My Easter Sunday was planned. All had been done to get me off the church without being exhausted before I got there. Everything was ready…right down to my toes being painted a pretty shade of pink. I was fixing my hair and everything came to a grinding halt.
Flashing lights, face numb, arm falls dead, good, flat iron landed on the counter…searing sharp pain. Pain so intense that my entire body tenses up and I struggle to breathe. My husband, asking questions…no answers yet. Pain…can’t think. Bed…I need to go to the bed. Husband helps hold me up. Medicine…oh the pain is so sharp, I can’t breathe…muscles tighten. Take your medicine! Husband talks, hands you medicine and drink…medicine done.
Then the harsh reality that going to church on Easter Sunday will not happen. I start to cry but crying makes the pain much worse. Do not cry. It is not your fault. I can’t control it. Blah…blah…blah and all those things you know but sounds like silly nonsense.
I wrap up in my warm bed and try to relax…letting the pain wash away as the medicine begins to work.
I can still go to the family lunch this afternoon. Until…the symptoms return and leave my brain and my body exhausted from the pain.
So, I sent my husband to church and to the family lunch without me as I laid in bed trying not to focus on all I am missing.
All I am missing…that is exactly what hurts so much when holidays don’t go as planned.