STREP

So much for self-diagnosis.

When you are raised a "doc's kid," you grow up with the mentality of not "bothering" a doctor unless you are really sick. Bear in mind that those were the days when patients had the luxury of calling their physician at home at any time of the day or night and could even ask him/her to make a house call. When your dad has endless dinners and evenings and weekends interrupted, you learn "not to bother" other physicians unless you are in dire straits.

I have not been in dire straits.

Every single symptom listed on the Mayo clinic website for influenza was my own. Every single one. I could have created the list. It was a slam dunk for self-diagnosis.

But even if it quacks like a duck and waddles like a duck, it can still be a squirrel.

I have a nasty case of strep.

Strep without a flaming sore throat? Strep with a dry hacking cough? Strep with sharp sinus headaches?

Apparently, yes.

I have never had strep before. Thought it was a really bad throat infection. Little did I know that it can affect kidneys and heart. Hmmm.

No wonder I have not been able to get on top of this "flu" bug. After 10 days you would think that you could walk downstairs and back again without feeling short of breath and breaking out in a sweat. No wonder every day I continue to feel like crap. No wonder, indeed.

I am allergic to penicillin, the drug-of-choice for strep. My doc wrote a script for a cousin of that drug which works with most people allergic to the penicillin. I was still leery as she talked about this, as I have never known WHY I am allergic to the drug, but have known since I was a pre-schooler that I am. I was just a bit concerned that if I indeed had gone into anaphylactic shock as a toddler due to penicillin, I was not eager to give even the "cousin" a try.

My doc wanted to know that my husband was going to be home when I take the first dose. 

Oh, THAT reassured me!

And so I went home and did what any daughter would do. Call her 88-year-old dad and ask him if he remembers why I am allergic to penicillin. God bless his memory. He said with authority that anaphylaxis was NOT the reaction to the drug that I had all those years ago. He believes it was a bad rash.

So, armed with relief from the man whose dedicated professional life influenced the way I seek (or more aptly, DO NOT seek) medical care, I started up my 10-day course of strep-killer.

Have I learned a big lesson here? 

Maybe, maybe not.

I think I might be more inclined to seek a medical opinion if something lasts as long as this has, but you know, again, when it quacks like a duck, and waddles like a duck and looks like a duck, I think I will always have a lifelong propensity to self-diagnose duck.

FLU

You get cancer, and all you want to do is live.

You get 9 days worth of influenza, and all you want to do is die.

Life's funny like that.


All prayers for cessation of flu symptoms are accepted.

GRAMMAR POLICE NEEDED

This is my 15 minutes per day out of bed. That's all it takes to exhaust me. Was blindsided with influenza last Thursday....the day I was supposed to leave for Fargo, and I have been down ever since. It is ugly stuff. I pretty much just lay there and want to die. I think if the fever would go down a couple degrees, I would feel human. Nevertheless, I make myself get up for a few minutes each day and do something. Shower or check email. Tonight it is a short blog. Born from the Final Four games last night.

My body aches too much to read, watch movies or do crosswords. But Dick had the games on last night and I watched with him from my germ-infested sofa. My interest took a nose-dive 2 weeks ago when my bracket was macerated on day 2 when Wichita took out Gonzaga, who I thought would take it all. Nonetheless, now I wanted the Shockers to beat Louisville. So I watched.

And it just made me frustrated. If only the grammar police had been out in force in the broadcast booths. It just made my headache even worse. I mean, really, people, I know the networks want "big names" and "big personalities," but wouldn't you think they would make sure the big names passed 4th-grade language arts?

"Him and Trey Burke are the two best......."

"They just have to play good next half. Not perfect. But they have to play very good."

"Those two starters may be as good as you and I."

And on and on it goes. 

Why did so many broadcasters and color commentators miss these basics in elementary school?

Him and Trey..... SERIOUSLY?

In a profession where the spoken word is the product, can't they do better than this? 

I just kept correcting every mistake softly to the TV. Maybe I should write to the networks. Even the consummate professional Jim Nantz blows it occasionally.

This is what our kids are hearing on TV sporting events. It's not just basketball, but football and baseball too. To be fair, they also hear bad grammar on sitcoms, cartoons and the playground. Maybe at home.

And so here is my suggestion for all you parents out there whose young sports lovers are going to be tuning in tomorrow night for the championship game. Give them a piece of paper and pen. Have them write down every occurrence of bad grammar they hear and then correct it. Tell them you will give them a quarter for every one they find. Watch their eyes light up when they see the dollar bills they have earned!

And, if they are NOT detecting any, perhaps it is time to supplement their teacher's teachings and do a little home schooling on the side. Maybe this generation can buck the trend one child at a time.

OK, back to my sofa to nurse my fevered body, my pained head, runny nose, dry cough and aching limbs. My 13 minutes are up.

NEW BOOK

The "second edition" of my book on healing is done! It is amazing how much more I learned from Scripture and Bible-based healing books in the year since I printed the first ones! I also had my amazing friend Lee read through it and give me some great editing suggestions. I like the final product! You may ask why I am writing this book about faith healing BEFORE I have "physical proof" of my own healing. I do so as a statement of faith in what I know God has done in my body. The scans don't show it yet, but they will.

We had a great family Easter weekend. How we love the magic of ordinary days when we are together. I think the Sunday morning fish lips are born from sleep-deprivation (we had to get up at 6:20 to get to our sunrise service by 7)!!

I am heading to Fargo to spend more days helping Mom and Dad pack up for their move. A blog on that is to come, but right now, I don't think I have English words that speak to the emotion of it all.

GOOD FRIDAY LOVE

     I have been blessed to have parents who love each other deeply. Theirs is a great love story of 63 years and counting. In many ways they are polar opposites. Mom is a social butterfly and loves people around. Dad, like me, would choose a sofa, solitude and a great book over a crowd any day. But their relationship, while it entails compromise, has always been one of tenderness, endurance, passion and playfulness. My friends used to giggle when we would come into the kitchen and catch Mom and Dad necking while she fixed dinner. 

     I marvel that every married couple in the world has choreographed their own love dance…each one with its own tempo, style and meaning. There must be as many kinds of love in the world as there are people. Every time a human being loves, it is absolutely unique. The love of man to mother, uncle to nephew, girl to great-aunt, great-grandparent to great-grandchild, friend to friend…the mathematical possibilities are vast.

     You would think that with the hundreds of different people I have loved and been loved by in my lifetime, I would start to understand the love that God has for me. I don't. I know the love for His children is so deep and so intense that it makes all these other love relationships seem bland, if not downright artificial. That our sovereign God loves me, Mary Hieb-Ekstrom, enough to put His son to death, a death that I deserved, so that my sin-stained hell-bound soul would be reconciled to the Almighty and I would live with Him for all eternity…

     …well, I can sort of imagine it would be like me having enough love for the pesky little ants crawling all over my driveway that I would allow Sam to be sacrificed so these ants could be brought into my home to live on pile carpeting for rest of their worthless lives. I DON’T THINK SO!!

     My husband loves me enough to take a bullet for me. I would take one for him. But I don't think that is unusual for any people who deeply love each other. Those knee-jerk heroics happen often. But Jesus did not just react to a random act of violence. He didn't just "take a bullet" for us. His Father PLANNED the entire thing. Jesus intentionally acquiesced to torture and crucifixion. He anticipated it. He knew exactly what He had to do and for whom He was doing it. 

     Me. 

     And you. 

     I was worth dying for. You were worth dying for. God thinks we were worth dying for. It takes my breath away.

     The Creator of the universe loved me enough to sacrifice His own son's life to pay the debt He never owed for my sin. I cannot even begin to comprehend that love. It is not in my intellectual realm to conceive of such a lavish love. I only know that I am incredibly humbled and thankful to be one of His unworthy recipients.

     On this Good Friday, I am grateful for the unconditional love of my husband and son, which is my daily oxygen. I am grateful I can still watch the time-tested love of my mom and dad, which strengthens me. And I am most abundantly grateful for that love which I will never understand. 

     The love that said, "Mary, you are Mine. I love you with an everlasting love. And you were worth dying for."

DOLPHINS, FARKLE, AND ZIP-LINES

As always, spring break came and went in a flash. We landed a great week at our little time-share in Sarasota. It could have been low '80's for our taste, but we were fine with low to mid- '70's and didn't have a day when we couldn't lay in the sun. Our spring break "traditions" tend to find us as soon as the plane lands. We just pick up where we left off the last time we were there. We watch NCAA games (this year, we were a week early, so we watched conference championships instead), play tennis and shuffleboard, swim, walk the beach, read books, and hot tub. We walk the boardwalk every morning. We play Hearts and Farkle. We drive up to St. Armand's Square at night, buy our ice cream cones, and walk past the wealthy people in the tony restaurants eat their $48 red snapper dinners under the umbrellas on the sidewalks. We go up to the game room and shoot pool. This year, we watched a family of dolphins put on a display close to shore. A whole week of no work, no deadlines, and no expectations. It always feels as if our bodies and souls need this break. Sam was especially needing this with a grueling semester.

Sam swimming in the gulf

The highlight of our trip was a day we will talk about for years to come. We heard about an "adventure course" (Sam and I think the sport should be called carabinering, but that is not a word) where you get yourself from treetop platform to treetop platform, 25-35 feet off the ground on things like wobbly planks, swinging ropes, nets, and zip-lines. We decided to try it. We were harnessed in with mountain climbing gear, complete with carabiners and zip-line pulleys to attach ourselves to the overhead cables. 

They trained us, then set us loose on 5 courses with increasing levels of difficulty. I hate heights, but surprisingly had no fear! It was exhilarating! We were tired after the first two courses (almost 2 hours of work), but started the third. I got 3/4 of the way done with the third course and had to quit. My muscles were trembling, but I was proud that I had taken my body to its absolute limit. The guys went on to complete the third course and were ready to call it a day as well.  Dick and Sam were pretty proud that I kept up! Dick thought I might back down after seeing the climb up to the very first platform! No doubt I was the oldest woman on the courses that day, and no doubt the only one with stage 4 lung cancer, but neither fact slowed this gal down!!

The most amazing thing about our outing was that God took away every bit of my knee and leg pain for the entire time. I mean, I have lived with knee pain now for 11 months, and it is 24/7. It is nothing short of miraculous. He gave me a window without pain to challenge myself and to feel triumphant about doing something I didn't think I could do! And just as amazing was that I, who get headaches from both sun and adrenalin, had NO headache after working that hard IN the sun for nearly 3 hours. It was a divine gift. God is good.

The guys were able to finish by going on a 650-ft zip line which I really wanted to do. I got up the first of three vertical platforms, but my muscles were already so spent, I did not have the strength needed to anchor my hands tightly on the cable handles. I knew I could not go three stories, so I came down, but I tried!!

Did we ache all over the next day? Oh........ Let's just say our abs were so sore that we could barely sit up in bed. Thighs and arms too. You use muscles you never knew you had (well, my anatomist husband knew, obviously, but you get the picture...)! 

As for making new beach-hued memories with my two favorite guys, color me lucky!

FEET

When I was up in Fargo last week helping my parents, I clipped my mom's toenails. She has a broken wrist, which, along with decreasing agility, renders her unable to reach her toes. We soaked the thickened nail beds in warm Palmolive water (those who remember manicurist Madge in the old Palmolive soap commercials, raise your hands) and I did the best I could. After I cut them, I rubbed lotion up and down her legs and into her feet.

When I went to bed that night, I thought about those feet of hers. Feet that have walked how many thousands of miles in 92 years? I can only imagine. Feet that held up her bulging belly when she carried babies in her womb three times. Feet that ran to the Red Owl, concerts, games, Girl Scouts, church meetings, AMA meetings, potlucks and dinner clubs. Feet that explored most countries in Europe.

My mom's feet have been splashed with paint, stain, ocean water, lake water, sweat, food, pine sap and lots of dirt. They have danced many a night away to "Mack the Knife." They are feet that have walked to and from the graves of her parents, 3 of her brothers, and dozens of close friends.

What if feet could speak? Think of the mysteries of life they have born witness to! Our lives have been lived out on heels, soles and toes. They do our bidding.

My mom's feet are more swollen now and need a little assist from a walker. But they are still warm with life and still hold up the body of this woman who has mothered me so lavishly. And to rub them with lotion was seemingly mundane, but in truth, it felt like something sacred.