Sometimes a Fresh Start is Wrapped in Suffering

Hallmark won’t be making a movie about this.

It started about three weeks ago. My sweetie and I both got Covid. He got a horrible case, I, a mild one. We both did a course of Paxlovid and recovered.

I rescheduled my trip to return to AZ for three weeks down the road, figuring that would be enough time to recuperate and not be a flying vector.

Then the flu rolled in a few weeks later. So much for vaccinations. It knocked me on my ass. But I seemed to recuperate just fine. I was fever free and the day of my flight; I felt right as rain.

Narrator: But Theresa would soon find out that rain was actually a portent of a hurricane.

The winds of my impending misfortune began at the airport.

Evil me, I brought protein powder in a Ziploc-after checking TSA regulations and finding it was okay.

It was not.

My offer to just throw it out garnered more suspicion.

My nefarious act triggered a DEFCON 4 response. I was enraged.

“Ma’am, we need to do a full body pat down.”

And that’s when I lost it. “I’m going to pass my hands around your breasts…”

“I have none,” I replied. And then I started crying and shaking.

I was humiliated. Ambushed by grief. Outraged. A stranger was violating my space.

When she finished, I waited, shoeless, while they combed through my luggage, and screened my hands and shoes for explosives.

I was able to calm myself down before boarding the flight and reminded myself I was heading for sunnier days.

This was my fresh start! A new beginning. I’m going to hit the ground running, get working right away and get back on my feet after an incredibly tough year.

Then the plane landed. I thought the achiness was from hauling around the suitcases in the airport. Reasonable assumption, right? I downed some ibuprofen and dismissed it.

I arrived at the new little park model mobile home I purchased and was delighted. I found it on Craigslist but it was my sister who vetted the decision for me.

Scene Change: Theresa feels a shiver.

Rut roh. Is that smoke I see down the track?

The freight train rolled in. Bloody hell people. I have never, EVER been this sick before. Chemo was a springtime picnic with happy butterflies dancing about compared to this viral onslaught.

To make matters worse, the power went out for a morning, so I had no heat, no heated throw. I curled into a ball in a vain effort to get warm. And whimpered. Where’s my mommy?

I wanted a little bell to ring on my nightstand. Maybe some of those little oyster crackers too.

The boobless badass at her finest.

So much for hitting the ground running. And I was reminded once again that you know you’re an American when any health issue arises, the first thing that crosses your mind is “I can’t afford to be sick.”

With dwindling funds, I was packing a lot of pressure to get working right away.

After literally thinking I could die, (sometimes we old nurses can be really stoopid when it comes to our own healthcare), I did a televisit with a doctor through my insurance.

“You need to do a lung exam because of the cancer history,” she said.

Yeah, let’s just file that one under “things to say to cancer survivors to make them fudge their undies.”

This fresh out of breast cancer treatment, those are huge trigger words.

I consulted my team at Mayo through the portal. God bless Mayo and all their angels of healing.

My phone rang shortly afterwards. It was a breast center nurse.

She pulled me down from the ceiling and told me my observations were likely correct. This was the flu. And probably an echo of Covid too, despite the negative tests I took before flying.

If I felt worse or wanted to get an x-ray, I certainly could for peace of mind.

(The doc who advised the lung exam had never seen me much less listened to my lungs. It was boilerplate healthcare with a pinch of CYA thrown in for good measure.)

Today is the first day I am upright but am moving slowly. And I will continue to rest and watch dumb movies on my phone. I am hoping it is not a long road to recovery.

If there is one thing this past year has taught me is the fragility of life. This round of flu even more so than the c word.

There is a strong temptation for self-pity. And I have certainly shed more than a few tears over the difficulties of this past year: divorce recovery, breast cancer, death of a dear friend and now… let’s just finish the year strong with illness.

I am reminded once again of what my favorite Franciscan Richard Rohr says, that great love and great suffering are intertwined. I realize that’s a bit of a tangent from what I’m discussing, but it points me to the greater truth that life is just plain hard at times.

Damit.

This isn’t Hallmark movie content. I think part of why we watch that treacle is it reminds us that hope is ever present. And it gives us a pleasant break from some of life’s difficulties. And besides, who doesn’t enjoy the eye candy with the actors and the scenery?

But life bears little resemblance to a simplistic plot.

And it doesn’t escape me either that we have just passed the winter solstice. And I have been deep in a dark winter.

My other sister sent me this comforting quote:

“In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.” Albert Camus.

My plans to hit the ground running must yield to these depths. I must rest knowing that spring and an invincible summer are indeed coming.
Happy Holidays, beloved friends and readers. I appreciate each one of you!

And now this writer is heading back to bed.

PS In January, I will be launching the Fresh Start Sisterhood over on Substack. Stay tuned for details.

Thanks so much for reading. You can find me around the internet at www.theresawinn.com, on Facebook, LinkedIn and Instagram. If you’d like to support my writing in a small way, feel free to contribute to my wishlist.