I've been sick the past few days. Cough, congestion, headache, fever, blah, blah, blah. I hate being sick. That's a dumb thing to say, isn't it? Because, who enjoys being sick. 

As I've been living through this discomfort, feeling sorry for myself, being miserable, wishing I could wake up all better, driving Hank batty because I won't take the time to go see Doc King, I realized that I'm a wimp when it comes to being sick. This thought got me to thinking about individuals I know who are battling various health issues and their fortitude as they face the challenges that come with their particular challenge.

I'd like to draw an analogy for you.

You've heard the expression 'what a pansy!' the inference being that the person is weak, whiny, spineless, etc. This is such a misnomer. A little gardening lesson, if you will. The pansy, violax wittrockiana, is actually a very hardy flower. Around these parts, we plant them in the late fall for some winter color and bounteous spring color. I've also noticed that in Utah pansies will be planted over tulip bulbs for some stunning flower bed color. And, if memory serves me right, it gets plumb cold, downright freezing, in those parts of the U.S. and yet, the pretty little pansies will maintain their blooms throughout the snow and ice. Come spring, they'll bloom with gusto, adding beauty to their surroundings with their little pansy faces.

Sweet Friend was on her way to remission when she suffered a set back, and the doctors can't seem to figure out why, or what, is the cause of her set back. She continues being strong and enduring, patiently waiting for things to turn around. She's a pansy. Her family is equally strong and hopeful. They're pansies too.

Five years ago, my dad was the epitome of health. The man was running three or four miles several times a week at the age of seventy eight. Mowing the yard, building things, gardening, so very active. Then out of the blue he began to have kidney problems. Long story short, my dad has been on dialysis for the last couple of years, three times a week. Until he began dialysis, I had no idea how taxing it is on a person to have their blood mechanically cleansed. He is wiped out for the rest of the day and just as he begins to feel somewhat recuperated from the ordeal, he has to go and do the same thing all over again. He remains hopeful, as does the entire family, that a transplant will be found. My dad's a pansy.

Art Teacher, my BFF at work, heck, what am I saying, she's my non-family BFF, has been living with diabetes since she was twenty three. She is meticulous about watching what she eats, how much of it she eats, completely monitoring everything that might affect her blood sugar level. I had no clue how much a puny cold can throw those blood sugar levels into a tizzy. She's a pansy.

There are others who I'd like to dub with the moniker of pansy but I won't bore you. Suffice it to say that I am not a pansy, I'm a wimp. Plain and simple.

1 comment:

  1. Thanks for this. It's the perfect springboard for my Relief Society lesson tomorrow!