Sorry I missed writing Friday and Monday, but when I got up--or tried to--on Friday, I was so ill I had to get someone to take me to the hospital.  I thought I had the flu because I was shaking and freezing. I failed to look at my right arm--which should be my "go-to" check, since my arm  is trying to kill me.  But for whatever reason, I didn't.

Luckily, when my daughter Pat got me to the emergency room, the doctor noticed it and immediately diagnosed Cellulitis--and hospitalized me.  At that point I couldn't lift myself up to stand.  This has hospitalized me eight other times.  You go from being perfectly normal to critical in a matter of a couple of hours.  You would think I would learn.

My fault.  I know this is a problem for me.  A result of breast cancer--which I survived 10 years ago.  Thank God.  But I lost my lymph nodes in my right shoulder, and when I get a scratch of any kind, my right arm becomes septic and it spreads all over my body through the blood.  It happens quickly.

The hospitalist remembers me, as do the nurses, which is nice because I don't have to go through any explanations.  They know how sick I am.  The good thing is that once they put me on an antibiotic drip, I recover rather quickly.  The bad thing is that I could soon be resistant to any antibiotics that are out there.  But that's in the hands of God.

Another good thing is that I get to share with all of the new staff that I am a writer, give them my card and some of them get hooked.  One of the nurses went home and read what I had written starting in November.  Another nurse took a picture of the card, sent it to his mom and his sister in New York.  God allows things to happen sometimes to get you where he wants you to be.

It reminds me of the story of Paul and Silas being beaten, thrown into jail, locked in chains just for telling others the story of Jesus.  But while they were in jail singing and praising God, an earthquake broke the chains and the jailer was so overcome that he accepted Christ--and so did everyone in his family.  Sometimes God has to arrange to get us into jail--for a reason.  Paul never would have met the jailer otherwise.  For me it was a hospital.  I just try to share my faith when I get a listener.  And giving someone my card is an easy way to open the jail door.