“I’m a mess,” I offered my befuddled husband as hot tears spilled onto my cheeks.
“What’s wrong?” Jim asked with tenderness, reaching across the table to take my hand.
I’ll spare you the boring details. But the facts are significant. Upwards of 30% of people do not survive a pulmonary embolism.
Holy havoc! Thank God I didn’t know that going into my ordeal!
That fact registered for the first time via the focused rather than usual friendly demeanor of my primary care doctor during a follow-up visit several days after my release from the hospital. Let’s just say, I have a much deeper appreciation for the detached efficiency of hospital environments.
Once my doctor and I had concluded our business, I chewed on those facts as well as my lunch in the middle of the day, in the middle of a very public venue.
It’s amazing what comes into view when life gets stripped down to the bare bones. Sitting in that very public venue I could feel the gift of life coursing through my veins (okay, coursing through one particular teeny, tiny vein in my lower right lung where the clump of platelets/blood clot had lodged, causing searing pain initially, dull pain days later with a protocol of blood thinners cleaning up the mess I'd made). With every beat of my heart came a reminder; do not squander the gift.
“I’m just tired,” I’d offered Jim, regaining my composure.
Living life on the edge is exhausting both physically and emotionally.
“And feeling blessed,” I’d added with a smile, thankful for this wonderful man, and for the ordinary moment imbued with such extraordinary beauty.
I understood in that pivotal moment we live not by choice but by grace.
Holy is the life we’ve been given.
Holy is life’s purpose; to grow in wisdom and love.