very painful pokes to finally find and secure a cooperative vein but eventually and thankfully, it had happened.

Once the IV was set in my hand and the IVIG infusion had begun, I had a feeling of relief finally find me, for the first time in days. Treatment had started and it wasn’t anywhere near as scary as I had stewed over in ‘possibilities’. Things started out just fine for the first couple of hours, aside from my hands being sore from all the IV insertion fun, I actually felt relaxed and comfortable in the cozily dimmed-light of the small room; I had Dennis Parker talking and singing me through the hours so all was good. But sudden exhaustion set in for the last half hour and the dizziness mixed with the threat of pukage and piercing headache that followed for the whole ride home and overnight wasn’t so fun. I’m not generally selfish enough to pray for my own self when others are far more worthy of my prayer time, but I had been selfish enough that morning to ask God to just please help me through with no awful side effects so I would be ready to take on the next day without the fear of the first day; I guess He maybe was teaching me another lesson in strength by not answering my selfish prayer. I was definitely NOT looking forward to the rest of the week but I still held hope that it would be a little easier as the days went on. There was one really great thing about the first treatment day being finished and that was the fact that I knew I wouldn’t have to go through another IV insert the next day... the nurse had wrapped my hand all up to keep the IV safe and secure overnight and assured me it should be good for the week, WHEW!

Day Two of IVIG  was a little bit tough to rally myself for after having experienced the side effects of my fist treatment day. Thankfully, my headache and nausea had settled out during the wee morning hours so except for the awful deep-aching pain hat had set in  across the backs of my shoulders and my neck I was feeling much better. I was still a might apprehensive upon hospital arrival but once the nurses had gone through what had happened during my first treatment session and the effects I’d dealt with afterward, they decided it was best to slow the drip rate to try and avoid any of those side effects from happening again... it took just a few minutes under three hours for the infusion but other than still feeling brutally tired afterward, I felt SO much better than I had the day before. I had learned on the first day that puzzle books were not going to be helpful as a time-passer because both my hands were just hurting too much to even hold a pen, nevermind try and write with one. But I wasn’t bored or lonely because I had my hero, Dennis Parker, talking and singing me through with his beautiful and inspiring Songs Under The Air Condition ing Unit CD. The only real downside for my second treatment day was another side effect that happened, which apparently can but doesn’t usually cause  too much trouble. My vein decided after two-and-a-half hours that it had just had enough... it rebelled and it was not fun. My vein started cramping and clamping in trying to fight against the treatment and led to such intense pain that I was almost afraid I was going to have to pull it out before the nurse came back. I only had about a half hour left so she stopped the infusion and flushed the IV before starting the drip again in hopes that we could finish the treatment without having to start another IV right then, that my veins could get a little break to rest before putting another in for the next day. I sure wasn’t looking forward to another IV insert, at all, but hoped that maybe it would go easier the next time and I was sure happy to not have to keep one in again overnight because it was actually quite painful to even move my fingers with the IV in... and it was horribly painful having to walk and balance with my Stix... that extra pressure was tear inducing intense and Enz was not impressed that I needed lots of walking breaks to rest my hurting hands.

Day Three of IVIG was a MUCH better treatment day! And WHEW, did I need that win! The IV had been a stubborn insert but with a bit of struggle-maneuvering had gone in and set well on the first painful try. I settled quickly and got lost in my Dennis Parker CD as Enz got busy with the non-stop work phone calls he had to deal with. The drip rate was kept at the slower rate and the nurses marked it in my file to be kept that way, so I had no nausea moments or even  hint of headache! I only had two more days to finish up the first treatment round and then it was to be a... four weeks of break, two days of treatment routine ...on repeat for the following six months. I knew I could totally handle that, especially since we had comfortable treatment drippage rate figured out! Each treatment was taking three hours to get through which was tiring and not exactly a grand time BUT was getting easier to deal with as the days went on so all was well. The two days of treatments every four weeks will be a little bit longer ones because the doses are set to be a little larger but I had grand hopes, while leaving after my third treatment, that smooth sailing would only continue as time would go.

I wasn’t so comfortable walking out with another IV in my hand but at least it was on my right Stix side which doesn’t require as much weight-bearing for stability help as my left side does. Still, I couldn’t make it very far, very quickly and ultimately, Enz got frustrated and just went on ahead telling me he would pick me up at the front door; I figured his patience was running it’s course after three days of long treatments, even though he was getting a lot of uninterrupted work done while sitting with me. It was actually a little hard on my heart to feel like I was having a ‘set-back week’, too. I had been working SO hard on practicing my walking and working my endurance back up,.. and I’d been doing reeaaally well with even getting confidently around in stores (even busy, crowded ones) with only one of my Stix so to be back using two during treatment week weighed on me. But I was so tired and wobbly, my hands were hurting from the IVs with the pressure on the handles and movement while walking that I needed the extra balance help in avoiding a fall. Extra burdened feelings I didn't need, though I did have to suck up the disappointment in myself and tell myself that it would all be okay again soon... and maybe even better.

Day Four of IVIG found me I with my hopes set on a super easy treatment day and it actually started out quite promising...... A man named Garfield was called back a few minutes before the nurse came to bring me back to the treatment room. I was over-the-moon-tickled-to-bits-elated at just hearing his super cool name and found myself momentarily lost for words as he quickly hopped up and wandered back. I was so beyond bummed that I wouldn’t be able to tell him how absolutely fantastical I thought his name was... which I told to Enz who just rolled his eyes and told me I’m ridiculous... BUT seri’sly.... never, In my life, have I ever met anybody named Garfield! And then, after only a couple of minutes, Garfield was sauntering back through the waiting area on his way out! “Cooooolest name... EVER!!!!!” I piped up loudly in my glee as he neared me and i was just SO seriously excited to be able to tell him I thought so. He just brightened right up and thanked me with an honest, eye sparkling chuckle of surprise... totally made my day and I just knew it was a sign that it was going to be an awesome treatment visit!😊

I was wrong.

Things had started out okay, I was once again pulled into the struggled healings my hero Dennis Parker so graciously shares, but after about 20 minutes I started having some serious pain as my vein, like on the second day, started to fight against the treatment. It started cramping and my whole hand started throbbing... conversation with Enz had followed like this.....

“Ohhh, it’s starting to hurt like last time...”

“Should I get the nurse?”

“Maybe it’ll stop...  I think it might be stopping a little, act’lly.....”

“Are you sure?”

“No... it’s getting worse... but I don’t want them to think I’m being annoying.”

“I’ll get the nurse!”

“Okay, but just look out the door, don’t bother them so... *hyperventilating tears as the throbbing, cramping pain shoots through the vein up my arm feeling like it might burst* ...so they won’t hate me.”

“Okay, I’ll just wait here until some...”

“GET SOMEONNNNNNNE!!!!!”

And boy did he run! It’s actually suuuuuper funny now that it isn’t feeling like my arm is about to explode with searing pain.

Anyhow, the treatment had to be paused, the IV had to changed to a new site, I came dangerously close to puking from the pain which left Enz ready to bolt again each time my eyes even dropped toward the puke bowl they had ready for me and I had to dry my tears of disappointment in myself for holding up treatment and being a pain. The nurses both assured me I had not done anything to cause upset and that it was all okay so that really helped me feel better. The. They propper’n’wrapped my arm and hand all cozily up in heated blankies to help keep the treatment receiving site comfortably happy in hopes that it wouldn’t start to rebel again. Hooray for caring nurses who help us through rough spots!

I was so grateful to know I only had one more day for the first round... and that last day was going to be a good one, I just knew it..... mostly because I don’t really think it could have gotten any worse at that point. An adventure of a week, treatment week was sure proving.

Day Five of IVIG well, WooHooooooo... treatment week ended on a good note!!! The IV remained comfortably in from the switch up during the prior days treatment awfulness and I had not even a tinge of pain throughout infusion time which was a HUGE relief since my tummy had been in knots of dread since leaving the hospital that last time. The nurse propped my arm up on one warm blankie and wrapped another around my arm and hand to help keep it cozy and comfortable like they had the day before and it really seemed to help so I will remember that helpful tidbit for the next round. Dennis Parker kept me inspired and grounded through the long and tiring hours and I was SO beyond grateful that the long treatment week had ended on a comfortable note so I wouldn’t be angsting over having to go back the next month for another treatment round. It was certainly a much rougher week than I had expected but we made it through and I am incredibly GRATEFUL... for the treatments finally happening and for all of my friends and family who helped me get through with so much caring and encouragement! I especially want to say a MASSIVE thank you to all the selflessly incredible Blood-Donors who are beeeeeyond awesomeness and I am beeeeeeeeeyond grateful for!!!

Okay... so I know I promised more on the Dennis Parker CD front but that’s going to take a whole post in itself. I do promise to share the awesomeness very, VERY soon

The day I almost said goodbye...

I’ve tried to move on through without complaint, without self-pity because I know there has be meaning I’m supposed to find through this journey of awfulness I’ve been on. God must be trying to teach me something big, I know it... I just don’t understand it. The fact that I’ve worked so hard on keeping a cool lid on things throughout this whole Guillain-Barré Syndrome ordeal doesn’t mean that I don’t hurt or that I haven’t struggled. I struggle. I struggle greatly. It’s so hard to live with the constant fear of all that’s happened and not knowing, for absolute certain that it really might just all be okay again someday.

But there was one afternoon.

One deliciously yet shamefully inviting afternoon that found me.

It was five months after the GBS had hit me with the  paralysis. I still couldn’t walk fully on my own and was still too proud to be seen outside with the walker... but, it was before I had developed the pneumonia that relapsed me back to wheelchair need but walker acceptance and so I had been healing well at that point and could handle flat ground on my own. I was still crawling on my hands and knees to get up and down stairs and Enz had to physically be my ‘walker’ whenever we met with even the slightest incline to maneuver; like a baby being led for first steps... for a baby it’s pretty exciting, for me it was beyond devastating which is why, at that point, I would only be outside at camp where no one could see me. Anyhow, this was the day.

When all the struggle could have eased...

The water moved furiously. White capped waves of swirling power crashing at me from either side of my small kayak in its clear-fighted effort to go to its own currents calling despite my being in its path. The wildly churning Lake Superior water held no cognizant cause to harm me but was merely fulfilling its own pure purpose in moving according to its nature. I knew this even as the first slight pang of panic had hit me, that instant in which I had realized I was on the cusp of survival. The moment of choice had finally and demandingly found me. What had begun as a seemingly simple test of whether or not my body was able to reclaim a life of being once again physically strong had, in a snap, turned into which of the wills of my heart would prove stronger; to live or to let go.

The sun was brilliantly shining and warm on my face even as the heavy winds and splashing cold water chilled my arms. I had been pulled farther out into the open water from shore than I had planned to go, pulled hard by arguing currents and cresting waves. My kayak was being pushed sideways one way and pulled back the other as I fought to keep balance each time my tiny craft was violently forced upward before threatening to capsize... but ultimately choosing not to. The melding point of the two currents had pulled me out in a line SO strong, a line I couldn’t paddle away from.

I was suddenly overcome with the horror of knowing I was actually in a life or death danger. But directly following and just as suddenly as the horror had pitted my stomach in fear, I was overtaken with a relief so beautifully welcomed, so comforting that I just simply stopped. I stopped, I lifted my oar from the water and held it firmly across the cockpit edge atop my half sundress-covered thighs. Yep, I was wearing a sundress, I wasn’t even dressed properly for getting out on the water in a kayak. I sat still and I debated my options. I could call out for help, I had my safety whistle but that would be embarrassing and likely involve a lecture or two from whoever might answer my call. I could try to paddle my way to the opposite point where the water seemed most intent on pulling me and wait until the water calmed to attempt my way back across. Or, I could just stay stopped and wait for the saving wave that would finally force me beneath the surface where I knew everything would be better, everything would be over. And as I debated my options I had gently reached one hand up to release my life vest buckles in anticipation of what I already leaned more toward in my choosing.

And then I glanced back toward camp. And there stood Enz. I couldn’t see his face, I was so far out, but I could see the concern in his stance. So, I took a few sweep strokes, for his sake, to make it look like I was actually attempting to turn back. I didn’t want for him to know how glad I was for this opportunity to make both of our lives better, mine by washing it away in the water and his by unburdening it. Now, knowing Enz was worriedly watching, I had even more to debate. Sure, I might get away with not having to face another tomorrow with a broken body... but Enz doesn’t know how to swim, at all. And if Enz thought I was in real true trouble he would, without hesitation, rush into the water to try to come after me. I still couldn’t make myself decide. I still questioned, even in my sudden calmness through torrentially dangerous circumstance, my worth of existence as damaged.

It was then when I felt the hands.

I felt, I tangibly felt, hands that I couldn’t see wrapping securely over my own, I felt the incredible pressure enclosing around my hands to tightly lock my grip onto the oar as the blade suddenly dug down and HARD into a carving eddy style turn, slicing into the oncoming current which forced my kayak to instantly spin back toward the shoreline. The bow lifted to skip over the attacking wave as my body, within the forced turn, dipped dangerously close to falling out as the kayak turned on-edge though the fury. My legs were not capable of bracing to keep me seated in that rush but something did keep me seated and dry. I don’t know who guided my hands or even why I allowed my body to be so forcefully led in my trust of the help that had been offered me, but I did and I felt the beginnings of regret almost instantly. I regretted paddling back to shore. I regretted still being alive. I regretted the struggle that would continue. Still, I paddled toward home and it wasn’t until I reached Enz that I felt the hands upon mine loosen their grip and let go their lead. Once I had arrived back safely to shore where Enz had waded in to grab hold of the bow, pulling me further in before helping me awkwardly out.

“Whew! That was scary!!” I blurted out breathlessly.

But I was lying. It hadn’t been scary, at all. In fact, it had been maybe THE most hopeful of moments I had ever before known. My hope of letting go had been pure in its want... but the selfishness of that hope had not been strong enough to ignore the invisible hands that had guided mine through those fierce currents of roiling swells lifting and threatening to take me to the sweet, cold darkness below.

Whose hands had held and led mine in absolute surety? Were they God’s hands? An Angel’s hands? My dad’s hands? I don’t know. I may never know whose hands so capably, so comfortingly led me home but in heeding those hands as they guided me, I learned what it means to truly and wholeheartedly trust. And maybe, just maybe, having found trust in what I couldn’t see... maybe I could finally start looking for some trust in what I could see. 

In retrospect, I should probably have listened to the fact that my body was still not capable of walking without help when it came to making my decision to take my kayak out that afternoon. And I certainly should never have gone solo in a boat I couldn’t physically launch or even sit into without help. And I most certainly should never have chanced the crashing waves I knew were too rough to even dare attempt had my body been at full capability. I hadn’t left shore with a death wish; I had never even entertained the slightest thought of suicide. But when there had come to me an easy opportunity of dying that I didn’t have to plan, that I didn’t have to put into physical action, that I wouldn’t have to explain if I failed in attempt of... well, that made for a pretty inviting introduction to what I suddenly understood as the gift of death.

I’ve never talked about what happened on the lake that day with a single other soul. Those were moments of shame in weakness that I never wanted to, and still don’t want to have to admit to anyone, not even my own self, but those moments are also part of who I am and denying them isn’t doing me any favour. It might just actually help me move forward through sharing honestly and even better than selfishly helping myself, it might just help somebody else who might be at a ‘should I just let go or should I keep going’ decision moment of their own.

So, why have I now just shared my most shame-filled moment of weakness?

Well... because sometimes, as I’m learning now, it’s only weakness that can offer strength. See, I had an appointment yesterday afternoon with my Neurologist and I had been dreading it for weeks. I didn’t want to go. I had been angsting over even just knowing appointment time was approaching. I couldn’t focus on anything during the days leading up and I couldn’t sleep during the long, worriesome nights. I just knew it was going to be another appointment of wasted time. I just knew that all I was going to hear from the doctor would be the usual, “...you’ve improved so much over the past months... ...this is something that just takes a looooong time to come back from... ...you’re still moving forward and that still points hopeful toward a full recovery... ...patience, it can easily take seven to ten years for the nerves to fully redevelop...” I had resigned myself to going and had prepared my heart for yet another patience pep talk.

I had gone into that appointment yesterday already dreading an outcome that didn’t happen. I went into the Neurologists office with every intention of focusing my six month update on all the positives... all the strength and ability that’s been slowly finding it’s way back into my body. And I started out just exactly as I had prepared myself the instant she asked how things had been going over the past months. I started out strong in excitedly sharing all the basic physio exercises I can do quite confidently again, things like standing leg squats without holding onto the bed for dear life, leg lifts, breaststroke leg kicks when swimming, all things that I couldn’t do just a little while ago. And other things like getting feeling back and how excited I had been a few weeks ago when I had burned myself because I had felt and known instantly that I had burned myself when at my last check-up I still could only feel severe pain from temperature sensation but I couldn’t tell whether it had been hot or cold that had caused me pain. All really great things to share with my doctor. But then things changed. And my fear let loose, even thpugh I tried to hold it back. Something inside of me just screamed out and I couldn’t stop the complaints that I usually work so hard at keeping back...

“I’m so much stronger again,” I said, “I feel like I’m sooooo close to walking on my own again... (this is the point where I lost all control and the tears started streaming as I somehow continued to choke out the words I couldn’t believe I was even admitting to) ...but I’m hitting a point of panicked that it’s just never gonna get any better than this. It’s so hard... I just want to be able to carry a mug of coffee into the living room without having to use a sippy cup or ask for help... I just want to not be so tired because I have to concentrate so hard on making every step work in fighting the wobbliness that still takes me over. I’m just really getting to a panic and I don’t know what else to do because I work so hard every day on all my physio work, I’m so careful about my diet and eating healthy to help my body get strong again but everything just still feels disconnected..... and it’s....... just really... scary. And I’m just so scared that every time I ever leave the safe zone of home, I’m gonna be stuck with this dumb Stix for the rest of my whole dumb life.....” 

Both my Neurologist and the Resident working alongside her listened with caring as I poured out the struggles and fears of this forever-feeling healing journey. And then after I had collected myself again, my doctor told me that I will get better and that the fact that I have improved so much over even just this past year alone points to the healing end being in sight. Even as she assured me of the finish line in very distant sights, all I could feel was my heart sinking and even there in her office I chastised myself for not sinking into the lake four years ago when I had found myself with the perfect chance. And then she told me something that I could never have guessed was coming. “We were going over your case before we brought you in and I’m wondering if a full course of IVIG treatments won’t help boost you through this last bit to healthy again... let’s talk about it.” I was so shocked at her words that I just about fell off the chair I was sitting in! “You should have had IVIG treatments straight away when the paralysis hit, we know that... but it’s not too late, we can still do it. And with the steady progress you’re now making, this may just help your body to connect again. There are certain windows we can begin treatment at, the first was missed but we have another now, winter’s coming and if we can get you moving safer before it hits hard, that’s going to be a really big deal. I feel it’s worth a try to see if it’ll help at this point.”

And suddenly, it all came together... Just like when I was in my kayak and I’d had to let go in order to be led home through those dangerous waves, I’d also had to let go all my walls built ‘round my struggles in order to be led to the help that has again opened for me.sometimes it’s all just about simply letting go and allowing ourselves to be led, as terrifying as it is to open our hearts in asking for help.

I’ll admit it, I now scared for new reasons. IVIG is not an easy treatment, from what I’ve heard. I’m praying it will be a breeze but even if it proves to be yet another struggle, I’m going to do my best to get through it all with nothing but a grateful heart. Thankfully, my treatment starts on Monday so I don’t have a whole lot of time to stew over not knowing what to expect and all I know for now is that it’s quite intense and the first two rounds of the course are given daily for five days... Enz has promised to get me to each appointment no matter of his busy work schedule (without being snarky about having to take time away from his office) so hopefully, I won’t have to angst over getting to the hospital each day, either. I’m hopeful it will all prove an easy go but like I always say... it’ll work out or it won’t.

Gatherings...

I love mugs! I love THIS mug...

.....but I had an awful time with actually letting myself buy this mug.

Gather.

I saw the black’n’white plaid mug and I beelined for the store shelf it sat on in wait for MEEEEE, I just knew it! The perfect plaid mug, I needed in my life... but the Gather printed on it, I felt a might intimidated by. In the end I had decided that the Gather could make at least a little bit of sense for me since I did find myself wanting to be immediately gathered up in the plaidly glad comfort that coffee in this mug of coziness  was promising to offer. I still felt guilty over the lack of actual GatherI have in my life but when I found another matching mug hidden away behind a picture frame on a shelf on the other side of the store it made more sense that I could Gather two of these demandingly beautiful mugs in the cupboard at home..... so I bought them and made peace with the Gather on each because there were two.

It took me a few days, after bringing them home, to actually let myself use one of my new and frustratingly intimidating Gather mugs... I think I just Gathered that they were better off Gathering on their own than with someone like me who has not a Gather. I spent my first coffee time with my new apologetically shaming but still surprisingly beloved and beautifully plaid mug... making certain that the Gather stayed turned from my view and all of the mug I could see was just plain ol’ plaid. I was just grateful that the Gather was only printed on ONE side.

But it still bugged and gnawed at me that I was holding a mug what was tryin’ta tell me what to do. And WHYYYYYwould it be so mean in telling me to ‘Gather’ what I just don’t have to gather??!!!

So, back up on the shelf the mug went, beside its Gather match... both Gather’s facing the back of the cupboard so I didn’t have to see either each time I opened the door for a mug that definitely wasn’t going to be either one of them!

I was seriously mad at those hurtful mugs, as ridiculous as that sounds

Because this is generally my life...

...just me at the table with my quiet comforts.

See, Enz is not a ‘family kind’ of person so family dinners at the table just aren’t his thing like they are mine. It’s important to me to have meals at the table like (in my own personal hearts belief) a family should. But when Enz gets home from work he wants to come inside, not be bothered, go through his mail, check his messages, send his texts, make his phone calls and then he likes to take his plate of dinner into the living room so he can eat in front of the television. I always set two places at either the table or island but it’s almost always just me sitting there, unless it’s summertime when screened room dinners are necessary thanks to the house being too hot without air conditioning. And honestly, it’s actually not even a big deal because he’s only very rarely home by dinnertime and I gave up on waiting to have dinner well over twenty years ago because with two hours between his work day end and our dinner time, he has WAY more than enough time to get home for dinner if he wants to.

And so it’s remained pretty consistent throughout the years... just me at this table with my quiet comforts.

But then one morning, I realized  something... something BIG.

It wasn’t JUST me at this table.

And I remember that day well’n’clearly and with a gratitude I can’t even begin to convey through words. I was sitting at the table with my plain blue coffee mug in hand, just about to take my first sip while, at the same time, reaching first for my puzzle book and knowing that not long after I would be reaching for my Bible and my notebook... and that’s the moment when Gather finally found me the peaceful I’d been missing out on.

I sure DO Gather!

All these years of breakfast and lunch and dinner sitting alone at this table, or at the screened room table or at the kitchen island... spent seemingly on my own..... never really were, I finally realized as I looked around at my little breakfast Gathering of comforts laid out on the table before me. I’ve actually always Gathered!

I GATHER... My beliefs. My blessings. My thoughts. My regrets. My anxieties. My joys. My worries. My hopes. My memories. My bright-sides. My words. My disappointments. My goals. My flaws. My interests. My hurts. My wonderings. My mistakes. My dreams. My fears. My understandings. My humiliations. My thankfuls. My challenges. My faults. My curiosity. My Prayers..... and the list just continues on.......

I had finally realized that alone time doesn’t have to be lonesome, even if there is way too much of it. Perspective... when it came to the Gather mugs, mine had just needed a little adjustment.

And so, in the moment after having finally found peace with my own quiet way of Gather, I just HAD to do it... I got up from the table, carefully carried my still steaming hot and not quite full (but as full as I can handle carrying these days without spilling) light blue coffee mug over to the counter, pulled one of the Gather mugs down from the cupboard and did a switch-pour of coffee to match the switch-pour of my perspective.

Now, I know there are probably many who might say to me, like Enz actually did say to me, with great emphatic frustration... “GILLIANNNNN!!! It’s JUST a fuckin’ COFFEE CUP!!!!! Who cares what it says on it?!! If you like it, for crying out loud just USE it!!!”and in a way that’s probably a fair suggestion. I mean, “.....but words will never hurt me.” Right?? But sometimes words do hurt, and they hurt in different ways than can be expected. Even a simple word like Gather which I’m sure, in this instance, was meant to be comforting but instead stung with loneliness. But it only stung with loneliness until I finally realized it’s just not true.

 I want to know... Do you have moments of great personal conflict over even the slightest misunderstanding? People often tell me I’m too sensitive and that I take even slight upsets way too personally but I don’t think that’s true. I think that I’m just always looking deeper, trying to find true and absolute connection in life and that includes the tiny things as well as the big things. I know I’m not alone when it comes to finding grand meaning in even the tiniest noticings.