Sickness has a way of demanding our attention. It often sneaks up on us when we least expect it, forcing us to adjust our priorities and do what we need to do to get through it. And if we are fortunate enough to rebound from it, we ought to be grateful.
I recently experienced a sick spell like nothing I’ve experienced before. Contaminated food caused a fierce attack on my gall bladder. It was so bad that I almost lost it (my gall bladder, that is).
The pain, diarrhea, and vomiting started just before midnight on what I’ve come to call my “Fun Friday” and lasted all night long. By daybreak, tired of the excruciating pain and struggling to hold my head and butt over the commode without making a huge mess on the floor, too sick to drive, I called a brother who arranged to get me to the emergency room (ER).
I was triaged, taken to a treatment room, given pain meds, given blood and urine samples, and had an abdominal ultrasound and CT scan done. After a few hours, I was informed that maybe it was my gall bladder, and maybe there was a gallstone that was causing the excruciating pain, and if I wanted to, I could be admitted to the hospital and have my gall bladder removed the following day, which would have been Sunday, or I could wait until Monday and see a surgeon.
Feeling a bit better since the pain meds had kicked in, and not comfortable with the sketchy "maybes," coming from the ER staff. I decided to head home, toughen this thing out, and see what the surgeon had to say on Monday. So I left with prescriptions for antibiotics, pain pills, antacids, and my gall bladder intact.
I met with the surgeon first thing Monday morning. He went over the CT and ultrasound results and, using the paper on his exam table, drew a diagram of how my gallbladder went haywire. I appreciated his thorough explanation and left his office wondering how things may have played out had I chosen to have emergency surgery on Sunday. Of course, I will never know the answer.
But here's what I do know: Riding it out wasn’t easy, particularly after realizing that for the first time since I began Gratitude journaling over 25 years ago, I was too sick to sit up in bed, pick up my pen and journal, and express my thoughts, and feelings on paper. I felt lost.
But as I lay there praying to feel better, it came to me that Gratitude Journaling is a form of meditation that is stored in your heart, and not being able to write was my invitation to take it to another level.
So I went over my gratitude list in my head, which was extra long with ER staff and others to thank. I couldn't text morning greetings to family, so I sent them from my heart, trusting that they would reach each recipient. I remembered that as we work on Gratitude, it works on us and it was time to allow it to work its magic.
My sick spell left me no choice but to be still for two weeks, which helped me put things in perspective. Each day, it was as if Gratitude whispered to me, "Humble yourself, Myrtle, in all things, be grateful. Thousands of terminally ill patients would gladly trade places with you. You have recognized another one of my amazing gifts, the gift of meditation, and that, my dear, is enough!”
Want to learn more about the gifts of Gratitude? Contact me at smallchange@tmyrtlerussell.com.
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