Christmas Eve

It is not coincidence that "invalid" (a sick person) and "invalid" (being without any foundation of truth) are both from the same root, meaning weak.

As I pen these words on Christmas Eve night, I am under medical house arrest. Thanks to a wild combination of screwy factors, two large veins blew out on Friday and I am a mass of bruises. Painful, swollen bruises. When I saw Dr. Tom today (the husband of Dr. Pat, my doctor), his eyes widened in surprise at the extent of the bruising. I'd had a racing, half-crying phone call with Dr. Pat the night before and she had briefed him well knowing he would see me today. However, the visuals proved yet once again that a picture is worth a thousand words.

Once Tom ascertained that I was medically stable, he cut to the chase. Go home and rest NOW. Do not do ANYTHING.  Tom has a soft delivery, but there was no mistaking the emphasis on NOW and ANYTHING.

We are old friends, Tom, Pat, and I. He looked me with a sad smile. "I would like to wrap you in bubble wrap to keep you safe for the next few days."

Point taken.

I was in tears when I called Warren and gave him the results of the appointment. "I can't do anything," I wailed. "Tom said go home and rest right now." I don't think I said it out loud, but I thought I'm an invalid for the next few days.

An invalid. I felt invalidated. I can't do anything. I can't help prepare for Christmas Day dinner, which we are hosting. I can't finish shopping. In one swift move, I was sidelined.

In short, I was moved, temporarily I trust, from "April in treatment for cancer" to "April, the invalid."

I saw Dr. Tom early in the morning. A lot more tears fell before noon. I'm tired. I hurt a lot. I cry out every time I see my bruises (concealed beneath clothing) and again when I move or shift around. I hate sitting on the couch while Warren does everything.

I hate being an invalid.

Warren is taking great care of me and the multitude of tasks that need to be done before tomorrow midday. I have made peace with not being able to complete shopping the way I had planned. I am making peace with the thought that I may not be baking tonight.

After all, it is Christmas Eve. David just came through the door for the night. We are all together.

And maybe that's my takeaway from this whole mess. We're together and it's Christmas. The bruises will fade and heal. It's Christmas. Ben called earlier and I talked to him, Sam, and Alise while Ramona tried out her new sounds in the background.

It's Christmas.

And that is enough.