A long few weeks

I'm not gonna lie. It's been a long few weeks. Really long. I didn't expect this. When I went to the ER I guess I thought I'd be treated and I'd bounce right back. I'd be fine. Not the case.

Physically, I am better each day. It took me an entire week to get rid of the hives and swelling and itchiness and just that feeling of being sick. And then it took me another week to get rid of that constant feeling of exhaustion. I slept a lot, which is unusual for me. I didn't write. I did the bare minimum. And finally, I went back to work on Friday. It wasn't bad really (remember, I work from home, which is such a blessing right about now) but it tired me out and that in turn made me feel ridiculous. 

Also, I've developed a new affliction: panic attacks. I guess that's what they're called, I haven't been formally diagnosed or anything. But the night before I went to the ER I had my first. I felt horrible, my body seemed to be rejecting life, and without me realizing what was happening, I panicked. I'm not unfamiliar with these episodes. And I'm not unsympathetic to people who have them. I know how very real they are and I know how horrible they can be. I live with a person who experiences them. I have other family members who have them and close friends who have them. But I've never had one. Never. Well, now I have.

The panic set in and it didn't leave for a few days. The ER cured me but didn't mend me. There's a big difference. A week later, through sobs, I told my family I'd get help and help I got. My awesome acupuncturist gave me herbs and exercises and I felt better. Until this Saturday. It happened again. See, for some reason my brain has decided I need to practice swallowing and breathing. And when I catch myself practicing something I've managed just fine for over 34 years without practicing, I panic. I feel like there's a golf ball in my throat. I feel sick. I think about the not breathing thing and those few moments where I was sure it was over and I get even more panicked. It's not very fun. 

And then it happened again the next night. But I have an awesome sister who helped me through it, gave me the herbs, didn't roll her eyes when I took my second shower, and then watched funny TV with me. And I survived.

Logically I know all will be well. Physically I know I am okay. The steroids do take a while to leave your body but they do leave. I know this. But patience isn't always my strong suit (you'd think it would be since I am a 34-year old unmarried woman who is trying to be a screenwriter in Los Angeles, but no). And one of the things that's gotten me through the week is thinking about Abraham. Yep, the guy from the Old Testament. Last week our Growth Group at church did a little study of him. Turns out none of us knew too much about him and yet we kept bringing him up during our study of the book of Romans. So one of the guys in the group took it upon himself to present a little history of Abraham and it was fascinating.

See, Abraham was just a regular guy who didn't get what he wanted in life. Like a lot of us. He wanted a kid, an heir. And by the time he was old, really old, he'd realized this wasn't gonna happen. But then God came down and spoke to him (face-to-face, which is really quite something) and told him to be patient, it would all work out in the end. And guess what? Eventually it did.

I keep thinking about how Abraham didn't quite trust God the first or even the second time He told him this news about a child. And how I don't always quite trust God that everything will be okay. I'm not saying I think I shouldn't be anxious or anything, it's just...well, I need to work at it. I need to work on my patience. And letting myself go at my own speed, or God's speed.

Last week I made sugar cookies. I wasn't feeling up to sitting at my desk and writing but I was feeling antsy. So I made the dough. I rolled it out. (And rerolled it, sugar cookies can be tricky.) I punched hearts out with my cookie cutters. I sprinkled them with sugar and then I slid them into the oven and waited. It wasn't a quick process but it was satisfying. At the end I had a table full of pink, purple and red Valentine cookies to share with family and friends. And I guess that kind of how life is. It's not quick. It's not perfect. It's often fraught with disappointment and pain. But when it's all said and done, you have this wonderful thing to share.

I'm going to work on patience this week. On listening to God. On healing my body. On cutting myself some slack. On writing a really great script. On being a better teacher. On thinking about others but not at the expense of myself or what I need. And I'm going to share some of these cookies.