Reality

I could sugar coat it. I could “doctor” the images and go on and on about how fabulous my husband is for helping create this little garden nook for me. I could position the lens so you can’t see all the “extra” stuff, but that’s not my reality. 

My reality? 52 abdominal staples. A walker (see featured photo). A nephrostomy tube running out of my left kidney through my back. A catheter that hangs from said walker just to give it that extra glamorous touch. A stint that’s supporting my bladder while it fashions a brand new ureter for me out of my existing tissues. Hospital gowns. 

My reality? Friends tell me it’s more intensive than their C-sections, and from what I understand it was/is. I could’ve lost my kidney completely. I almost went septic in the hosptial.  

My reality? Today is the first day of no pain medicine (not no pain, but no pain meds) and even remotely being able to do anything for myself. I still cannot enjoy the basic pleasures of showering and going to the bathroom, of making my own meal or picking up something I dropped in the floor.  

I could put forth those beautifully positioned images that hide my reality (including said walker), but those images wouldn’t be my reality. They wouldn’t be the truth about what I’ve been through... what we’ve been through... since this nightmare began. 

Social media tempts everyone to share only their highlight reels. I’ve never ever wanted to be *that* woman, but I know I’ve also swung too far to the other side at times and shared too much, been too transparent. (It’s certainly hard to find the right balance.) ...but doctored photos, partial stories, and peeks into a highlight reel are not anyone’s reality. And they’re not who I want to be. 

But that doesn’t mean my reality hasn’t been worth anything without the perfect pics and accompanying narrative. Oh, it’s truly been a nightmare!  But even that’s not the full picture of my reality...

My reality? I didn’t die. I could’ve. I might’ve. I certainly wanted to. But I didn’t. 

My reality? A group of family (and friends as tight as family) who dropped everything to offer the support I needed to heal. From literally bathing and wiping me, to dog-sitting, to cleaning, to taking over my work load at school... no task has gone undone. 

My reality? Christian brothers and sisters who’ve prayed HARD for me, cooked for us, and sent spontaneous gifts. 

My reality? Yep... I’m going there... the aforementioned fabulous husband who has helped create and tend to my little garden nook so I have a retreat when indoors is just too much for me during these long days. (And this just among the many other less glamorous tasks he’s been charged with during all this.)

See, the *whole* picture isn’t perfect. It isn’t just the flowers and furniture. It isn’t just a freshly mown lawn and birds chirping. The whole picture includes the walker right now. It includes the tubes and bags right now. And I’m not going to share any less than my whole picture. 

And when this shows up in my memories years down the road, I want to remember this time that has made me bitter, better, and stronger. I want to remember the whole thing: the feelings, doubts, insecurities, praises, and blessings. The scare and the triumph, and how you’ve been there for every second. 

And if God sees fit for us to grow old together - and I pray He does - then maybe years down the road, we can take a new “reality” picture... another undoctored photo where both our walkers sit side by side on a deck at whichever abode we call home. One where your wrinkled hand still holds mine. One where we are still doing the “in sickness and health, for better or worse” thing.  One that shows *our* reality, no matter how perfect or imperfect it may be. ❤️