I dropped an entire bottle of Arthritis Strength Tylenol this morning. I had just ripped the seal off and it quickly became one of those bizarre moments when you feel something terrible starting to happen, yet there’s absolutely nothing you can do to stop it.

Your eyes watch in horror … your mind screams an inward “oh, no you don’t!”… yet your fingers still commit that big fumble, anyways.

You see the bottle bounce from the counter to the floor. Each pill explosively ricochets – landing in wet sinks, behind the garbage can, and all down under everything into the bottom of your slightly-open, disgustingly messy makeup drawer.

Yes, Mom … I hear you now. Close the drawers all the way, Debi.

Then, as you look at the floor, you start comprehending the magnitude of exactly what fifty pills scattering everywhere actually means … just as the empty bottle finally comes to a stop way back behind the toilet. Great.

Suddenly … out of the corner of your eye … you see something move. Your mind screams another “oh, no you don’t!!” (actually I don’t think it was only in my head this time) just as the cat magically appears in the doorway, clearly intrigued by what he was hearing.

Let the games begin.

I frantically drop to the floor just as Rocky joyfully pounces and starts playing hockey or soccer or fooseball or something, sending every little pill spinning across the bathroom floor into the closet, under shoes, beneath the vanity, everywhere.

On my hands and knees, I’m laughing hysterically as I scramble to salvage anything I can from the paws of my crazy cat.

Somehow he never misses an opportunity like this. He’s always there … nearby … and aware. Even when he looks like this:

Or this:

Or even this:

Believe me … he’s aware.

As the game was clearly going in Rocky’s favor, I looked down at my hands and remembered why I was opening that bottle in the first place.

My hands hurt so bad today. My knuckles are angry red. Swollen and stiff. My wrists throb. No wonder the little stinker was beating me so badly.

No wonder I dropped the bottle in the first place. Stupid Lupus.

Suddenly this whole scenario just wasn’t so funny anymore.

Rocky must’ve sensed the sudden change in emotional atmosphere, because he wisely went on his way at this point, leaving me alone to finally clean up the mess.

Pity party: engage.

I’ve written recently about my struggles over the last month or so. Even though I am thankful to be back at work with my sweet people, I’m still left dealing with some lingering effects from my month of fun. Oh, yes I am.

So as my hips, back, and knees also scream, I tearfully struggle to get off the bathroom floor with all the pills (I could find) finally safe back in the bottle. Don’t worry. I cleaned it. And the top was on this time. Tightly.

As I finally managed to straighten up, I leaned against the counter to rest for just a minute. And, honestly, to feel sorry for myself for probably more than just a minute.

I try to be stronger than that, I do. I try to resist pouting, whining, or anything else that is not only annoying to those around me, but also grieves the God who’s been so good to me through all of this.

But there are times when I get so tired of the struggles. Or from the struggles … I’m not sure which.

Anyways, you know this – I’m like a broken record here at “Growing Nurse Debi”. I just wrote a few months ago about how badly I wish things could just get easier. I can’t help it. As hard as I try, the sinful frustrations just bubble up sometimes.

Like this morning: It was a simple thing. I just needed to get a stupid pill out of the stupid bottle and it turned into an hour-long stupid big deal. One that even led to a stupid messy meltdown on the stupid bathroom floor, darn it.

And now I can’t even remember whether I actually ever even took a stupid pill. And I can’t take another one even though my stiff joints are nagging to me that I never actually did, but my poor, already overworked liver is screaming at me the warning not to risk it.

At this point, Rocky must’ve felt guilty because he’s now back in the bathroom with me emphatically rubbing his love (and fur) all over my legs. I like to think that there’s an apology in there somewhere, but in reality, his food dish is probably heading towards empty. Which is terrifying for all of us.

He jumps up on the counter next to me and I pick him up, instantly starting to feel better.

Even though I didn’t want to NEED those pills this morning … and I didn’t want to spend that hour on the bathroom floor … or those weeks in the recliner, for that matter … and I get tired of having to be so careful all the time … and I don’t want to have to deal with going through more tests later this week … and I really just want all this to simply go away … and I REALLY didn’t want to cry this morning … Rocky DID help me laugh today. Even in the midst of all that.

He was there, he was aware, and he made me laugh. What a sweet gift from God. Praise be.

Thanks for growing with me. ❤

“Our mouths were filled with laughter, our tongues with songs of joy … The Lord has done great things for us, and we are filled with joy.” (Psalm 126: 2-3)