It’s Been a Year, Part III

(Written in 2015. Read Part One Here. Read Part Two Here.)

Well, I turned in How to Catch a Prince unfinished, with the last hundred pages in rough draft.

My publisher and editor were understanding, but with my schedule I was nervous about the rewrite. Did I have time. Did I have the emotional bandwidth?

In the end, we pushed the book out three months. I’d never missed a deadline let alone push out a publication date.

But it was the right decision. I felt too horrible to care about being a “deadline failure.”

At least I’d tried to get it done.

Turning in a book, even the mess I’d created, usually comes with some relief.

Not this time.

I tried to let it go. Rest. Heal.

My friend Joan came over for prayer nights.

The melancholy came in waves. I’d miss friends and family I hadn’t seen or talked to in years. But I refrained from calling most of them because I didn’t trust my emotions.

I prayed.

A lot.

I’d soak in Jesus.

At the end of the month, I had to go to Destin, Florida, for the My Book Therapy Deep Thinkers Retreat. It’s an advanced writing intensive that would require all of my creative energy.

The attendees had paid good money for my help.

Usually, I’m afforded my own room at this retreat, but this year I had to share.

Granted, it was with my good buddy Susan May Warren, and we’d shared before, but this time it seemed ominous.

Would I keep her awake all night?

What would I do if I couldn’t sleep?

The night before my drive up, I didn’t sleep well. Feeling rather zombie-ish, I determined to worship my way to my overnight stopping point: Tallahassee, where I’d spend the night with my older brother.

I prayed and listened to worship and teachings that led me to truth. I cried good tears.

But oh, I was so tired.

An old friend from my Publix days invited me to dinner. We hadn’t seen each other in twenty-five years, and here I was, a basket case.

Her home and family were lovely. But during dinner, I started to shake.

Blimey.

So I confessed the whole thing to her and her husband.

Did I care or feel embarrassed?

Nope.

I just had to talk about it.

Plus, I could tell I wasn’t myself.

My friend was kind and sympathetic.

She offered a sleep aid, but I didn’t want to take anything. I’d tried melatonin and Tylenol PM, black cohosh and St. John’s wort, and at times I thought they made the shaking worse.

I had not yet been in to see the doctor — only gotten her call — and I didn’t know what my body needed. So I wasn’t going to add anything.

I didn’t sleep a wink at my brother’s.

I trembled and shook, heart racing all night.

I peed a gazillion times.

Finally, I packed up and headed west.

As I said goodbye to my brother, I told him, “I’m super menopausal. Pray for me.”

He was hesitant.

“I don’t pray well out loud.”

“Pray for me!”

I grabbed his hand and slapped it on my head.

Ha!

He prayed.

Don’t mess with a menopausal woman.

In the pouring rain, I drove down I-10 feeling like poo on a shoe, praying and crying out to the Lord.

By the time I hit Destin, the sun was shining in a glorious blue sky. I pulled up to the beach house grateful, thinking, I could manage things.

Yet I was really, really tired.

In the back of my mind, I thought, “If this doesn’t change, I’m going to go to the hospital.”

I couldn’t imagine being in a house with twenty-one women and not sleeping.

The staff arrived early, and we ran out to spend some time together in pedicure chairs.

As my feet were being scraped and massaged, I started to shake.

Noooo…

I was discouraged.

I told the girls my situation, but I didn’t want to belabor it and bring down the party.

I’m not sure it was possible to communicate how crappy I felt.

When we headed out for a Publix run, Susie suggested brainstorming my upcoming novella. I had to start writing it the moment I returned home.

I focused, trying to talk out the story, but I was so distracted by the shaking and trembling.

Suddenly I noticed the tremors slowing down.

In the short miles between the nail salon and Publix, the tremors and quakes stopped.

They did not return again for the rest of the week.

Oh, glorious Lord, thank You!

My first answered prayer on this menopause journey.

I asked the pharmacist at Publix what she might recommend for sleep.

Unisom.

So I bought a box.

We went home.

I took half a Unisom, unsure how I’d respond to it, and curled up.

Did you know the Bible promises us sleep?

Proverbs 3.

Psalm 4.

As I drifted off, I could hear the attendees arriving. I felt bad that I wasn’t downstairs to greet them.

But if I was going to be any good to them through the week, I had to sleep.

I slept ten hours that night.

Oh, glory to God. Glory to God!

I felt halfway myself.

I continued to sleep well all week, with only a few touchy moments. During one lunch break, I was about to burst into tears so I went up to my room, called my hubby, and cried as he prayed.

Waves of feeling overwhelmed still got me on occasion.

Overall, the retreat was a success. A gift from God.

It was then I realized I really could walk through this.

On the drive home, I went back to my formula of worshipping and praying, listening to teaching from men of God I respected.

I literally sang Galatians 5:22 for twenty minutes.

“I’ve got the love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness, self-control.”

Until I felt my spirit begin to change.

When I came home, a friend from church had left a card for me with this verse:

Luke 12:32, New King James Version:

“Do not fear, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.”

I cried and cried and cried.

I was at peace.

We went to a worship night at a local church where I cried and cried.

God spoke to me.

And I knew I would endure this…

Leaning on my Beloved.

Continue reading Part 4… 

 

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