Bab's Blog

It's just me, in words.

The Warrior is a Child October 23, 2011

Filed under: Diabetes,Faith — babscampbell @ 4:32 pm
Tags: , , , , , , ,

My DH and I had a wonderful lunch today and I started griping about all my latest symptoms.  There’s this, that and the other thing wrong now. . blah, blah, blah.  I realized what I was doing and apologized for being “Negative Nancy” and of course, he thinks I’m silly. . . I should talk to him about these things.

Another thing that we discussed is the fact that so many people are so proud of me, speaking of my courage, strength, determination.  There are days. . I’m afraid. . if you were able to see me, you’d be quite disappointed.  I’m really not all that brave at all.  In fact, I’m really a big baby.  I battle fatigue, pain, medication, self-image and feeling mutilated, high BGs, low BGs, the guilt that comes with any out of range BG.  With all my restrictions I feel like an invalid. . or more correctly. . invalid.  I see a needle coming my way and I just wish my Mom would hold on to me and help me count to 10 until it’s all over.  And, as you can imagine, there are ALOT of needles in my life right now.

You wouldn’t think that someone with diabetes and cancer would be so freaked out.  I always imagined that people in those circumstances, somehow “get used to it” and stop fearing the needles.  You would laugh if you saw how long it takes me to push the plunger when I insert my CGM sensor.  I hold my breath, wince and count to 10 when pushing the button on my infusion set applicator.  If I have to actually inject insulin. . oh my. . It takes me forever to finally jab that teeny little needle in my belly.  Then there are the IVs, chemo port needles, tissue expander port needles, blood draws, antibiotics, anesthesia. . . oh my. . my world has been one moment of stress after another!

In talking about all this, I was reminded of a song I used to sing at church.  Twila Paris recorded a song called, the Warrior is a Child.

Lately I’ve been winning battles left and right
But even winners can get wounded in the fight
People say that I’m amazing
Strong beyond my years
But they don’t see inside of me
I’m hiding all the tears

They don’t know that I go running home when I fall down
They don’t know who picks me up when no one is around
I drop my sword and cry for just a while
‘Cause deep inside this armor
The warrior is a child

Unafraid because His armor is the best
But even soldiers need a quiet place to rest
People say that I’m amazing
Never face retreat
But they don’t see the enemies
That lay me at His feet

They don’t know that I go running home when I fall down
They don’t know who picks me up when no one is around
I drop my sword and and cry for just a while
‘Cause deep inside this armor
the warrior is a child

They don’t know that I go running home when I fall down
They don’t know who picks me up when no one is around
I drop my sword and look up for a smile
‘Cause deep inside this armor
Deep inside this armor
Deep inside this armor
The Warrior is a Child

God has been good to me.  Every day I can see yet another way He has helped me through another obstacle, face another fear.  When I’m tired and alone, I can crawl into my Heavenly Father’s lap and cry.  He catches each tear I cry. . He’s even counted them.  He lets me feel sorry for myself, lets me ask why me, lets me be angry and afraid.  Then, He gently lifts me from His lap and stands me on my feet again.  He helps be don my battle gear, gives me a cheer and points me toward the next fight.  We lock arms and face the next evil together.

I’ve always tried to be honest on this blog.  I’ve talked about the good, the bad and the ugly.  This is more of the ugly; I suppose.  I just hope that as this is Pinktober and next month is National Diabetes month, you’ll see those around you fighting for their lives and realize that they too, fall down, feel defeat, get worn out.  Don’t be disappointed when you see the other side of their courage. . the exhaustion and fear.  Remember, we’re not all that different. . .the Warrior is a Child.