Is that an echo in my head? Is it my stomach making those noises, still rebelling against the violent vomiting of last week?
Two black birds fly away, giving me time to formulate an answer. Do I still hear it?
Not quite as loud, but I do hear a rumbling in my tummy, as Pooh says. Here is my answer. They are much more upset. I am making progress in my healing. It seems they were born to be unhappy; I was not.
This illness has slowed me down and made my world spin. Vertigo. Alfred Hitchcock successfully made a movie named Vertigo, but I would not wish this illness on my worst enemy. To have the room spin clockwise while vomiting from the soul is excruciating. On second thought, Child molesters deserve it. It’s a vile disease for vile people. Not for someone like me, a pilgrim and sojourner in this world, a citizen of heaven.
My medicine masks the symptoms, but they linger beneath the surface. I dare not eat any food with flavor, but stick to toast and rice pudding. Carbs are not good for the size of my butt and long walks are out of the question, so I am sans cardio.
Baths have replaced showers because I fear falling over into the shower doors, shattering them into thousands of pieces on the hard tile floor. A large salad bowl has replaced the shower spigot for my hair washing.
As time ticks slowly until my doctor appointment on Monday, I do what I can. Some writing, some reading, with many rest breaks. Listen to scripture CDs while in bed. This is but a season, not a lifetime. Is there something to be learned in this particular pit? I scan the walls to find the gems of knowledge hidden here: It’s okay to slow down, it’s okay to sit in the sun, it’s okay to rest. That’s for me, and for all humans.
Two black crows fly away, taking their screeching growls with them.