Kate Collins | GRAB THE BAR AND HANG ON FOR THE RIDE

What I love about roller coasters is that rush of exhilaration that comes after
a long climb up a hill and a breathtaking few seconds of hovering at the top of
a towering peak. Then whoosh! It sweeps sharply downward, taking its passengers
with it, completely at the mercy of forces beyond their control. As many before
me have said, life is like that, except that the ride downhill is no fun at
all. This hit home three years ago, when a nasty virus attacked the nerves in
my neck and back, causing headaches, nausea, muscle spasms, numbness, lost of
taste and tears, hypersensitive sense of smell, and even an inflamed scalp.
Worst of all was that my deadline was coming up fast.

Having hit the bottom of that roller coaster ride, I had to come to terms with
a sudden inability to do the simplest things -- smell the aroma of coffee first
thing in the morning, read a book, or even sit at the computer to work on the
next chapter in my mystery. Instead, all my energy went into not moving so I
didn’t bring on more pain. My world narrowed to my house, then to my bedroom,
then to what was immediately in front of my face, as the pain intensified.

At first I wept a lot. When that got old, I started focusing on the things I
could see in my limited area. Most often it was my husband’s face, as he gazed
into my eyes and assured me that he would be there no matter what happened. To
counteract the depression that set in, I began to look for even the tiniest
signs of improvement. One day, three weeks after the virus took hold, I
sneezed. It was a major victory. The next day my eyes watered. I wanted to pop
open a bottle of Champagne, except that it would have made my stomach hurt. The
day my sense of taste returned was a real cause for joy.

That was when I realized that on that long upward climb of my daily life I had
lost sight of the things that really mattered. They weren’t the new jacket in
my closet, the cruise I wanted to take, or even my lovely, comfortable home.
First and foremost was my health. Because when I lost it, when pain had a choke
hold on me, every moment became an ordeal, for me as well as for those who care
about me. Living with that virus also gave me a new appreciation for my loved
ones. When was the last time I’d told them I loved them? And then there were
the small joys – the aroma of soup simmering on the stove, the taste of
chocolate, the thrill of opening a new book and becoming lost in it -- all
thing I’d stopped noticing.

My very wise grandmother told me long ago, “Thank the Lord for boring days,”
and now I finally understand what she meant. There’s nothing exciting about
them, but there’s nothing bad, either. Today, nearly all of my symptoms have
disappeared and I’m once again on the climb toward that next hill. My hope is
that wherever I am, I won’t lose sight of those important things or worry so
much about the inevitable lows and forget to enjoy the moment.

It’s like the glass being half empty or half full. There’s always a valley
after the peak; then again, there’s always a peak after the valley. It’s the
rhythm of life. In the meantime, thank the Lord for the boring days.