“Just hang in till after the move,” I kept pleading with my body. Unrealistic in hindsight. Six o’clock, the morning before the move, I wake Ric with a request to drive me to the hospital. Turns out you can’t just pack chronic illness in a box and unpack it when convenient.
While they pumped fluids into me and awaited the results of testing, Ric decided to carry on with his to do list, pushing his own limits. He ended up in ER too. Guess it was a two-for-one day. Or a three-for week, as our son, who came to help us, ending up needing stitches when the heavy base he was carrying jumped back and punched him.
I read once (think it was Caroline Myss) that obstacles are the universe’s way of letting you know you are on the right track. We carry on; he with a broken foot and me fuelled by antibiotics. Guess this is the right path!
Oh, and did I mention, I am scheduled for surgery next week (minor), and he is booked for a total knee reconstruct at the end of the month?
Stuff happens to all of us. Let’s let that be the focus this week: not how rotten life can be, but how despite the bad, we pick ourselves up and keep going. You know: the everyday miracles.
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