The Costs of Mercy
There is nothing to write. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.
05/06/25
There is no despair today. I have frustration—and worry.
Wolfinia’s sick. Really sick. The agony and dismay of a UTI. Yay. I think her normal-sickness is over-dramatized because she doesn't like discomfort. And now that she's really-sick, it sounds like she is normal-sick, but she's not. My dad does this too—there's no room for amplification. Every discomfort is at 100% negative.
We went to the ER last night, but when she found out we were going to have to wait for three or four hours, she opted for the advice of a nurse friend of ours: take some OTC meds and tough it out. I was relieved. As part of the uninsured and unwashed masses, I was cringing at the idea of an ER bill. I think matters might be compounded by the onset of a viral infection brought on by exposure to the weather.
There was an hour of driving around to various pharmacies looking for the right brand of medication. The nurse had meds, but Wolfinia doesn't like anything that's been opened. It’s a lifelong psychological issue, but it's gotten worse in recent years. We finally found what she wanted and picked up dinner, since she doesn't like it when I cook. In hindsight, saltines and applesauce might have been wiser.
There is a lot going on in her body right now.
When I asked her yesterday not to drive to the next town to drop off a box of food for a family that could have just as easily gotten it the day after tomorrow, she went anyway. It frustrated me because it wasn’t a circumstance of desperation. More a mission of mercy.
She took a young woman who is mentally challenged, to get her out of the house and socialize some. This was kind and considerate—but ended up being two people making poor judgment calls. Wolfinia was already feeling ill when she went out in 60º weather with rain pouring down. She added insult to injury by wading through ankle-deep cold water.
The family to which she was delivering food lives in a trailer. The trailer part is significant, because regular homes always get a ton of leveling and grading so that the water drains away. Trailers, many times, just get set up in a nice flat spot so that they are level. Especially way out in the country, drainage is kind of an afterthought.
The family couldn't get to the car because the home is surrounded by 4” of water. So, my blushing bride in her mid-sixties just got out in the cold and rain and traipsed through the frigid swamp to hand the box up to them on their porch. Soaking her feet and legs. How kind of her not to ask them to suffer.
It felt less kind this morning at 4 a.m., when she lay shivering, sick and inconsolable. And a little light vomiting. :–(
The stomach issue is my fault. Her meds say 'soft food—may cause nausea'. I thought salad was a soft food. I’ve since been educated that fiber is very difficult to make soft. So, no more salads for Wolfie for the time being.
All of this is turned on its head by her inverted circadian rhythm. She sleeps from about 4 a.m. to noon. So, when most of us are deep in sleep, she’s racked with discomfort and turning the heat up to 80º because she can’t get warm.
I’m praying we’re through the worst of it. But her communication style makes it difficult to really know what’s going on. Normally pretty obtuse, since she lost her sister and dad, it’s become a downright guessing game.
Into every life a little rain and all…
Elsewhere, the clouds are gathering too.
Our friends, J and K lost their sunny and cerulean assignment. Volunteers, they were directors for the entire Caribbean island system under our branch territory. This meant building new houses of worship and rebuilding both those places and people's homes after the annual march of hurricanes. But with the shift in oversight of Curaçao and the other islands, they’re returning to the mainland, unsure of what's next.
We met them six years ago when they came to Dust Meridian to direct a construction project and we became fast friends. I’m not sure if it was a like-minds-drawn thing or just that they were kind and we were kind. But we found friends in one another.
Gifting them a very nice cappuccino maker certainly helped to seal the deal. Nothing like a thoughtful gift you use and see every day to remind you someone loves you.
We haven’t seen them since, but we’ve talked a lot. They were responsible for our volunteer gig in the islands a few years ago—installing audio-video systems in houses of worship. And we were in talks to go again later this summer. I guess that's dead in the water now. There’s a silver lining there, I’m sure; I just can’t spot it yet. We exchange little thoughts and gifts, and of course we think so very highly of them both. Wherever they go next will be a real boon to the people there.
They are SUCH quality humans. Flawed like all of us, but their selflessness and friendly approach to everything just makes me want to be around them. Real friends, I think. Real friends, meaning we don’t have to be there 100% of the time—and even though distance and circumstance change us, we still love one another.
They are in good spirits and ready for the change. He’s acknowledging that since they’re both in their sixties, things have to shift gears a little. They certainly aren’t retiring, but they’ll find new ways to expend their goodness on behalf of others.
Selfishly, I hope they have a guest room—or a big driveway. It would be terrific to have them full time in southern Florida. If so, that would give us family in St. Augustine, West Palm Beach, Orlando, and Tampa. We could tour Florida for weeks on a dime! IF I can get my better half to want to travel again. Her newfound emotional state, I think, is making this a challenge.
The day is seeping away, and I’m lacking motivation—even to write. But I read the quote from Hemingway and thought I’d try anyway.
The pantry’s nearly reorganized. There’s laundry to do, a house to restore, and chaos still clinging to the corners from recent travel, the project, and now, illness.
So I’ll pour myself into small things.
Thank you, dear reader. I carry you with me—in my mind and in heart.
Fight the shadows of your day. Wield their power as light, and turn them toward good, for yourself and those you love.
WIWL
EPILOGUE: my little Wolfinia is now stiring and reports that in spite of the troubled night, she is feeling much better. Please pray she is over the hill of the worst and climbing back to herself!
WolfCast Home Page – Listen, follow, subscribe
Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.
Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!
— Go back home and read MORE by Wolf Inwool
— Visit the archive
I welcome feedback at my inbox
