Wednesday, August 29, 2007


It's easy for me when I am sick to feel sorry for myself. I think how it would be nice if I could have someone come take care of my 5-month old so that I could sleep longer or how I wish my husband could get home earlier from work or even stay home with me to complete the daily housefold tasks, like cleaning and dinner. I think how I wish that my refrigerator was full of "get well" food like pudding and jello.

And then I remember another time of when I really felt sorry for myself....We were living in Kenya and I had a stomach bug, which is not fun to have when your toilet is wedged in a corner that barely gives room for your legs when you sit down or when you can't even lay on the couch because you just have a love seat and chair in your ~300 square foot apartment. Not to mention there were not even crackers on our shelves or Sprite to ease my upset stomach or a doctor close by to help me if the "bug" thing got worse.

But then I stop and remind myself AGAIN of how rich and easy I have it to be sick. For one, I have a husband and plenty of friends and family who would drop anything to help me if I really needed time to recover. I also have access to medical care and medicine that I can afford and easily jump in my car and drive to the pharmacy to pick up. I have a bed (actually we have two in our home) and a couch (two of those as well) that I can lie on. And, even when I was in Kenya it was easy to be sick.

I can't imagine what it would be like to be sick and be a single mom. I can't imagine what it would be like to be sick and be a single mom and live on the streets of Nairobi, Kenya. I mean how bad must it feel to have to lie on the side of the road (or if you're lucky on a make-shift bed in a shanty that you share with your seven children) and not know where you can even get clean water. How bad must it feel to know that the tuberculosis you are suffering from is curable with daily treatments that is now free in your country but you cannot afford the daily bus fare to take you to the clinic that has it. How bad must it feel to know that no one is going to come at the end of the day to take the child from you to give you a break but instead you must find a hiding place to keep the man who may come by from raping you.

So as I sit here in my nice home feeling a little under the weather, I no longer feel sick.


1 comment:

jodi said...

Thanks, Sarah. I needed that.