Two Strikes and a Barf Bucket

Like a batter facing a superior pitcher, I took two straight strikes without even swinging my bat. Tuesday morning, I've already written about. Wednesday morning was more of the same. This time, however, I went to work in Greenville driving over with a barf bucket on the truck seat beside me. Thank God almighty that I did not need the bucket and did not hurl nor hurt throughout the day. That night, however, I dreamed that my ribs on my let side broke. I was asleep, but in the process of moving a second stone through the system. No, the other one had not passed yet. In my dream, I kept rolling from one side to the other. When I laid on my right side, the angle of my upper body forced my ribs into my pelvis creating a huge amount of pain.

Then I woke up. Thankfully, I was able, after some fitful minutes, to go back to sleep and stay that way until morning awaking with no pain. Once more, how often we take our health for granted. I worked Thursday with no pain, but when my time was up and I went home, I found my night-night clothes and the couch and stayed there the rest of the afternoon. I needed to swim. I needed to lift. I needed to run. I needed to study. I just napped and watched mindless TV instead.

Two straight days with no activity, three actually, but Tuesday was excusable. I was hurting, hurting bad, so bad I was hurling. I could have done something Thursday at least. But beside the stones, Tuesday morning, I inadvertently kicked a book case bruising my left foot. I thought it would be better Wednesday. It was worse. I thought it would be better Thursday. It was more worser (I know). I thought it would surely be better Friday morning. It is not.

To complicate matters further, I am signed up for the Mississippi River Marathon and Half Marathon for this Saturday morning. So is my son who has not returned my last two texts. That means if I can still walk and am willing to risk falling down while trying to run on a sore foot or having a kidney stone attack while racing the ubiquitous fat lady, I will have to make the early morning trip to Greenville all by myself.

I think I'll carry a barf bucket. Thank you, Jesus, for all of these problems. With life there are issues. In the grave, "the wicked cease from troubling."