I remember, years ago, being invited to a house in the Colorado foothills. As we drove up the driveway, my impressions were all negative. There were spindly little trees, and dirt, and the house itself was nondescript. Entering the home, it had a shabby, run-down feel and everything was brown. I wondered how these people could stand to live here. Then, I was invited out onto the deck. The back deck of the house overhung a small cliff, and from it I could see the entire city of Denver, and miles and miles out onto the eastern plains. The view was extravagant, breath taking, and completely unexpected, and I felt my perspective shift. I now understood exactly why they wanted to live here.
A similar thing can happen when we choose to manage our thoughts and our speech, instead of allowing words to run rampant through our mind, unchecked. Words did not help me survive my cancer, but they dictated how I was to survive – with grace and joy, or with regret and bitterness.
When I received my first dose of chemo, everything went wrong. I spiked a fever, and the chemotherapy decimated my white blood cell count, which meant my immune system was non-functioning. I was hospitalized – the fourth time in two months. This was my second infection, and I was placed on I.V. antibiotics, and put in isolation. The level of physical agony I was experiencing was extreme – more intense than anything I had ever felt. And as I lay there alone in that hospital bed, these words came unbidden into my mind. “This is how it feels to die.”
We have the power to choose life or choose death. That may sound extreme, but every choice we make either leads us toward abundance, and life, or away from it. So, in my total misery, I said, “Today, I choose life.” I drug my thoughts forcibly away from death, and into a place of thanksgiving, thereby changing my whole perspective.
I live in the age of modern medicine, and the antibiotics are doing what my immune system can’t.
Thank you.
If my immune system had crashed while I still had a staph infection, I’d be in I.C.U., clinging to life, instead of here in this bed with the ability to fight. Thank you.
In spite of the brutality of the treatments, they will ultimately save my life. Thank you.
I have a husband who loves me, not in spite of my scars, but because of them. They serve as precious reminders to him of what was almost lost, and he never takes me for granted.
Thank you.
I have people around me, to love and care for my children when I am unable to be there.
Thank you.
I chose to live that day. I chose to turn from anger, death, misery and suffering, and looked instead at thanksgiving, life, strength and victory. We can all make these choices, every single day. Where are you looking, today? Where are your thoughts taking you? Today – choose life.
LaRae,
ReplyDeleteI sometimes have the habit of browsing blogs with similar connections out of my own profile. In this case, I was browsing bloggers who have identified Colorado as their location. When doing this, there are generally about 10 profiles per page. Your profile come up somewhere around the 231-240 area and two things prompted me to dig a little deeper. One, your picture. Now I'm a 65 year old diabetic with a paralyzed vocal cord with bad hearing and an amazing wife whom I love very much, so I'm not hitting on you or anything. Your name also prompted my interest. Your blog name made me want to look a little closer and see what LaRae had to say.
I think what struck me deeply was the list of Thank you's near the bottom of Thursday's entry.
In 1995 I experienced acute pancreatitis. I spent many days in ICU and over eight months I had five major operations. Technically, during two of those operations I had died on the table. Of course I had no idea. I was so drugged up and out of it just waking up to anything was amazing. But while lying in that ICU bed with tubes running in and tubes running out and some of them with drugs to help keep the pain away, strange things happen between your ears. You have eloquently expressed some of them in your blog. I would have to practice a little bit to find such words. I believe I've experienced some conversations that defy explanation. Who really knows why you chose the path that you did? Some may argue that you chose the harder more difficult path and not the easy one. Others will argue the other way. I'm proud of you to have chosen this path because it's the same path I chose. What a pain in the butt, but I'm loving every minute of it. During my eight months in the hospital there were 7 other patients with the same affliction I had. The youngest was 23 and the oldest was 67. ALL of them died. So I'm sure we have shared the same or at the least, many similar questions during those times. We more than likely have experienced different answers as well. But one of the key answers was "Life". Good for you and I'm betting the world is a much better place for it.
Thank you for the "Thank you's".
Thank you so much for sharing your story with me - and thank you for taking the time to read my post and connect with me. I with you the best.
ReplyDelete