It’s almost Easter, and the timing couldn’t be more appropriate. What better Easter message is there than that of hope? I woke up this morning to a gloomy, drizzly, cool day, yet even the unspringlike weather can’t squelch the hope I’m feeling today.
It started with our family walk yesterday. That was impressive for one because I felt good enough to initiate leaving the house and doing something resembling exercise. I was also curious to see what all the loud trucks around our house over the past week or two had been up to. We live in a newer neighborhood still under development. They recently started clearing the rest of the field that was supposedly part of our neighborhood to make room for more houses. Apparently the area used to be a cattle ranch, though. All the turned up dirt held the pungent odor of cow manure. The whole neighborhood reeks of the smell at the moment.
Did we turn back from our walk? Did I go running to the bathroom as a result of the overwhelming, unexpected disgusting smell? Not a bit. It never bothered me, even from the start. We did our full, long walk around the neighborhood, just like we used to do before I got sick. If that’s not a sign I’m starting to move past the crippling morning sickness, I don’t know what is.
Then this morning, I woke up (to a phone call from my mom, who was calling to let me know it was snowing where she is…in north Texas) with a weird feeling about my dreams. I finally pinpointed what was wrong. I couldn’t remember whether I had taken my nausea medication. I had a vague recollection of waking up to take the pill and then going right back to sleep before I even checked the time to see when I’d be able to take it again. The memory was so vague, though, that I wasn’t sure if it had really happened or if it was a dream. I wasn’t nauseous when I woke up, so I decided the greater evil would be to overdose on the medicine. I didn’t take another pill.
I remembered after I had been awake long enough to think through it that I had just started a new bottle. I knew exactly how many pills I should have. Mostly just to solve the mystery, I sat down and counted every one of those pills–twice–to see whether I had really taken one this morning. I hadn’t. That’s right; it had been four extra hours and I wasn’t feeling the effects of being off the medicine at all.
I did finally take a pill about an hour later when it started to catch up to me, but even then it wasn’t severe nausea. I’ve decided to use the medicine more as a response when I am already nauseous rather than a preventative. It’s time to get myself off the medicine once and for all. If that isn’t reason for hope this Easter, I don’t know what is!