My plan was/is to go back to work tomorrow, but I wonder if I should, even after having already recklessly spent 3 of the leave days I have been saving for a possible medical absence later in the Fall. I decided on Saturday or Sunday or whenever that one nurse's advice to take a week might not have been such a bad idea, especially since, as it turned out, Monday night is the first one I actually slept more than I lay awake thinking of bees.

For the past few weeks, I have spent the mornings coughing clear my lungs, not to put too fine a point on it. After hacking them clear, I have been basically okay for the rest of the day. Several times I thought to go ahead and make an appointment with the pulmonologist, but frankly I am seeing altogether too many doctors of late. And she would be sure to point out the weight loss, the biopsy and surgery, work, and her latest "factor" on why I still need to cart around a nebulizer: my mother! [And she doesn't even know her!]

Today, I coughed this morning, on the way to bible study, and while sitting outside, thinking I finally was clear. I left early so as not to be late, but had intended on sitting in the car so that I might finish the catechism lesson I fell asleep reading last night (so far, I feel as if I am 0/2 with Pastor and am trying to cover my bases more). I did finish it, but ended up asking Pastor to explain the liturgy part some since not everyone had arrived yet. For the briefest of moments, I felt as if I understood how it fit together, but then I lost it. SIGH. I tried to review it this afternoon as well as watch the video I posted earlier again, but my brain is still clouded from...well, just about everything I am taking right now.

JW asked how the lesson went Tuesday, and I shared my despair that I will not finish until 2011. She very quickly responded that he spends a year with the children, so surely I will be finished at least no more than that amount of time. DOUBLE SIGH.

[In case you had any doubts about Pastor D's perseverance, he is sacrificing yet another evening to try attempt #3 on Thursday evening. And in case you are reading this, Pastor, I apologize for being petulant about not getting to ask my questions yesterday. You must think I am worse than the children you shepherd! Probably so, but hunger for doctrine has been known to drive otherwise sane people--not that I classify myself as such--into rather inexplicable behaviour that is a significant departure from their "normal" state.]

So, there I sit, all ready to delve into Psalm 18 again [Pastor announced he planned to finish it and actually did], when I felt the need to cough again. And again. And again. I did use my inhalers and perhaps should have tried to give them more time, but when I slipped the oximeter on my finger, it was at 90 already and I am supposed to nebulize then. So, I did, still coughing and actually still hacking up stuff, which was making me even more nauseous that I have been. When I jumped up to go to the sink so I didn't have to swallow something large, I decided to stay there. And, of course, by then the effects of the albuterol inhaler and liquid were making me tremble and my heart race. I ended up lying on the kitchen floor for most of the study. I was glad that I could hear it, but very disappointed that I couldn't take notes. And I was frustrated because I was being a distraction. [Tonight is evening prayer service again, but Pastor literally barred me from coming, from trying again. Who can blame him? MS stinks. So does asthma.]

Once I felt as if my heart would no longer explode, I returned to the table to fetch my things and listen to the talk around me as everyone was visiting since the lesson was finished. At one point, JW's husband asked if I wanted to hold her daughter A. Such a brave act on both their parts, but JW told me later that she trusted me to know my strength. Arms a trembling, I held her baby for a few minutes before asking her husband (also JW, perhaps JW2) to take A back. In my opinion, that moment of peace helped calm my heart more quickly.

JW drove me home, her husband following in their car with children, friend, and her baby all in tow. When we arrived at the house, she took a gander at my incision and noted it was swollen on the left side and, after an experimental poke I could have told her was completely unnecessary, was tender to the touch. A bit swollen, not too much. But, perhaps, too much because I have been icing my incision since Monday? I find it interesting that in contemplating bees, I have concluded that the worst "stings" are on the left side. [Again, this is me not worrying.]

A nurse from the hospital called on Monday for follow-up and instead of maintaining my resolve to not worry for at least a week, I expressed my frustration at the extreme pain I felt and my fears that I was going to end up with an even greater gaping wound since the burning and stinging were worse now than before the surgery. Ice packs was her only suggestion. She promised to ask around and call me back, but did not. I suspect she was glad her routine-follow-up-obligation was over. The ice does help, but it is temporary. And I am sure that I am risking frostbite since I prefer to get my back so numb that should you care to slice it open again I wouldn't bat an eyelash. Doing so lessens the stinging.

Her other thought was nerve involvement (good as an answer to an unknown, but a less-than-optimal one) that would just take time to go away. Given the MS, that is a logical possibility since the surgeon has now told me twice that this was just a small incision and a "little" wound clean-up. However, I cannot stop thinking about the fact that it feels exactly the same as it did leading up ripping open after the first stitches were removed.

I need a distraction.

JW said she would like to read my novel, so I dusted off the edits that have been lying around since I paid my writing student to do them last August and started plowing in on them. I had picked them up last fall, but stopped on page 27, dismayed at all of the red on the pages. Granted, I told K to be brutal, ruthless even, for I wanted an honest response. The end result? She cut over 4,000 words, noted every bit of sap, gleefully pointed out my seemingly inability to use periods and question marks correctly within quotes, and mercilessly highlighted the most overused phrases in my story.

In addition to the edits and revision, I rewrote much of the teaching and preaching portions to reflect what I have come to believe as right doctrine. I am not sure what that means for the story since I am fairly sure that none of the Christian Historical Fiction out there is Lutheran based, but it did enhance the story and align better with the scripture I used. Funny how Truth can do that!

Unfortunately, that project is done.

Pastor did bring me his sermons to review for two book ideas he has, but I wonder if I understand enough doctrine to edit them truly. They are meant to be spoken and need editing for a reader. He is most nervous about my doing so because he is fearful I will change his voice, strip his ownership. Or, so I believe. He would say it is just the doctrine he is guarding. But any truly talented writer, which he is, will work to protect each word on the page! [Look how strongly I reacted to K's butcher job of my novel!] He says he is willing to duke it out with me on the edits so that we can get the project done. However, how do you argue with your own teacher?

So, here I sit, nebulizing again. I normally do not cough up stuff when I am struggling, but I am doing it again. Should I cart myself on over to the ER? I'd rather not. Wanting a distraction, I chose to blather here, nattering about my worries and struggles and silly thoughts and wishing I could better articulate some of what I have been studying.

I think it was JW, who wrote on her blog, that doctrine should be accessible. Surely a 1,001 others have said the same. Yet I found that one line gave me great pause. I wholeheartedly agree! That has been, in part, the joy I have found in studying the Book of Concord. I have literally spent hours each day reading and studying and taking notes and following verses in the bible and writing questions and reflecting (and sending Pastor too long emails). Yes, I have been hungry. Yes, I feel as if I have come home after 31 years in the Church. But, even so, never before has doctrine been so available, so clear, so straightforward. Right there on the page (or online), I can read what was agreed upon 400 years ago, based on pure teaching, and delve into the theology for myself.

The liturgy, that set form that outsiders often find so strange and restricting, is absolutely beautiful in how it bathes us in law and Gospel, how the breadth and depth of what God has done for us is covered from the beginning of the opening of the service until the benediction. It is rich in tradition, dating back God's people in the Old Testament, and overflowing with scripture. Such power is there in reading the Living Word aloud. Such fellowship is there in doing so with other believers.

And the best part is that all of this is centered around what you could call a "right" relationship between God and man, to fit current Christian "speak." He is the god. I the man. He does it all. He saves all. I can do nothing. Such freedom is there in that! No amount of works can save me or make my faith greater, and when I fail, I can know that I am baptized, I am forgiven anew. When I am broken and weak, His power is made strong. Not 3 steps to achieve holiness or 5 paths to a godly life. The focus is God and His desire to save us, on Christ and His sacrifice in order that we might live and how the Holy Spirit works so mightily in order that we can believe. He is the giver. I the receiver. At the birth of the world. At the Red Sea. At the cross. Every moment we read the Living Word. Each time we enter His church.

Oh, how I wish I could be there tonight....