There are so many memories it is hard to choose one to share.
But I think a particular memory from when I was 10 leaves me with so many thoughts, and a shade of feels.
Growing up with allergies was my reality. And so were the concoctions I later uncovered and discovered would help and bring relief, including chewing ginger or downing hot water with ginger and honey while walking up and down the stairs to open my airways.
Prior to my 10th birthday, I cannot recall episodes of allergies overtaking me. I guess that’s a memory gone. But days building up to my 10th was an episode I remember even with some of the finer details missing.
In the small town where I grew up, connectedness was the norm. Everybody was connected to somebody. Everybody had that family member, or church member that was the go-to nurse or doctor. It wasn’t different for my family. We actually had a couple of family friends who were doctors and owned hospitals we frequented.
This was not a frequent happening though. It was the close of the year, at least for me who would turn 10 in a few days. For others, it was two months to the end of the year.
I can’t tell you anything leading up to my appearance at the hospital but I think I had some episodes that led to full-blown asthma attacks. I don’t know that at this time I knew it was that. I knew it was something. Something that meant staying in the hospital, first with my mum, then without her. From what I remember, there was a loss she had to leave to attend to, her dad’s I believe. So yes we started off together but then she had to leave town, leaving me in the hands of God, my dad, and the Dr, a family friend. This privileged relationship meant I didn’t need to stay in the ward. I ended up in the doctor’s call room which was more comfy than the wards. It gave me a non-admission feel save for the tissued [vein] hand I hid under my tops. The image is all too familiar and tangible. My swollen hand, the result of a missed vein unattended was not show-off worthy so hidden it stayed.
I even hid it when my dad came over to visit with me on the eve of my 10th birthday, a Saturday. I clearly remember wanting boiled eggs so badly but I didn’t speak about it. To this day I can’t say why, why I wanted boiled eggs, or why I didn’t share that craving with him. It might not be unconnected to the thought of not wanting to be a bother. This thought is still somewhat present today and has been for many years after that day as I quietly managed my allergies with home remedies and cryouts to God.
It’s been decades after my 10th birthday and I have very well come to learn that the feeling of not being a bother was also a decoy for not wanting to need help or ask for it. Qualities I’m walking away from for reasons beyond this piece. Not admirable qualities if you ask me. But you didn’t ask, did you?
Back to the memory. I spent that birthday eve loitering on the grounds of the hospital. With no mention to anyone what day it was and how significant it was to me. By this time, I had moved to board with the doctor and his family in their house which was right by the hospital.
I thought about home. I missed it.
I thought about being away from family. I missed them.
I thought about being able to eat my home food. I missed the taste
I thought about turning 10. It was a family tradition to celebrate it. But was that to be?
I thought about the allergies that needed IV shots. Allergies that sometimes kept me awake and short of breath.
My thoughts did not change my situation or even my location. Neither did it change the pain along the vein pathway on my left hand.
Fast forward to daybreak. The morning of my birthday arrived. Of course, I said nothing about my birthday to my host or my physician. What was the point? I was headed home soon so no need to bring it up away from family. I didn’t head right home that Sunday morning. We got ready for church and for my drop off but there was a stopover needed.
Did you hear it, the wheezing? The indicator that something was off? I don’t think my night was the smoothest and the current wheeze said neither was my breathing at the time. It was no surprise that the stop-over at the hospital had to happen. I found myself with a nurse trying to get hydrocortisone IV going. I am very sure I walked in myself so it couldn’t have been too bad but it was bad enough that she couldn’t find a vein. 1st poke, nothing. 2nd, still nothing. 3rd, still no vein. At this time, the doctor intervened and we got a vein at the 4th poke on the same non-dominant left hand that tissued. Did I complain of the pain? No. Did I feel it? Yes, with marks to show for it.
Today, I look at my left hand and the marks are all gone. They lasted years and I smiled whenever I remembered how they came to be.
God did a thing you know. I recognized God’s keeping power as a 10-year-old and for the first time openly shared about it sometime afterward in between tears at Sunday school. I was grateful for family, for provision, and for life. And now that I think of it maybe that’s when I stopped being afraid of death.
Death doesn’t scare me. What scares me is no one having passwords to things I am working on or people’s deliverables or funds in my possession 🤣. Sadly I don’t think the people I have shared passwords with will remember that I did when I die.
I didn’t die before my 10th birthday, obviously, but each day I hope I live fully so when I do die, I die empty.
The eve of my 10th and even the day of, felt empty. Thankfully I got a full celebration of life and my 10th birthday sometime afterward. I can still remember being surrounded by friends while I cut my cake. I donned a shiny white top and a purple-themed skirt with a bow. That outfit served me well, for years.
It’s been years but this memory is dear to my heart for from it I learned the treasure that is family, was dear to me. I learned that God sends help in people sizes. I recognized God’s hand. I still do today. Many years ago a shy child that I was spoke up in front of a large number of people because I recognized those and that makes the memory even more memorable.
