Being Sick in Public
Dear Readers,
I’ve struggled to find a topic this month, as my days tend to look the same on long-term disability (I’ve graduated from short-term since I’ve now been out six months). Due to a slight medicine change this month I’m experiencing nausea again, but overall am still improving, and will be back at work September 1. I’m excited to return, but also feel nervous about Being Sick in Public, because unlike when I returned to work after chemo three years ago, I will still be undergoing treatment: this powerful medicine, which I will be on for at least two years and possibly the rest of my life. With its significant side effects.
I’m grateful that the pandemic helped disabuse many of us of the idea that when we are sick, we should act like we’re fine and even show up to work; because, with Covid, the flu, and the common cold, we could endanger others. Of course, some people don’t have the benefits of sick leave, making such decisions more challenging. But the idea that we should act like everything is OK is a distortion of Matthew 6:16-18:
“And whenever you fast, do not look somber, like the hypocrites, for they mark their faces to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret, and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.”
That’s always the Gospel on Ash Wednesday, and a challenging one to preach when those of us who observe Ash Wednesday are walking around with a cross-shaped smudge on our heads all day after hearing an admonition about practicing our piety in public. But that passage isn’t about being sick: it’s about piety and wanting to be known for our piety. It’s not a call to power through when we are sick so that others don’t know how we’re feeling.
I’ve been getting more practice being sick in public lately, as I have felt well enough to go out to the grocery store, or lunch sometimes with Gary or friends, and last Friday even went to the local botanical gardens with my dear friend (and fellow Eerdmans author) Shea Tuttle. But I can’t walk as much as we used to when we visited the gardens, and I feel pathetic constantly seeking out benches. We also spent a couple of hours inside talking. Shea insists that she is fine with our slower pace—she’s a true friend; but the experience reminds me that I am not the person I used to be. I’m weaker. I feel like I should find a different word than “weak,” one that is more positive, but in the spirit of not “putting oil on my head and washing my face” as in Matthew 6, I will resist.
I’m nervous about going back to work September 1. For example, I get dizzy now getting up from the floor, so worry that I will stumble or fall after getting up from the children’s sermon. One of the bajillion side effects of the targeted therapy is a constantly dripping nose. I take medication for that, but what if my nose runs when I am handing out sacramental bread? Or worst of all, what if I have to flee to the bathroom in the middle of leading a service because I have to be sick? AND what if that happens and I forget to turn off the microphone?!?
Earlier this month, during my daily morning walk, I became nauseous and spotted a garbage container out on the curb a couple of houses away and thought, “if I can’t control myself, maybe I can vomit in that.” But I didn’t make it that far: I threw up immediately, in a neighbors’ yard, right in the weeds. Then again in a small hole in the next neighbor’s yard. “People will think I’m hungover,” I worried. Fortunately, it was early, so I hope no one saw me. If they did, my closest neighbors know about my illness. They would probably think, oh look: there’s Elizabeth With Cancer throwing up in my yard. (Now I make sure I always have one of my dog’s poop bags in my pocket so I can retch in that if necessary.)
Jesus was publicly humiliated and tortured in a way I can never understand. As a Christian, I know that through Jesus, God understands human suffering. But sometimes I wonder about small sufferings, like a runny nose or throwing up in someone’s yard, vs. the big deadly stuff. Surely Jesus got colds or an upset stomach? Did he heal himself, or just drink tea or broth and take naps? We have biblical accounts of him taking naps. That he attended to his needs when he was tired gives me hope that he shared our smaller discomforts and humiliations as well. What do you think?
Blessings, Elizabeth
Useless Unsolicited Advice:
I receive advice on an almost daily basis from people who are not my doctor (e.g., eat wild honey; try IV vitamins; or my favorite: smoke marijuana. I am a NONSMOKER WITH LUNG CANCER with only one lung left. I AM NOT GOING TO TAKE UP SMOKING. Please, stop.) Since the advice never seems to stop, I have decided to offer some back.
So my tip this month is Herdez mild salsa for nausea. Salsa on toast has been my morning nausea cure (note: plus prescription anti-nausea meds) for two weeks now, and when I confessed this bizarre combo to my sister, she was not as nonplussed as others have been, mentioning that green chiles are magic. I googled this and learned that chili peppers, with their capsaicin, are indeed sometimes recommended to treat nausea. I’m grateful, because ginger tea and peppermint tea, which I used to turn to, now make me sicker. In fact, many things that worked well in the past now make me sick. Salsa will probably make me sick soon, but it works today.
But my best tip for you is: DO NOT SHARE THIS TIP UNSOLICITED WITH ANYONE. NO ONE LIKES UNSOLICITED ADVICE. I’ll let you know if I have questions.
What I’m reading:
The Half Moon by Mary Beth Keane. Poignant portrait of a marriage, with some suspense and menace thrown in.
I Didn’t Do It by Jaime Lynn Hendricks. Fun thriller featuring thriller writers.
The Five-Star Weekend by Elin Hilderbrand. A beach read that has a scene in an independent bookstore poking fun of “beach reads” vs. “literary fiction.”
Be Mine by Richard Ford. I’ve been reading novels about Frank Bascombe since the 1990s.
Their Faces Shone by Kate Rademacher. True account of a foster parenting experience. I couldn’t put this one down.
The Trackers by Charles Frazier. Incredible historical fiction.
He Called Me Sister by Susan Craig Robertson. Story about a family’s relationship with a man on death row by a graduate of the same MFA program I attended (Naslund-Mann). Was also reviewed by Elizabeth Palmer in the Christian Century.
The latest on my book:
We are four weeks away from the launch of Unexpected Abundance. If you’re local, I hope you will come to The Little Bookshop in Midlothian at 6 PM on August 22 to celebrate with me. They will have books for sale, and you can preorder them by calling 804-464-1244. If you aren’t local, you can order the book through Bookshop.org—my link is set up to benefit The Little Bookshop—or through the publisher Eerdmans or, of course, Amazon. Best would be to ask for it at your local indie bookshop or request it at your local library!
I have a few podcast appearances set up (!!) and am going to speak to the book club at Manakin Episcopal Church (along with their Powhatan neighbor St. Luke’s) on October 17th. If you have a book club and are interested in reading Unexpected Abundance, I’d be happy to visit in person if you are local, or via Zoom in if you’re not. Reply to this email if you’d like to set something up. If you are interested in a book study, an in-depth discussion guide will be available soon.
Finally, keep an eye out next week for a special email with a launch team opportunity for those who preorder a copy.
I preordered your book and was surprised to receive it today in the mail! Best of luck going forward in both health and your book launch.
You’ve made me think. As always 🥰