I struggled with what to write about next, having so many thoughts running through my mind. I was also feeling vulnerable from my last post and needed a moment to regroup. :) I am also writing this while I have children jumping around me and being demanding of my time. My thoughts may seem all over the place.
My birthday is in April. I love birthdays! The last birthday party I had pre-adulthood (don't tell me if this is not a real word), was when I was 8 years old. I have had many memorable celebrations facilitated by friends, or my Sexy Man. My parents did not remember my birthday after my siblings moved out. I was fine with it growing up but as an adult with children, I want nothing more than to make birthdays special, including my own.
My dad called me the week of my birthday this year stating he wanted to take me and my family out to dinner for my birthday. My parents have been asking often when my birthday was this year.
Mom: Your birthday is in August, right?
Me: No, April.
Mom: Isn't The Daughter's birthday in April?
Me: No, August.
(This conversation happened often.)
I was excited to celebrate my birthday with my parents. I had plans to go bowling with my friends on my birthday and so we planned dinner the day before.
I had been having allergy issues for a few weeks, which is common. No matter what medications I took, I felt worse. By the time I went to dinner with the family, I could hardly stay awake for more than a couple of hours at a time. I could not figure out what was wrong with me.
The Family and I went to a steak house for dinner and my mom made inappropriate comments about our server, my dad laughed at all the crazy things my kids did and said, and I sat quietly eating my food. My parents told The Daughter about me being a wonderful child. I liked to tease my parents and siblings stating I was always the favorite and the best child ever. My parents confirmed it that night, well, part of it anyways. It was a fun time. My parents hugged me after the dinner and gave me a card for my birthday. I do not remember the last time I hugged my parents. My parents were never affectionate.
The next night I went bowling with friends and was only able to play one game and spent the rest of the time putting my head on the table. It was a fun time, but I did feel terrible.
The day after my birthday I went to the doctor and found out I had pneumonia. I was pretty sure the doctor misdiagnosed me. Apparently, the doctor was correct. I hate it when I am proven wrong! I really enjoy being correct. I didn't start feeling like myself fully again until September. It was a terrible illness. The doctor made it very clear that people die from this illness if not taken care of properly and I already have a compromised immune system so I needed to be diligent.
I, clearly, survived pneumonia. I had to be willing to allow others to help me. My Sexy Man had to take care of the kids and dinners and cleaning and continue to work while I laid in bed. I found out I need others, even when I am not ill. I am not the only one who can do everything. It was a scary, yet reassuring, thing to learn. This was something that I referred back to many times this year.
No comments:
Post a Comment