Hope, Even When it Hurts

My initial idea for this week’s blog post was to take a drive through the Adirondacks and snap a bunch of fall foliage pictures. I was going to share them with you today—as a photography essay of sorts—but my most recent check-up in Boston left me feeling exhausted. A road trip was simply out of the question.

What happened in Boston?

I may or may not have explained this forever ago—but when you have a bone marrow transplant, preparations for the procedure wipe out your immune system and all of the immunities you’ve accumulated throughout your life. This includes immunities from prior vaccinations and/or experiences with illnesses, such as the chicken pox. Although the chicken pox scars on my face say otherwise, according to my fledgling immune system, it’s like none of it ever happened. And, unfortunately, you do not inherit your donor’s immunities (I have no idea why those aren’t shared, but I’m sure there is a thorough medical explanation for it).

Although still 3-6 months away for me, before you can be released back into the “wild”, you must be re-vaccinated. Every shot you had as a child, you must have again. There is a schedule for this; for instance, at the 9-month mark you receive 4 shots. At the 12-month mark, you receive 7 vaccinations.

This past Wednesday in Boston, I received all of my 12-month shots, plus an inactive version of the flu shot. I’m not afraid of needles. I’ve grown accustomed to being poked and pricked. That doesn’t mean, however, that I’m numb to the pain of an injection (i.e. the kick of the Tetanus shot). It also doesn’t mean that the vaccinations can’t drain my energy and make me look, and feel, like an extra from a zombie movie set.

So, in an attempt to be something other than a zombie this past weekend, I drank copious amounts of orange juice and ginger ale. When the sun decided to shine, I bundled up and took a few pictures of how Autumn has touched our yard. We don’t have many deciduous trees around us, but there are a bunch of dried up, perennial flowers. Even withered, I think they’re beautiful. They hold the promise of rebirth in their faded petals and leaves. They’re a reminder to hope, even when it hurts.

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As always, Dear Readers, thank you for sending prayers, love, and light. They are most appreciated.

 

With Love & Gratitude,

Laura

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2 thoughts on “Hope, Even When it Hurts

  1. So, you have another amazing talent along with writing !! Your photos are beautiful ! Thanks for sharing your talents with me. As a person who dreads the thought of summer being over, your pictures lifted my spirit. Its very true that there is a time for everything and I believe that. Still I lament the coming of winter. When it comes I’ll learn to accept the cold and snow and yes I’ll have to admit the beauty of snow that makes everything look glitter was sprinkled all around. Thank God, the vaccinations are over and they are now protecting you. Sending Love and prayers. Lyn

    —————————————–From: “Of Pieridae & Perras”

    To: gduffy7913@charter.net Cc: Sent: Monday October 8 2018 3:36:41AM Subject: [New post] Hope, Even When it Hurts

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    Laura Perras posted: “My initial idea for this week’s blog post was to take a drive through the Adirondacks and snap a bunch of fall foliage pictures. I was going to share them with you today—as a photography essay of sorts—but my most recent check-up in Boston left me feeling”

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