As a homegrown Cajun, from Rayne, Louisiana, I have experienced snow only a few times in my life. My sister, brother, and I were so excited to build a snowman with the little bit of accumulation on the top of our trash can lids.
Fast forward a few decades–I just recently turned 40. I spent the day in tears and visited a pain specialist/orthopedist. Pain had been searing through my lower back and joints for at least six months. Here I am, on the 4th of October, letting sobs rack my body as I explained this to my new doctor. As the tears flowed, I decided to wager on having back surgery even though I may be risking the limited mobility I had left. Luckily, my doctor quickly nixed that idea because she said it would not help me at all.
I love her!
I have never before cared about age. I look forward to getting older and wiser. I look forward to living my beautifully blessed life.
But today, I feel crushed–not like the fresh snow falling all around my home at this very moment. More like the hardened snow that sits on the tops of mountains long after the warm rays of summer make their presence known.
Having lived here on the west side of Houston, Katy, for more than 17 years–I find myself writing to you in the middle of the night while our “winter” coats are bustling about in the dryer. I have been up for 2 and 1/2 hours-taking pictures and videos constantly worried it will melt at any moment. Building a snowman with my older three kids, 13, 8, and 6 while our sweet baby is blissfully sleeping.
Only a few more hours until I can wake her up to show her the snow–just like Elsa creates in her favorite movie. We have watched that movie no less than 20 times in the past week. She dances away with the cape I sewed for her older sister three years ago as a Halloween costume. Binder clips attach to the neckline of her dress as she swirls, smiles, and sings along to the movie.
The pain that has weighed down my life for the past year is becoming lighter. A few procedures that have been moderately successful have transported me back to my beautiful blessed life. Rewinding my life as if it is a brand new VCR tape. The final procedure scheduled 10 days from now will hopefully transport me back to making snow angels with my children.
I just watched Lady Gaga's documentary on Netflix, Five Foot Two, the other day. I loved her music before as well as her performance on American Horror Story, but now I love her. Whether she is a famous musician with millions of raging fans, or just a someone I met at the local Starbucks, I would love her as a sister, a best friend, and a fellow warrior with chronic pain. There are no words that can describe how impactful, inspiring, and endearing her documentary is–for me and every other person, whether man or woman, boy or girl, young or old, brave or weak, short or tall. It is appropriately named Five Foot Two. I suppose her music can put the feelings into words.
Thank you, Lady Gaga, for using the gifts God gave you to bring hope and awareness to the realities of chronic conditions.
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