The Roller Coaster of the End of Life

My mom has been on hospice for about 8 months now. It's funny in a way. She was referred for hospice mostly for pain management, was admitted due to congestive heart failure, and then found out she has lung cancer - which is not even part of her offical diagnosis (because she didn't want to have a biopsy, which is required for a formal diagnosis).

It took some convincing for her to talk to the hospice company. She told me that everyone who she knew that was on hospice died not long after being admitted to the program. I explained that it was because they went on hospice too late - and that many lived years while on hospice. 

She agreed to discuss it with them and then agreed that it was a good idea. 

It's been a huge God-send... for many reasons. There are some practical reasons - free pull-ups, wipes, gloves and other items needed for the latest years. Some of her meds are free, too. 

No doctor appointments... at least for us. I don't know about all hospice companies, but ours has one doctor so all of her care is managed by doctor and very caring, knowledgable nurses. After going to probably about ten different doctors for YEARS, this has been nice.

Relationships with the aforementioned nurses, plus aides, social workers and chaplains are a big bonus. All have been amazing. I can say they are truly becoming friends and I know I can rely on them to answer questions, provide support, and do many other aspects of care that go above and beyond what many in those fields are able to do.

So I have a great support team for this very rough time of life. What I didn't expect was just how much of a roller coaster it is.

In the beginning, even though there was never a doubt that hospice was the right call, sometimes I wondered if she actually needed it. Other than no longer being able to drive due to the pain meds, she was still very independent. She was able to cook, go to church, play dominos with her friends every week and host family functions (with a little help, of course).

When it came time for her first re-certification, I reminded her not to lie, but also not to gloss over how she was doing. She has always tended to downplay her symptoms and her pain. I live with her so when she went to a doctor's appointment and reported her pain as a 4 out of 10, I knew it was actually at least a 6 or 7. She wouldn't mention symptoms that were very relevant to the situation. I was a little nervous that she would do that again but she re-certified without any issues.

However, it wasn't that long after that things started to change. She became less independent. During that time it was very difficult for me because I wanted to keep her safe but she still wanted to go and do everything she used to. Things like cooking became "discussions" (fights) because after watching her come close to getting hurt or catching something on fire from the gas stove, I had to insist she stop cooking. 

Sometimes I wonder if that was the right thing. So many decisions were debated - both during the heat of the situation (no pun intended) or afterward. I just wanted to keep her safe but I wish sometimes that I was better at trying to convince her that relying on someone else to help didn't mean she still wasn't strong or capable - it was simply the best thing for the time.

The decline was very up and down - with more swings than I had anticipated. Several times she has been completely unresponsive. I would call and get a nurse to come over and check her out, ask the social worker and chaplain if they could come, and share what was going on with friends and family. We would start thinking about where we would put items like a hospital bed and once we even ordered one. 

Each time she just popped out of it. The first time was expecially remarkable. She went from unresponsive to a few hours later walking out of her bedroom after her nurse came to check on her. I got to cancel the hospital bed. Those who had worked in hospice for years said they had never seen anything like it. I attribute it to her strength, stubbornness/independent nature, and the prayers of many of her (and my) friends.

After each episode everything went back to "normal" (whatever that is). There might be a few more things she had a difficult time doing by herself, but overall she was back to being able to go and do all she had done before.

This latest time was different. Though I knew it was different, having watched her intently for hours during each time before, there was still the hope that she would bounce back. Her care team agreed with me. There were aspects of being closer to the end of her life than had happened before - more episodes of low oxygen, alarming blood pressure readings, and though she was still breathing at a normal rate, it was just... not... the same. 

I had a feeling this was the beginning of the end.

That happened this past Tuesday (it's now 1:35 AM on Thursday). I and others I all tried to explain it away. It was easy to attribute it to doing too much the prior few days. On Saturday, she went with my brother and future sister-in-law to pick up her old sewing machine from a repairman whose shop was over an hour and a half away round trip away. 

On Sunday, she visited a new church. This was the first time she was reliant on oxygen beyond when sleeping or sitting still and she had to use it outside of the house. Monday she played dominos with friends that she has known for decades. This week it happened to be at the home of one of the members of the group who lived over an hour away (round trip). 

It was a lot and could have easily explained where she was physically.

Like I mentioned before, in my heart I knew it was different. The subsequent days have proved it.

We ordered a hospital bed, a Hoya lift, a bedside table from hospice.. The hospice nurse changed the frequency of her visits from twice a week to every day. Some meds were changed and others were added. 

And for the first time, I was brave enough to ask what to expect. I knew it was time to know.

My nurse brought a wonderful little book that explained what typically happens with people who are naturally progressing through disease- or age-related decline. I'll try to remember to update this post with the name and author later as it's in another part of the house and I'm exhausted. But it's an easy read, being only 14 pages, and is based on research as well as experience. 

Knowing what is typical helps on many levels but even knowing this is what most people in her stage of life experience doesn't help emotionally.

Like many mother/daughter relationships, we've gone through different times where we were best friends, where we were more distant, where we've fought like siblings, and where we've shared everything. 

Currently she is one of my best friends. I can tell her almost everything going on in my life. I ask her advice and truly know how amazing she is and the wisdom she can offer (totally unlike my teenage and young adult years when I "knew everything"). I rely on her and she relies on me. 

There has been a role reversal. I am her caregiver now. I help her get dressed, remind her to take her meds and brush her teeth, and schedule those who help take care of her. The transition was difficult for both of us for a long time but eventually we accepted this is just what happens with most people in this age bracket.

But one difference is that I live with her. She and my dad (who passed 3 1/2 years ago) took me in when I had a major life event that wrecked my world. They allowed me to pursue my lifelong dream of becoming a professional photographer and writer. Though it's not unusual for a mother and daughter like us to live together, usually it's the daughter whose home they live in. That adds a layer that makes our practical relationship different on some levels than other mother/daughters.

I'm writing this while sitting in her bed with her. She felt good enough to sleep in her bed instead of the hospital bed that we finally got - and I wanted to sleep with her, stay with her, be right beside her in case she needed me.

And she has. She has woken up a lot through the night. She sees people I can't see. She has very vivid dreams that she needs to talk about. She needs encouragment to drink when I know her mouth is dry (she doesn't seem to ever ask). Though she can walk for short distances occasionally, it's definitely not safe for her to get out of bed by herself.

I'm incredibly thankful that I get to be here, with her, right now. The sleep I'm losing is more than worth it... The sodium deprivation from copious amounts of crying is more than worth it... The fact that I am committed to not going anywhere until she either gets much, much better or she goes to heaven is more than worth it...

...because those times she is lucid doesn't depend on just happening to visit when she's doing better. 

I have recorded her telling stories about her past. I get to hear her quips that is a huge part of her witty, hilarious personality. We got to play a game of Five Crowns with her last night - and somehow, even being extremely confusd and was literally cross-eyed with exhaustion, she still ended up not only winning, but having an unheard of zero score after the five hands we played.

Mostly I have gotten to see her smile - and laugh. Even though at times we're both scared; even though we both have cried, sometimes even ugly cried; even though we both have expressed how much we'll miss each other, I'm just so thankful. 

She's an amazing, wonderful, strong woman. She's been through a lot in her life. She's had really, really low lows and many high highs. She's very, very confident that she's going to heaven and looks forward to seeing my Dad, many of her friends and family who have gone on before her, and Jesus. She also is looking forward to finally being healed and whole after decades of ongoing physical issues, some severe. Her right arm, the one that has bothered her since she first broke it when she was 6-years-old (for over 80 years), the one that had two previous elbow replacements before the huge surgeries where she got a shoulder/humerus/elbow replacement last year but never was able to rehab it to work right, it will finally be HEALED!

I have a photo of the last time she ever got to ride a roller coaster, which she loved doing. I was with her. We never buy the photos they try to hard to get you to pay too much for at amusement parks but this time was different. I was pretty sure it would be her last time - and it was.

I'm proud to be her daughter and I'm so very thankful that, as hard as it has been and is currently, I've gotten to ride this roller coaster with her too.

Mom, I love you so much. Even though I'm going to miss you TERRIBLY, I know you'll be okay. In fact, you'll be better than okay.

And I will be too, mostly thanks to you.

Aspects of Caregiving that Aren't Talked About

Caregiving is HARD! I knew it would be emotional to have someone you love need help for so many formerly independent tasks. I knew it would also be taxing because of losing sleep. I knew it would be financially draining due to losing work and missing potential work opportunities because of something coming up with my mom's health or having a sitter not be able to come at the last minute.

But I didn't know there were so many other aspects that you would never think about until you are there.

Things like... 

- eating fast-food or take out more because of not having the energy to grocery shop or fix food;

- bills piling up and checks bouncing from not being able to stay on top of mail and paperwork;

- not being able to work out consistently because of needing to find someone who can stay with her when I want to go to the gym; 

- having to throw away food that spoiled because of not being able to keep my act together enough to use it in time;

- the guilt of doing things (like going out to eats) without her; 

- knowing that there are lots of other caregivers out there and even caregiving support groups, but not having the time or energy to access that support; 

- the brain fog that develops because of so many decisions to make with some being tiny things to others being potentially life-or-death;

- how hard it is to keep a relationship going with your spouse because of the added stress and time apart, both physically and emotionally (mostly due to exhaustion);

- little things like missing return windows on items that we bought and didn't work out and missed sales...

But by far the biggest aspect of caregiving that I was totally unprepared for is always, always, always second-guessing every decision - from how much to hover to keep her safe vs giving her as much independence and autonomy as possible to not knowing what to do if she's not feeling well but it's not quite bad enough to call the hospice nurse.

It's been a little over seven months now since my mom went on hospice. Something else I really wasn't prepared for is how one would think that I would have adapted to this life by now. But obviously I haven't. 

I'll still see a concert I'd like to try to shoot and/or cover (through my freelance work as a photographer and writer) and only after I've started trying to get the job, I'll realize I have no one to stay with her. I'll see something I really want to buy on Facebook Marketplace and then realize I have no one be with her while I'm gone - even if it's only 30 minutes. I'll meet someone new at church and start to plan to go out to eat with them after the service is over - only to realize the sitter I got to stay with her during church won't stay longer with her because they have their own plans.

One thing I want to make sure I emphasize - I wouldn't have it any other way. I feel priviledged to take care of my mom. I'm thankful that I'm in a place where I get to.

But there are a lot of times I just really, really wish it wasn't so hard.

Long Time, No Writing (AKA Full Body to Thin Body - But Not in the Way You Think)

My title of this post isn't exactly completely accurate. I've been writing, but not here. It's been hard to write much at all with everything going on - and so this has fallen by the wayside. But I've decided that I'm going to try to write here more often.

As you know, coming here is my go-to when I'm sad (or really happy) or have something that happened I need to vent about or just have something I realized I thought you might be interested in hearing it. 

So, this morning, when a bout of sadness hit me, seemingly out of the blue, I thought I would come back to the best way for me to process it. 

Setting: I'm sitting along the back wall of my church. My husband is practicing with the worship team. I brought my laptop so that I could get some stuff done these couple of hours that I don't need to worry about Mom. 

I had asked to be on the team this week but there was a miscommunication between my worship pastor and me and I wasn't included. As it often does, it worked out better that I'm not on it this week. I really needed to be home with Mom this past Wed night during practice. (It's like God knows what's going to happen in the future - amazing!) 

It doesn't make it any easier to hear them playing and want to be up there with them. Well, I just figured out the why on my sadness! Though I know logically it was better for me to be with Mom and honestly, that I'm finally able to get a blog out for the first time in months, I'm still sad that I'm sitting on the sidelines of something I love to do so much. 

I would have to go back and see if I ever wrote about the miracle that me even being on the worship team is. A few decades ago I gave up on church - too organized, too many issues, too much hurt. Around the same time, I also shut my heart down concerning music - all types of music, not just worship. I thought that if I just shut it down and tried not to listen to any music, it wouldn't hurt so much. 

During that time, I also gained a lot of weight. A couple of times through during those years, I picked up my guitar and tried to play. It was physically just not possible. My full-body and shortish arms weren't long enough to reach the guitar strings with my full-bodied guitar. 

So, when I finally started back to a regular church (not Deaf Church) a little over two years ago, I wanted to join the worship team, but I didn't think playing guitar, my favorite instrument, was a possibility. Instead, I tried to play keyboard, which I had been somewhat successful in the past playing. Not this time! I failed miserably.

But my worship leader at the time kept encouraging me to pick my guitar back up and I had the bright idea to get a thin-body (not myself - my guitar). My mom supported me and gave me the money to buy a cheap one... and I was able to play it! Not only could I play it, it was like I had never put it down!

Then a few months ago, after losing weight and having more a thin body myself, I decided to be brave one day and try my beloved Takamine guitar, one that was special to me for many reasons. One was that during a horrible divorce, my worship team at the time took up the money to buy it for me. It's a sweet sounding guitar and through my no-music years and no money, I thought several times about selling it, but just couldn't do it.

It was incredibly special to me to be able to play it again.

Combine that with sitting on the sidelines... I've had other loves in my life where I had to sit out for various reasons. I know this is a common theme with humanity - there's not a person who hasn't had that happen figuratively if not literally.

Plus, add in being more than extremely tired. I haven't been sleeping much lately - averaging maybe 3-4 hours a night. It wears on you more than you realize until it happens. So my emotions would be on the edge even if I wasn't on the sidelines.

I feel that most of my posts have been more positive lately and I feel a little bad that I'm going back to my all-too-common post that verges on a pity-party. But I also have made a commitment to be real with this blog - and today I'm sad. Today, even though I know why, I feel left-out and on the sidelines. Today, I wish I was rested and up on the stage doing what I love.

But I'm not, and it's really okay. One thing I've been learning is that with life, and especially with bipolar disorder, emotions come and go. This sadness won't last forever. Not being able to sleep won't last forever.

And sitting on the sidelines won't last forever. In fact, most likely in just seven days (or three if you're counting until practice), I'll be back up there. 

For all this I am incredibly thankful.

Size Shouldn't Matter... But It Does

Following is a question I asked my pastor, but first, some background.

Our church is like many now that has "merch" - coffee cups, baseball caps, t-shirts, etc. These items have the church's name on them along with an associated event or saying. In this instance, they came out with a design of a shirt that was very special to me, one I really wanted.

However, I was almost positive that they didn't have a size big enough for me. I try not to let it bother me but I do feel left out when I see so many others wear the merch to church events. Oh - I don't wear baseball caps so that's not an option, even though I know it would fit.

So, this is where the email to my pastor came in...

****************

What's the largest size of the t-shirts you are giving out next week? My guess is 3x - because that's usually the standard biggest one out there (if you even got any that big). 

But something I would appreciate you thinking about... 

I gave up years ago ever getting a t-shirt at a church event, a concert, or with a club because there wasn't ever a shirt my size. I thought it wasn't possible.

I battle feeling left out, even with a group where I KNOW I'm not. Not being able to look like those around me because I can't afford clothes my size doesn't help this. I wear whatever I can find, which doesn't fit right even on the best day - and since I've lost weight, they fit even worse. I used to just accept that fact but I'll admit, it's really difficult when other women wear such cute clothes and I can't - and church is the worst place I deal with it. Not because anyone looks down on me for it (I hope), but because I look down at me for it.

Every... single... time... I see one of these shirts on someone at church, I feel just a little left out. Every single time a new shirt comes out, there's a tiny hope that there will be one my size - or that I've lost enough weight to have one fit. And every single time, I'm disappointed all over again.

When it happened at the marriage retreat, I mentioned it to one of the leaders. Usually I try not to worry about it - after all, I could just put the one given to me (that was too small) aside like I have so many others. But because they wanted everyone to wear their shirts for the group photo, I had a rough morning. I so wanted to be part of the photo without standing out like a sore thumb that this was one of the very, very few times I tried it on, just hoping against hope that it would fit - 

It didn't.

Yes, I should have been able to let it go. Yes, I shouldn't have let it get to me... but it did, pretty badly actually. It sounds crazy if you weren't in my head, but that stress, combined with my camera messing up and thinking I had lost all the shots from the retreat plus the paid shoot I left the retreat to do that Saturday morning, left me somewhat suicidal. Yes, that's extreme, and the shirt was a small part of the problem (how it seems like everything keeps going wrong was the main reason) - but the shirt led to me feeling not a part and that made it take that much more effort to ask for help.

Back to when I talked to the leader... when I told her all this, she apologized and said that she could have gotten a bigger size, but didn't even think about it. Does this mean it's possible to get even bigger sizes when you guys order shirts? Does it cost a lot more? Is it possible, at least once in a while, to get one for me?

When I started writing this, it was going to be just a simple question. I didn't plan to go into all that. I didn't think it would be a big deal. However, I'm ugly crying right now, so much that it's hard to breathe. It's apparently deeper in my heart than I thought.

Anyway, like I said, something to think about...

On the Cusp of Another Year - New Year's Eve 2025 (aka: What I Thought Would be "My Year" Did NOT End Up that Way)

I keep spreadsheets for work each month where use Google Sheets to list the client's name, how much I made, mileage, when I was paid for that job, etc under the corresponding date. However, there's not a great way to find an old spreadsheet because this program has limited organizational options.

Because I'm a very visual person, I started putting a symbol at the beginning of the title of each month's addition. One year it was an asterisk, another it was an exclamation mark... you get the idea. This way I could scan the list to find all of the pages for a certain year quickly.

At the end of 2024, I got some business-changing news. My most steady client had to cut back and I was due to lose more than half of my income each month. However, as I had a feeling this was coming, I tried to be optimistic. If you know me at all, you know this isn't natural; however, I had been wanting to branch out. After getting this news, it was no longer a choice. I decided to be optimistic about where I was going.

In addition, my husband was studying to get certified as a paralegal. This was his major in school and he worked as a paralegal for a while after graduation. Then, for various reasons, he didn't stay in the profession, which meant that he had gone several decades without doing paralegal work. He wanted the certification to prove he was still able to do it.

So, I went into 2025 full of hope. It was going to be "my year" in my business. I was ready to get out there and make some money (and hopefully help others along the way). My husband was going to pass the certification test and get a really good job. For once, the pressure wouldn't be on me to make money as he should have a pretty good salary in that scenario.

To help keep that hope alive, I chose a dollar sign to start each 2025 entry. 

The year started off with a bang. 

I met with a friend who is also the head of a writers' professional group after telling her I wanted to pick her brain on how and where to start finding the writing work I had lost. 

I was floored when she offered me an amazing opportunity. The writer's group she was in charge of was starting to publish books. They were also having various staff write a book for a series of books on writing.

As an honorary staff member of the organization (because I'm their official photographer), my friend offered me the chance to write a book in the series with some type of photography angle.

What?! I had wanted to write a book since I was a child. This was an amazing opportunity.

However, the deadline was only a few months away, and I was trying to build up my paid work while working on it. It was a frantic, though fun time.

I was able to join my local Chamber of Commerce through a barter - photography work for the membership fee. I just knew loads of work in my suburban city would come my way as I was the only full-time photographer who was a member of the Chamber. I joined the local merchants' association and worked hard at networking with them and the Chamber, as well as attending other networking events.

There were successes. My book was published. I made a substantial amount at one shoot. I started writing and shooting for other publications. My husband was studying for his test. 

It was working out as expected... at first. However, two things happened that ended up changing my entire year. 

In January, my 87-year-old mother fell. 

That's not unusual in itself. She falls a lot. I joke that we should get frequent flyer miles at the ER. But this one caused her elbow replacement (actually the second one) to come out of the bone that goes into her shoulder. She was in horrible pain but had been told that if something happened to the second replacement, nothing could be done. There just wasn't enough bone left to attach it to in order to do it again.

She spent months in pain, simply trying to learn to use her left arm and deal with the pain. 

Though it would change the entire course of 2025, for months it was just (literally) a pain to deal with.

From April to June, my 26-year-old daughter moved back in with us. You can go back and read some of that story in earlier blogs. Just know that it took a lot of adjusting on everyone's part to make it work.

During that time, I was able to work some but it was difficult as the move was a major deal.

But back to Mom.

In April, she found the one doctor in our state who would take on such a surgery. We were able to get an appointment for mid-May. At every appointment, we held our breaths, expecting to hear that he couldn't do it.

But he could.

Her first surgery was in July. This surgeon had told us he would have plans A, B, C, and D - all of which he came up with after consulting with some of the top surgeons nationwide who do this kind of surgery. I don't think he knew we would end up with Plan E.

Halfway through the surgery, he came out of the operating room to talk to my brothers, my husband, and me. He told us that there was only one thing they could do - take out her current elbow replacement hardware. From there, we had a choice. We could either let it heal up, which meant Mom wouldn't have an elbow or a functional arm, OR we could take a few weeks for her to recover and go back in to do a total elbow-humerus-shoulder replacement.

We chose the latter.

This was when I became a caregiver - and when work became secondary.

The second surgery - about a 10-hour operation - was in August. She had to stay in the hospital for about a week and was at a rehab hospital for almost two more weeks. I was with her almost the entire time. I tried to work some from the hospital, but it didn't go well. She needed too much help.

However, she made it. She was extremely weak and needed a LOT of help at home when she was discharged, but she did it.

Then her arm became infected.

They went back in and did a third surgery - a "clean-out." This was in September. She was again in the hospital for about a week and spent another week in rehab. I was there the majority of the time, but I needed to work some, so I tried to do both.

Resulting tests showed that the clean-out worked. She got over the infection. But, for some reason, the wound wasn't completely healed. She had been opened up from her shoulder to her wrist, and about a 4-inch-long part wasn't healing.

This led to the fourth surgery - a debridement. They were hoping that they could cut away the tissue that wasn't healing to give it a boost.

She didn't have to stay overnight in the hospital for that one. Woo-hoo! Her surgery was on Halloween, and it was nice to be home instead of back in the hospital.

All of this wiped her completely out. Her body kept betraying her. Other issues throughout the four surgeries made everything harder. 

What this meant for me is that I was able to work less and less. I lost all of the momentum I had been gaining. In fact, I made nothing, nada, ZERO in September. 

It's been two months since her last surgery. That wound is finally healing. She's been able to use her walker for the first time in months. Part of this improvement was that she ended up going on hospice for pain management.

The ironic aspect of this part of the story is that after she decided hospice was a good idea, she found out she has lung cancer.

She doesn't want treatment, so there's no need to get a biopsy. As a biopsy is the only way to show what kind she has and whether it's fast-growing or slow-growing, she isn't technically diagnosed with cancer. She's technically on hospice for heart issues (though they know about the cancer and will address it as needed.)

With that news, work again became secondary. It took a lot of meetings to get her started with the hospice program and I had to be at all of them. She may be much more ambulatory now but she's at a huge fall risk and so it's more nerve-racking to leave her alone than it was before. 

This past month I made $25. Oh - and my husband never was able to finish studying for his test because of everything that happened. (He was the secondary caregiver as he was the only one who could pick her up when needed). 

I'm at a loss of where to go from here. I'm still needed as a caregiver too much of the day to really focus on work. Add to that, my back issues have gotten worse. It takes everything in me to complete a full event now. Writing is a better option, but writing opportunities are few and far between.

I have a few more days that I can procrastinate on any decisions, justifying it by knowing that the world is on hold for a couple of days. Businesses are about to close for New Year's Eve and many will stay closed tomorrow. Friday will be spent with issues that I've had to wait to deal with (medical bills make up most of them). Monday is my target day to try to figure out where to go next.

One thing I wish I had done when I started writing this blog is to get subscribers. I've looked into it since but never figured out how. But I do know there are a few who read this blog at least occasionally. As 2025 ends, I thank you - and anyone who has read any of my blogs. I hope I was able to encourage you through all of my ramblings... or at least let you know that you aren't alone.

Let's hope that 2026 is much better (at least for me). 

Depression, Anxiety, Mental Health... Do Bible Verses Help?

I’m at our weekly prayer time at my church. The person who did the devotion spoke about mental health. I’m not discounting her experience, but I believe differently. The advice she gave for those who are struggling is to reach out to others, to start back on an old hobby or start a new one, or to go to a Christian counselor. 

While those are good things, the very definition of depression (or at least major depressive disorder) is that you can’t do those things. There have been many medical studies of the brain that show that the areas that make a person have the ability to do those things are messed up, smaller than they should be. It is literally pretty much impossible to help yourself out of a true mental health depression state.

Now I’m not saying that God can’t work. He can heal. He can heal the brain (something I have never thought about until I was typing these words right now). Support from others can be a major part of that healing. Hobbies and counseling can definitely help.

But remember, with major depressive disorder and many other mental illnesses, the person who needs the healing can’t reach out. It’s up to the Church to do the reaching out. It’s up to the Church to pray for those who need help. It’s up to the Church to encourage hobbies by inviting those who are struggling to think of any themselves. It's up to the Church to provide qualified counselors at a rate that those with mental illnesses, many of whom have a hard time working and don't have the resources for such help, can afford.

As I write this, I’m in an “up” cycle of the bipolar disorder I still deal with. I’ve been awake since 12:30am, and while I might get tired later, I’m not at all tired now. I’m fully of “ready-to-go.” I couldn't have slept if someone bribed me with a huge sum of money.

I don’t know if the person who spoke deals with chronic mental illness. Maybe she said mental health and I translated it as mental illness. With mental health issues, maybe the advice she gave will work. 

Even if that’s what happened, the problem is that many others might do what I did - mix-up the terms. At the end of her devotion, she shared several scriptures about not being afraid, not being anxious, etc. I’m not saying the scriptures aren’t true, but it’s just… not… that… easy… If it was, I wouldn’t have struggled for the majority of my life with these issues. My husband wouldn’t be so depressed that he can’t look for a job. There wouldn’t be a need for psychiatrists and medicine and licensed counselors.

And there is.

There always will be.

Because putting the healing on the sick person isn’t what will heal them. God, through the work of the Body, is the only thing that will.

Waiting

Waiting is something everyone has to do, from the time of birth to the time of death. Sometimes waiting is predictable - like waiting for your birthday or Christmas to arrive. Other times it's unpredictable - like waiting for customer service to pick up. Sometimes it's over a long span of time - like graduating college. Other times it's short - like waiting in line at a fast food restaurant.

But having to wait is inevitable, occurring hundreds of times each day. 

Right now I'm waiting to find out the options available for my mother upon discharge from the hospital, which could happen as early as today. 

In an ideal world, going home would be the top choice, but she's really weak from fighting a post-surgery infection and I'm really weak from trying to take care of her while still managing the rest of my life. I don't know that she can come home and stay safe because there just aren't enough people who can take care of her at the moment.

I have plans this week - doctor appointments, church groups, and work - that I need to adjust depending on what options we have and what we decide. It's the uncertainty... the knowing that what I can do depends on information I don't have yet... that's killing me right now. I just want to have enough information so I can work out plans for the rest of the week.

But I can't.

All I can do is continue to wait.