I am so sorry I missed two days.  I tried to blog on an IPad, but couldn't type on something small like that.  I am old school.  High School typewriter with a ribbon and a roll bar  for paper.  Having graduated to a Mac Book Pro, which has a real Keyboard, I am done with substitutes.  And I left my Mac at home when I went to Edmond last Thursday.  And did a bunch of things I shouldn't have done and landed in the hospital again.  Third time this year.  Same thing every time.

I stuck a broach pin in my right finger.  Accident, but nonetheless, pretty critical in my case.  I lost my superior and axillary lymph nodes in my right side (breast cancer, five yrs. ago.  Okay now) and when the lymph tries to get to the infection (to heal me) there is no way to get out.  So  I start turning  rosy pink with infection all down my arm and the right side of my body.  Which, of course, is not good.

I hate being sick.  I don't like people who always talk about what's wrong with them.  I've had enough of it.  It is so inconvenient to the people around you.  There is no way to treat this but to go get hooked up to stuff at the hospital, which I also hate.  So that is where I have been--because I didn't go when I should have.  My daughter Becky and her husband Craig made me sign a piece of paper saying I would never wait again.  I was out of it--I don't remember signing a paper, but I guess it is true.

My children think I am stubborn.   I think I am independent.   However, I admit that this "right arm thing" is discouraging because I know it's going to happen again.  I am really careful.  I wear gloves most of the time when I am using my hands to do anything.  My daughter Pat even bought me some of those "Dr. Oakley the Vet. calf delivering plastic gloves that go clear up to your arm pit," so I could pick okra--which brings me joy.  I am reminded of Paul, the apostle.

II Corinthians 12: 7-9a "Because of the experiences that I have had were so tremendous, God was afraid I might be puffed up by them; so I was given a physical condition which has been a thorn in my flesh, a messenger from Satan to hurt and bother me and prick my pride.  Three different times I begged God to make me well again.  Each time he said, "No, But I am with you; that is all you need…"

It is what it is.  And I'm going to do what Paul did:  Phillipians 3:13b-14 "…forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus."