Monday Reflection: Perspective

Sophie was ready for her evening walk and I saw no reason why I couldn't perform my Mommie duties yesterday. The temperature had gone down and my diarrhea had passed. She was one happy dog as we made our way down the street. With Nambi in my arms and Sophie leading the way I didn't have a care in the world, that is until I felt my stomach turn. "Oh NO!" I said to my girlfriend Jay on the phone. "I think I'm gonna have diarrhea again." And as soon as I said it, I could feel the poop seeping out of my behind. I contracted my anal muscles trying to hold it in, but that was futile. As I made my way back home, I could feel more and more seep into my pants. The acid from the poop started to sting like someone had poured alcohol into an open wound.

This was not good. Embarrassment ran across my face wondering if people could see the watery brown stain in my light tan capris. But I made my way through my Gold Coast neighborhood as quickly as I could with two dogs. By the time I reached my bathroom my bottom was raw and poop was everywhere. All I could do was sigh.

After I had finished using the bathroom, I washed my body and then my pants. I turned off all the lights and crawled into my bed. Not to cry nor to ask God why, but to calm myself. There is no need to ask God why. I know that answer. When I was 21 years old, I made a choice about my body that has me fighting for my life for the rest of my life. And nothing will ever change that, not fancy clothes, or even being on the cover of the Chicago Tribune. My life is what it is. My peace comes with this acceptance. We give God way to much credit, blaming Him for how we use the gift of free will. But I understand that I could have made a different decision that would have rendered me a different outcome. God on the other hand gives us the tools to cope with all our jacked up decisions that are contrary to living whole and healthy.

So laying there with Sophie's head on my chest, showing me some love, I didn't ask why. I laid there centering myself. I started to reflect on what I had told the congregation at Immanuel M. B. Church earlier that morning as their Women's Day speaker. "It's easy to love God when things are going great," I said. "But can you love God when you are hurting?"

In an instant I was thankful. Thankful that I didn't have diarrhea earlier in my beautiful baby blue St. John Knit, or in the pulpit while speaking. Thankful that I was only a block from my home and that I had a home to come to.

Thankful that my doctor is back from vacation today and that I have a wonderful doctor who knows everything about treating women with HIV/AIDS. It's been twelve long days for me. Nausea, diarrhea, no appetite, and unexpected weight loss. I'll call the doctor in an hour so we can begin this journey of diagnosis on top of the other issues I am already having. Who knows what this is. I assumed it was food poisoning when it first began, but today I have no idea. And with advanced AIDS, it could be something simple like medication, or something serious like an infection. All I can do is brace myself for the answers. Even in that I'm thankful. I understand that the alternative is death. So I take life as it comes and measure my good days against my bad days in full perspective. It's better to be alive and to be a part of God's earthly plan then to have no life at all.