Honesty and Asking for Help

It's been awhile since my last post. In that time, I've had the flu, viral pneumonia, bronchitis, and strep throat. Of course, each time I'm sick, my immune system goes wonky so each sickness has been accompanied by a flare and each one seems more serious and long-lasting than the one before it. I'm on massive doses of steroids and feel like Harry Potter's aunt that blows up in the third movie. I feel ridiculous and secretly guilty when answering concerned questions like "How are you?", "Do you feel any better?", or "Is there anything I can do to help you feel better?". The last question is a blessing because it means there are people out there who haven't given up on me, who care, and who love me. I feel useless when I'm this sick... I'm not the wife I want to be... the mother that Tom deserves... the friend I want to be to my friends. If someone asks me how I feel, I can tell the truth and feel bad and worry them or I can say that I'm doing fine, great, better... whatever the adjective, but I see the look in my loved one's eye and know they know that I'm lying. So with truth I can say today that no matter how bad I might feel on any given day, I go back to the early days of this illness when I prayed for it to be anything but cancer. That thought always puts me in my place nicely. It's not cancer and a flare won't last forever (at least I think it won't!)!

One thing I've learned during this illness is that no matter how lowering it might be, you've got to ask for help every now and then. Sometimes it's a big thing, like when we moved in with my parents when I could no longer work. Sometimes it's something small like asking for a friend to allow Tom to go to her house with her son after school on the days when I have a doctor's appointment. For the most part, people are willing to help. You just have to ask for it and then be grateful and let them know how much you appreciate them. I've got a funny story that might illustrate on asking for what you actually need and knowing how to get help.

When Tom was three years old, we lived in an old house in the country. It was early summer. I had worked in our garden and my husband, Charlie, had mowed the lawn. It was terribly hot so while he showered and changed I started cooking dinner. I made spaghetti sauce and was preparing to cook the pasta. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw something move. It was impossible though because that meant something moved on the back of the stove. I ignored it and continued looking for the pasta in the cabinet. Again, there was a flash of movement and this time I realized that it was a tiny mouse (GROSS) running across the back of the stove by the back splash. It was an old, country kitchen, large and sunny. Tom was riding his tricycle around the kitchen table and singing something to himself. I love animals, but for some reason had a completely irrational response to this mouse. Just like in the movies, I found myself standing on a chair and yelling for Tom to go get help from his daddy. He ran through the house and into the bathroom yelling, "Fire! Fire!" at the top of his lungs. Note: He learned at daycare the week before that if you need help, you should yell "Fire!" because people are more likely to respond to that instead of a generic help. Charlie, bless his heart was soapy from head to toe but thinking I had somehow started a fire, ran out of the shower, through the house to the kitchen to help me. He was now blind from soap and naked as a jay bird. His wet, soapy feet hit the tile in the kitchen and he began to slide and flay around trying to get his balance. Our dog, Joey, who was a puppy at the time, thought it was a great game and he began to jump and chase Charlie, who was still sliding across the floor. He ended up in a heap at my feet, while I still stood in the chair, mouth open in shock. He slowly gained his feet, eyes streaming with tears because of the soap, and looked to me for an explanation about the fire. I explained about the mouse, which of course was long gone. I thanked him for his bravery and then I started to laugh and could not stop. He turned to see Tom happily riding the tricycle again and then looked at me again. Very quietly he said, "I'm going back to the shower and even if the house is on fire don't come get me. It was my laughter that pushed him over the edge! Despite it all though, he had come to my rescue! Tom knew how to ask for help that would ensure results.

Whether it's from a doctor, a family member, or a friend, it's better to be honest and just say what you need. Always do it with a grateful heart but none-the-less, ask. Being sick is bad enough. There is no reason to do it in solitary confinement. A burden shared is easier to carry. It's no fun to feel like a burden but give your support team an opportunity to care for you and love you.