In March, I wrote about the struggle I was having with pneumonia and asthma and how I was going to have to see a pulmonary specialist. My appointment with the specialist wasn’t supposed to be until mid-May, but that changed this past week. I’d been having new and troubling symptoms and struggling to breathe more than I ever had. Monty called the specialist on Friday morning, told the nurse what was happening, and we were told to come in that afternoon.
So we drove the two and a half hours from our town to the hospital. The specialist looked at the images of the CT scan I’d had done in March. His voice and the images he showed me began to fade and blur as I listened. Certain words and phrases stood out, as if spoken in bold font: bronchitis, pneumonia, severely underdeveloped lungs, scarring, significant damage to the air sacs. He prescribed a massive dose of steroids, stronger inhalers, and told me to rest as much as possible and stay quiet to let my lungs heal from the bronchitis and pneumonia. He said it would probably take months to fully recover, then ended with this cheery statement, “You might need a transplant in twenty or thirty years, but that’s not something to worry about right now.”
I wanted to say, “Really? Well, if you say so, I will definitely NOT worry about that because you’ve given me so many other wonderful things to think about.” Monty and I left and drove home. As the miles passed, I kept hearing the doctor’s words. And I felt myself begin to panic. Normally, I turn to Monty when I panic and need to see the flip side of a bad situation. But this time, I wanted to find the silver linings for myself, if there were any. And after much reflection, I thought about what I wrote in my last blog post—about Ernest Hemingway’s advice for writers to write the truest sentence they know. Here’s the truest sentence I know at this moment: I am so grateful. Because there are so many silver linings in this situation:
I had a difficult diagnosis . . . and I am so grateful. Sitting in the cardiopulmonary unit of the hospital gave me a rude awakening about my health. Several people I saw were walking nearly bent over, trying to haul their oxygen tanks behind them. One woman about my age was there for a checkup for lung cancer; she had a scarf on her head and was painfully thin. And almost all the others were wheelchair-bound, their faces pale as they struggled to move their chairs to the check-in desk. How dare I feel sorry for myself in the face of such suffering and pain?
I’ve been told to rest and try to stay as quiet as possible . . . and I am so grateful. I will miss my niece’s graduation from high school in Nebraska. I won’t be able to go to my recovery meetings for a while. Monty and I were planning some trips for early summer, and they won’t happen. But there are still so many things that I can do quietly, while I’m resting. I’ve been given a grace period—a rare time of rest and reflection. I can talk to God all day long in my head. I can read as much as I want to; Monty gave me carte blanche to stock up on books, saying they were my “medicine.” I can embroider while I watch “I Love Lucy.” I can read poetry to my heart’s content—my soul can sing, even if I can’t. I can write. And I can look forward to summer. That specialist doesn’t know it yet, but I fully intend to be outside when summer comes—resting and quiet, but with sunshine on my shoulders.
The specialist told me I was in for a fight . . . and I am so grateful. When he said that magic word, “fight,” I could almost hear the theme from the Rocky movies as I pictured my opponent in the ring. And I realized that my opponent isn’t really this illness. It’s the self-pity that I gravitate towards—the depression, the “why me?” Not this time. I will fight for my recovery from this illness. But I’m determined even more so to fight for the beautiful in this situation—to prove to myself that it’s possible to find beauty and fulfillment even in the middle of pain and sickness. I might be in pain from the elephant that seems to have taken up permanent residence on my chest. 
But always there is my sweet Seamus, sitting or lying with me. I might be coughing, but I can sprawl across the couch with my boys and watch Dr. Phil with no guilt. And when every single breath takes nearly all of my strength, and I think I cannot possibly struggle for one more minute, I can text my mom. She emails me verses that she has found just for me—she writes me entire Bible studies that have become some of the most precious treasures I own. I’ve also rediscovered the beauty of friendships—friends who bring meals to us, friends who take the time to reach out and show their love to me in very specific ways, and friends who are devoted prayer warriors—even one who has appointed himself the General of my prayer army. My sisters and brother have checked in on me, not just daily, but sometimes hourly. How could I not be grateful for all of that beauty?
I wheeze with every breath I take . . . and I am so grateful. Because the sound I make brings about comments like this from Monty and my family:
“Why do I hear kittens?”
“Was that the six o’clock whistle?”
“Does anyone else hear bagpipes?”
“Who’s playing the harmonica?”
Even I forget that the noise is coming from me. I woke Monty up the other night and told him that I heard a bat. He stared at me for a minute, listened, and said, “That’s not a bat. It’s you.”
Monty takes care of me . . . and I am so grateful. I am absent-minded, and I rarely think pragmatically. Monty, on the other hand, thinks from an engineer’s perspective; he loves to solve problems. (we’re a match made in heaven, really; he’s a problem solver, and I’m riddled with problems. God gave Monty a lifetime hobby when He brought the two of us together.) As soon as we got home from the appointment with the specialist, Monty made me a spreadsheet with all of my medications and when to take them. He makes me cup after cup of tea to soothe my throat. He’s also quite helpful in enforcing the specialist’s rules. 
He walked into the room yesterday when “Tricky” by Run DMC came on, on our playlist. This song is a dance favorite of mine, and I may have been dancing a bit when he walked in. He looked at me and said, “Do you think that’s a wise thing for a person in your condition to be doing?” My answer: “I was only dancing with my arms. From the couch.” He said, “No more Run DMC until you can listen to it and sit still. And before you ask, no, you can’t rap with it, either.” He made an index card that says, “Ssshhhh! Doctor’s orders.” And he holds it up whenever he thinks I’m not being quiet enough. If I weren’t sick, I would find this irritating and would make an index card of my own to hold up in rebuttal. But for now, I find it funny. And I’m reminded yet again how very blessed I am to have a man like Monty.
I will be so grateful when God lifts my burden of weariness and enables me to walk, run, and soar. I’ve quoted this verse many times before: “They that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.” (Isaiah 40:31) All my life I’ve wanted to run but haven’t been able to because of asthma. I’m fascinated by marathons, by the strength and internal fortitude that the runners have. And I’ve thought, Someday, God, I’ll run. If that’s not until heaven, when I run into Your arms, I’ll still be so grateful. But I haven’t given up on my dream of running here on earth. I remain stubbornly hopeful. Nevertheless. No matter what. I believe with all my heart that someday I will run and not grow weary. I will fill my lungs with fresh air and not feel any pain. I will dance to every beat of Run DMC—and I know that Monty will dance with me. My silver-lined summer is coming. And I am so very, very grateful.
“Listen! The Lord, the Eternal, the Holy One of Israel says,
‘Eternal One: In returning and rest, you will be saved.
In quietness and trust you will find strength.’”
Isaiah 30:15
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Comments 18
My heart is aching for you, Renee. How I wish I could give you a hug–but that might make you tired anyhow. I have been praying for you and will keep on as you rest up and Get Better to that special healthy that God has planned for you. Embroidery is very restful and doesn’t involve arm waving. 🙂 I loved hearing “Here Comes the Sun” and seeing the sunflowers. I had never heard that song and didn’t even know it was a Beatles song for a long time. It was the theme song for a Japanese TV show we watched the year I was in Japan studying. The program was about a self-centered teenager who had to take care of his aging grandfather and how gradually they came to understand and love each other. It was a beautiful redemption show, and for me “Here Comes the Sun” will forever be associated with it and redemption and newness of life. So now I pray for you, newness of life. God hold you in the palm of his hand.
With love,
Aunt Gail
Thank you for such a beautiful comment, Aunt Gail. I would love a hug and wouldn’t care if it made me tired! I’m glad you liked “Here Comes the Sun”–for me, too, the song has always meant redemption and restoration. And hope. Thank you for your prayers and for the reminder me that God is, indeed, holding me in the palm of his hand. Love to you this afternoon.
Dear Renee,
I keep on praying for you daily and after reading this…just wow…you are such an inspiration! Brittany is going through some hard painful things right now with her hip –they’ve diagnosed it as femoral acetabular impingement (she was told not to google it) ; she is not going to be able to run for the next week which is her passion but she still hopes to run at districts to get to state. Many times she and I have cried in the last week; She has asked why of God a lot. I’m sending her directly to your blog this afternoon; She needs to do this exercise of yours to get a better lookout on all of it. You are a warrior and so is she…actually that’s her college’s mascot…which we think is pretty cool. Right after she accepted her intent to run there, she was questioning it and this song by Hannah Kerr called Warrior came on…If that isn’t a God thing, I don’t know what else is. The words have become her battle cry and as I read the lyrics again they remind me of you as well. I encourage you to listen to the song but I will write some of the lyrics here…you are a warrior and my hero!
Warrior
Staring down the face of fear
Got to keep breathing
When the negitive is all you hear
Got to keep believing
Cause in the darkness there is a light
Your truth it keeps on burning bright
Brave enough to fight the fight
Shout the battle cry
Chorus
You’ll never stop me
I’m a warrior
When I fall down
I get stronger
Faith is my shield
Your love is the armour
I’m a warrior
Every scar on my skin
is a beautiful reminder
Of a moment when I didn’t give in
And I walked through fire
I couldn’t love you more! I pray so much you will feel a bit better soon and I have lots of book titles I can suggest!
Love, Lisa
Lisa–wow. Just. . . wow. I haven’t ever heard that song, so I just listened to it. It’s beautiful and moving, and I am going to proclaim it as my new anthem. I certainly don’t feel like a warrior; I feel like my only choice is to fight, so that’s what I’m going to do. Brittany has been on my mind all week–I didn’t know why but prayed for her anyway. Now I know. You raised all four of your daughters to be warriors, like their mother, so I have every confidence that Brittany will rise up and run again. I like that in college, they call it an “intent to run.” Brittany has been intent on running for so long; I choose to believe with hope that she will. I can’t thank you enough for your words, your love, and your prayers. I love you, dear sister.
I love You and I’m taking breaths for you.
Author
I know. I love you too. ❤
Renee, so sad to hear about this asthma, I understand all those terrible systems, do what the doctor says, I think Monty will maker sure of that. I know people don’t understand how tired this stuff can make you, I know my wife doesn’t but have you got to rest as hard as it is. Tell Monty I really like the card idea, he gave me a couple of good ? ideas!
You are in my thoughts and prayers, stay tough and rest as hard as it is, I know you can do it, you are tough, look back at all the battles God has helped you win!
Grover
Grover–thank you. Yes, Monty will make sure of it; he’s thinking up new things to write on cards. . . You are so right about how tired this makes you. That has taken me by surprise; it’s nice to hear that you understand that, though I’m sorry you’ve experienced it, too. Thank you so very much for your prayers and for the encouragement. And thank you for the reminder to look back at the battles God has fought for me–I will.
This was worth waiting for!
I’m so sorry for what you’re going thru, but what an inspiration you are to me. You help me put my situation in perspective.
You are truly a gift from God!
Dear, dear Lora–I can’t thank you enough for such encouragement. I’m praying for you and love you so much. Thanks for being such a faithful reader.
Sparrow, you have so much love around you. Monty, your family, friends, your “Army”, As I read today’s Blog, Yiu saved The Best to last,”Here Comes The Sun Sun”., To me, this “sums it up”.Renee, in spite of the outlook given you, by your specialist, You arestill at the “top” of your game, attitude, sense of humor, Debbie and I are praying so hard for you. Not to “upstage you” butmy musical memory bank also adds a couple of wonderful tunes, “Lord, You gave me a Mountain”, Yes he has, But, Soarrow, Yiu will “soar above” that mountaintop. Yes, this summer Yiu will sit outside, with the “SunshineonYiur Shoulder”, underthatbeautiful Colorado sky. I could go on and on, don’t want to put You to sleep. My final tube, from the early ‘60’s, “Tower of Strength”, Yes, Renee you are. Great thoughtful Blog. Yiu are Blessed to have Monty, your family and “The Cats”. Blessings to you Renee and your family. ”,
Harold, thank you for such kind words. I’m trying to keep it all in perspective–and to me, this time, that meant “Here Comes the Sun.” I’m glad you liked it. Thank you for sharing music with me; I don’t know “Tower of Strength,” so I’ll look it up. And yes, I am so very blessed to have Monty, our boys, my family, and prayer warriors and friends like you. Thank you so very much for being an integral part of my healing.
We’re thinking of you during this process Renee – I wish we could reach out and give you a big hug and make everything all better! Rest!!
Thank you so very much, Uncle Brent. Your words are just the hug I needed tonight. Love to you and Lisa.
I am so glad you are so grateful, and alongside you I know you will see the silver lining– if it is not golden by now!
So much to be grateful for, so many loved ones stepping alongside you, a General warrior who will champion for you, others who will cheer on the sidelines, some who will send you that special gift of love to be bestowed upon you, a God who has been listening and holding you, your cats who are your constant companions and last but not least a Monty who will hold it all together when all else seems to fail.
God be praised as you share your sufferings and through it all , you are the avenue God uses to show others that He is always there, that as He helps you and delivers you, He will and promises to deliver others through you and your honest writing. Your trust in him will encourage others to trust Him and His word and be delivered as you are being delivered.
2 Corinthians 1:3 Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God…
Much love to you at this time ” I have you in my heart”.
Klara–yes–so, so much to be grateful for. And you are on that list. Thank you so very much for such beautiful, encouraging words. I’m humbled by them, inspired by them, and, as always, so moved by them. Thank you for being a champion for me and such a prayer warrior. You are in my heart, as well–and tonight, you have filled it to overflowing. Thank you.
I’m so sorry to hear of your health struggles but I love your attitude. Rest! Listen to Monty!
Thank you, Molly. I will definitely listen to Monty–especially as I have no choice! Thank you for reading my words–love to you tonight.