Posted by racheebabe / Sunday, September 20, 2015 / No comments / God , Inspirational , slide , Spiritual Thoughts , Sunday Thoughts
The Windows of LIfe
A PICC line is a line that is inserted into your arm that runs up into your heart. It is a long
term solution for people who need stuff pumped into them. You will most often see it in chemotherapy patients. It is only used when truly necessary because it is an open line to your heart, which comes with significant risks of infection. When I had my PICC line inserted my heart started going crazy. I felt it beating oddly and racing like an Olympian who was being constantly tripped. They quickly did an x-ray to see that the line was in too far and was irritating a valve. They pulled it back slightly and after one more night in the hospital I was released to home health care where a nurse would come to my home to take care of me.
I would become a prisoner in my own home.
Being tethered to an IV pole 24 hours a day is a challenge. I was taught to run my own IV, change my bags, inject medications, and flush my line to avoid clots. My 2 year old son would stand on the IV pole and role around the house with me the few times I was able to get up and move. I was on multiple anti-nausea drugs to help control the vomiting, but they also made me sleep 18 to 20 hours a day. I took them religiously. Even with the medications and nothing in my stomach, I still ended up with fits of dry heaving.
My son had his second birthday during all of this. My mom took care of all the celebration for him. They woke me up for presents and to watch him eat cake. It was so exhausting I went back to sleep as soon as they were done.
I don't remember my son turning two.
I couldn't bathe myself. The PICC line couldn't get wet and I was too weak. Once or twice a week I would sit in the tub while my husband bathed me like a child. I finally got a PICC line cover so that I could try showering for the first time in months. That shower was 5 years ago today.
It ended with me collapsing on the shower floor, vomiting uncontrollably.
During the few intermittent hours I was awake each day I would stare out the window, longing to be outside. The only times I escaped my medical imprisonment was to travel to the doctor once or twice a week. They arranged it so I wouldn't have to sit in the waiting room and could see the doctor immediately. As I would walk through the waiting room I could feel the stares of all the healthy pregnant women, impatiently waiting for their own appointments. I could feel their eyebrows furrow as they saw me wheel the IV pole, curiosity filling their minds. Their eyes would dart to my ever growing baby bump against my ever shrinking body. No one ever complained that I got to cut the line.
I think they thought I was dying.
I didn't know it yet. I didn't know I was dying, but I was about to find out. But that's a story for another day.
Being truly sick is a humbling experience.
It is like being a child again. You cannot eat without help, bathe yourself, drive anywhere, or even go to the bathroom by yourself. Your whole life becomes dependent on other people. The worst part is that your mind is still there. You become trapped, imprisoned inside a sickened body, longing to be freed from it.
Being truly sick changes you.
As I sat looking out the window each day, the only thing I could see was one tree and a fence. Occasionally I would spot a bird or two flying to or from the tree. Those birds were the excitement of my day. At the time, I cursed that window for keeping me in, yet at the same time, I treasured that I could even look out the window at all. I look out the window more often now. I appreciate a view. I can find beauty in almost any view. I position myself to face windows or doors in rooms, conferences, meetings, doctor's offices, restaurants or anywhere else I end up.
Windows allow you to see the world beyond your current circumstance.
It is so easy for us to get caught up in the here and now, but there is something far beyond that. There are plants and animals, growing and changing, blissfully unaware of the world around them. There are other people living their lives, moving throughout their days. There are so many people in this world, each with their own story. Suddenly it becomes a privilege to see them, to get a brief glimpse of their life as they pass you by. I appreciate a good window.
Windows into the soul are the best of them all.
Those rare moments in life where someone reveals their true self to you, those are the moments where you can look through the window into the soul. Vulnerability. Weakness. Heartache. Truth. Seeing through the window of a soul is a great gift. It is a treasured moment. Letting someone else see through the window into your own soul is scary, liberating, and sacred. What do we do with these precious windows? Do we appreciate them, guard them, treasure them? Do you seek them? My illness has allowed me to see into these soul windows with more clarity, more compassion, more empathy, more love. It has been a great gift to me.
And, oh, the windows of heaven!
Some of the most treasured moments of life are the glimpses I have gotten of heaven. These are the moments where you feel of God's love for yourself or another human being so strongly that it is as if the very windows of heaven itself have opened. These are moments that are both sought after intently and also given without restraint. Sometimes you feel that love God has for you, but it has been my experience that the vast majority of these windows are opened on behalf of others. Sometimes it is because they are, for whatever reason, unable to feel it themselves. The windows of heaven can be glimpsed in the goodness of others. When I look out into the world I see that it is absolutely filled and bursting with good people. I see myself seeking after the good, and finding it. I see it in children, adults, teenagers, the homeless, the rich, the even the inconspicuous. These are the moments when I glimpse into heaven, and see that it is real.
My illness has given me one of my most treasured gifts. It has shown me the great windows of life.
term solution for people who need stuff pumped into them. You will most often see it in chemotherapy patients. It is only used when truly necessary because it is an open line to your heart, which comes with significant risks of infection. When I had my PICC line inserted my heart started going crazy. I felt it beating oddly and racing like an Olympian who was being constantly tripped. They quickly did an x-ray to see that the line was in too far and was irritating a valve. They pulled it back slightly and after one more night in the hospital I was released to home health care where a nurse would come to my home to take care of me.
I would become a prisoner in my own home.
Being tethered to an IV pole 24 hours a day is a challenge. I was taught to run my own IV, change my bags, inject medications, and flush my line to avoid clots. My 2 year old son would stand on the IV pole and role around the house with me the few times I was able to get up and move. I was on multiple anti-nausea drugs to help control the vomiting, but they also made me sleep 18 to 20 hours a day. I took them religiously. Even with the medications and nothing in my stomach, I still ended up with fits of dry heaving.
My son had his second birthday during all of this. My mom took care of all the celebration for him. They woke me up for presents and to watch him eat cake. It was so exhausting I went back to sleep as soon as they were done.
I don't remember my son turning two.
I couldn't bathe myself. The PICC line couldn't get wet and I was too weak. Once or twice a week I would sit in the tub while my husband bathed me like a child. I finally got a PICC line cover so that I could try showering for the first time in months. That shower was 5 years ago today.
It ended with me collapsing on the shower floor, vomiting uncontrollably.
During the few intermittent hours I was awake each day I would stare out the window, longing to be outside. The only times I escaped my medical imprisonment was to travel to the doctor once or twice a week. They arranged it so I wouldn't have to sit in the waiting room and could see the doctor immediately. As I would walk through the waiting room I could feel the stares of all the healthy pregnant women, impatiently waiting for their own appointments. I could feel their eyebrows furrow as they saw me wheel the IV pole, curiosity filling their minds. Their eyes would dart to my ever growing baby bump against my ever shrinking body. No one ever complained that I got to cut the line.
I think they thought I was dying.
I didn't know it yet. I didn't know I was dying, but I was about to find out. But that's a story for another day.
Being truly sick is a humbling experience.
It is like being a child again. You cannot eat without help, bathe yourself, drive anywhere, or even go to the bathroom by yourself. Your whole life becomes dependent on other people. The worst part is that your mind is still there. You become trapped, imprisoned inside a sickened body, longing to be freed from it.
Being truly sick changes you.
As I sat looking out the window each day, the only thing I could see was one tree and a fence. Occasionally I would spot a bird or two flying to or from the tree. Those birds were the excitement of my day. At the time, I cursed that window for keeping me in, yet at the same time, I treasured that I could even look out the window at all. I look out the window more often now. I appreciate a view. I can find beauty in almost any view. I position myself to face windows or doors in rooms, conferences, meetings, doctor's offices, restaurants or anywhere else I end up.
Windows allow you to see the world beyond your current circumstance.
It is so easy for us to get caught up in the here and now, but there is something far beyond that. There are plants and animals, growing and changing, blissfully unaware of the world around them. There are other people living their lives, moving throughout their days. There are so many people in this world, each with their own story. Suddenly it becomes a privilege to see them, to get a brief glimpse of their life as they pass you by. I appreciate a good window.
Windows into the soul are the best of them all.
Those rare moments in life where someone reveals their true self to you, those are the moments where you can look through the window into the soul. Vulnerability. Weakness. Heartache. Truth. Seeing through the window of a soul is a great gift. It is a treasured moment. Letting someone else see through the window into your own soul is scary, liberating, and sacred. What do we do with these precious windows? Do we appreciate them, guard them, treasure them? Do you seek them? My illness has allowed me to see into these soul windows with more clarity, more compassion, more empathy, more love. It has been a great gift to me.
And, oh, the windows of heaven!
Some of the most treasured moments of life are the glimpses I have gotten of heaven. These are the moments where you feel of God's love for yourself or another human being so strongly that it is as if the very windows of heaven itself have opened. These are moments that are both sought after intently and also given without restraint. Sometimes you feel that love God has for you, but it has been my experience that the vast majority of these windows are opened on behalf of others. Sometimes it is because they are, for whatever reason, unable to feel it themselves. The windows of heaven can be glimpsed in the goodness of others. When I look out into the world I see that it is absolutely filled and bursting with good people. I see myself seeking after the good, and finding it. I see it in children, adults, teenagers, the homeless, the rich, the even the inconspicuous. These are the moments when I glimpse into heaven, and see that it is real.
My illness has given me one of my most treasured gifts. It has shown me the great windows of life.
Have you seen them?
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