Acceptance

This time of year is a tough one for me.  Thanksgiving is my all time favorite holiday and in my past life (translation: before being diagnosed with lupus and everything that goes with it) it was filled with recipe planning, list making, grocery and Farmer's Market shopping, baking, slicing, dicing, basting, simmering, roasting and cooking, cooking, cooking.  I loved it!

All that changed in 2004.

I was ten years into my diagnosis and, despite some major health ups and downs over the years, had always managed to dodge being sick during Thanksgiving.  I'm a big foodie and got great pleasure out of preparing a huge traditional dinner with all the trimmings for my husband's very large family-- usually more than 30 people.  Nothing made me happier than to see his smiling face at the end of the dining room table surrounded by all of his loved ones.

That Fall had been a rough couple of months filled with extreme fatigue-- the hit-the-wall-crash-and-burn kind of tired, along with significant pain in my joints that left my hands and legs weak and sore, and a few other sinister ailments rearing their ugly heads.  

My rheumatologist had just given me his best "skip the holiday cooking" speech trying to convince me to put myself first-- (I despised that speech) and as I drove to meet my husband for lunch I cried all the way.  I had 32 people coming for dinner in 9 days and I didn't know how I was going to make it all happen.

And then Frosty The Snowman started playing on the car stereo and that pushed me over the top.  I had to pull the car over to the curb and cursed to high heaven, crying and slobbering the whole time.  It's a silly, harmless holiday song but man-oh-man, I was a crazy woman.  I had no idea how I was going to manage Thanksgiving and here some bozo radio station was already playing Christmas caroles.

Truth be told, I'm sure the massive dose of Prednisone I was on at the time helped jack up my drama, (or at least I'd like to blame it on that) but I was a wreck.  Eventually I sucked it up, applied a massive amount of make-up to cover my red nose, put on a happy face, and headed over to our favorite coffee shop to meet Husband.

The minute he saw me the look on Husband's face was proof I wasn't fooling anyone.

We've been eating at this family owned coffee shop for years and know the owners and staff well.  My husband and I huddled at a corner table holding hands as I once again cried-- The staff instinctively knew to just leave us alone for a while.  After about 15 minutes, I vaguely remember the owner slipping a stack of napkins on the corner of the table as I was clearly out of Kleenex.

Finally my waterworks stopped long enough for Husband and I to have a meaningful conversation about how to feed our gaggle of family on Thanksgiving.  The thought of a supermarket prepared turkey dinner reduced me to sobs again.  The idea left me completely defeated.

Then over my shoulder I heard the magic words...  "Do you want us to make your Thanksgiving dinner?"

Paul, the owner of the coffee shop, which by the way, is only open for breakfast and lunch, was offering to not only make us a huge dinner, he was also offering the entire restaurant to our family.  He would rearrange the dining room so we'd have one big family table and serve all the food family style so people could eat as much of whatever they wanted-- just like at home.

Did I mention it is very rare for my husband and I to meet on a work day for lunch?  I have no memory of why we had arranged it that day after my doctor's appointment, but there we were.

The thought of Paul's generosity and kindness makes me cry again just thinking of it-- And honestly, I'm not a big crier, despite all the crying mentioned in this post.  He truly saved me and our Thanksgiving.

I've never cooked a full Thanksgiving dinner since.  Each year, we're back to the coffee shop for Thanksgiving and our family loves it-- The turkey is delicious and moist, there are two kinds of stuffing and potatoes, a river of gravy, multiple vegetables and on and on...  The food is all "homemade" and lovingly prepared.

That Thanksgiving was a significant turning point for me.  To some degree I "surrendered" and finally accepted my health limitations realizing I didn't have to be Wonder Woman" all the time.  It was a hard one to swallow, but ten years after my diagnosis I'd finally learned to actually respect the illness and that there are times I have no control over it.... No matter how hard I may try.

This time of year I am reminded of the true meaning of Thanksgiving and in many respects I owe it to Paul and his coffee shop.  I am thankful for the kindness and generosity of people around me and for the understanding I receive when my health limits my participation in life.  I am thankful for my doctors and the medical community and their quest to keep me well.  I am thankful for my husband who never once has complained about the limitations my illness can sometimes place on me and I am thankful for my family.

This year may you all be blessed with good health, great family and friends and lots of leftovers to enjoy!

Until next time...

Joanna J. aka Lemon-Aid

Photo Credit: © GeraKTV - Fotolia.com

Pushing My Luck

That is so not me.  I don't find moving that much fun.

Traveling, especially by commercial airlines, usually spells trouble for me.  It seems no matter how hard I try or how careful I am, a gigantic cold (or worse) is usually my vacation souvenir.  As a lupus patient, my immune system is often less than glowing and my recent travels reminded me of that fact.

In the last four months, I've made five round-trips between Los Angeles and Ohio to spend time with my family.  My sweet step-father recently passed away and Mom just moved from their large home into a senior living community, so I've been back home pitching in and helping with all the things you'd expect that comes with the events of the past few months.

This time though, my usual semi-below average energy level kicked into high gear and I was able to go non-stop, day and night, on every trip.  Perhaps it was a sort of "crisis management" mode or maybe all the adrenaline from losing my dad and trying to make Mom's move as smooth as possible, or perhaps I was just plain lucky on my first four trips.  But on trip number five, I came home with a miserable chest cold and am fighting to make sure it doesn't get any worse.

Why I was able to go all out before I crashed with this cold remains a mystery.  My sisters were amazed, and frankly I was too, that I was able to do so much physical labor on so little sleep during a very stressful time.  I did a ton of work-- packing, schlepping, hauling and running around without so much as a Prednisone booster shot.

I've learned over the years not to question these rare bursts of energy.  I'll take 'em when I can get 'em and greatly appreciate 'em while they last.  There seems to be no rhyme or reason as to when or why they appear and disappear at random but I sure wish I knew how to trigger those "Energizer Bunny" activities on command.

This cold is kicking my butt and yes, my joints are beyond sore and swollen from all the heavy lifting, stair climbing and the likes from packing back in Ohio, but we got the job done for Mom and that makes my current health state worth the trade-off.

I do not like that phrase-- "Trade-off--" but it's my reality.  Deciding between how much I do versus how I will feel as a result is a slippery slope sometimes.  I make smart choices regularly on how best to use what energy I have, but at times like this, my "smart" choices are a little more clouded with what I feel I need to do versus what I really should do.  This time around I'm grateful I had the energy when I needed it making this cold a small price to pay.

Do you juggle your energy and how's that working for you?

Until next time...

Joanna J. aka Lemon-Aid

Photo Credit: Msaario Beauregard - Fotolia #22061180