“My Wife Is Strict”
And other weighty matters
Fifteen years ago, Dave and I arrived in Germany, where we would live for a year while he was doing research. We had decided that rather than ship anything over from the States, we would take everything we needed in our luggage. The maximum amount we could take without extra charge was one personal item, one carry-on bag, and two checked bags up to 50 pounds. We loaded up our suitcases with all the clothes, books, American measuring cups, computers, and children’s toys that we thought we might need. (And in case those who know me are wondering: I packed only three pairs of shoes! Feel free to be impressed with my incredible restraint.)
Armed with our 200 pounds of gear for the year, we landed in Frankfurt and were picked up at the airport by a friend of friends. The next morning, we started to experience the limitation of our packing plan: public transportation. We had to catch a bus to a conference center, and it turns out that trying to board a bus and buy a ticket and haul your personal item and carry-on bag and two 50-pound suitcases—all while jet-lagged—does not win you friends with the driver or other passengers.
The bus was a breeze compared to the train, however. We had to cross the tracks to the opposite platform, which meant climbing a tall flight of concrete stairs on a hot August day. Here is a math story problem: Two people have two backpacks, two suitcases weighing 20 pounds each, and four suitcases weighing 50 pounds each. How long will it take them to cross to the other platform, and will they make it in time to catch their train?
We started moving our gear in a shuttle system—up and down to the first landing, up and down to the next landing. A German man saw us sweating and heaving our bags and offered to help carry something, but at that point it seemed certain we were going to miss the train and we didn’t want to hold him up as well. Dave replied: “Danke aber nein—meine Frau ist streng.”
The man looked at me strangely for a second, and then hurried away, maybe a bit more quickly than seemed necessary.
It was only after we finally boarded a train that Dave burst out laughing. The German word streng does not mean “strong” (that would be stark)—it means “strict.” “No wonder that guy looked at you like you were weird and then rushed off! He wasn’t sure what my strict wife was going to do if I let him touch a suitcase!”
(I wish I could say that was the end of our misadventures in German . . . but later there was the time Dave went into a stationery shop and asked to find an accident, and the time I told the Kindergarten teacher that I had great longing and sadness for the bus. The takeaway here is to be kind to all the non-native speakers you encounter!)
Mein Körper Ist Nicht Stark
I always liked feeling strong. I was never the fastest or most coordinated person, but I was definitely the person you’d want on your Red Rover team. I was better at moving furniture than assembling it. My favorite days in the gym were heavy lifting routines, not because I was a brilliant weightlifter (I was not) but because I love the feeling of having to be in touch with your body—feeling the weight as your feet push through the floor, positioning your body properly for the movement, breathing to support the work of moving the weight. It provides these moments of consciousness of the capacity of your body to do a hard and heavy thing.
And now my body is not strong. I would be picked last for Red Rover. I can neither move nor assemble furniture. I’ve regained some sensation from the spinal cord compression, but there are still parts of my feet that can’t feel the floor. No more hauling 50-pound suitcases up a flight of stairs.
It is strange to suddenly have a different experience of your body. For some, this might happen as a result of a traumatic accident or diagnosis; for others, the change might be more gradual through aging or slower progression of disease. Whatever the specific change is—hands swollen with arthritis that can no longer sew, diminished hearing that can no longer enjoy live music, weakened legs that can no longer go hill-walking, diseased bones that can no longer lift weights—the loss is more than just the lack of physical capacity. We lose access to something that brings us joy, part of our self-image.
Our bodies are not simply meat cages for our “true self” of mind or spirit; they are not mere husks that we will be freed from in death. Our bodies are part of God’s good creation, a substantial gift that allows us to literally “taste and see that the Lord is good.” Like the gift of time, the gift of this experience of our bodies is finite now. And like the gift of time, the question is how will we use this gift of a body while we have it? Will we be thankful for this gift, and use it to create beauty and to help others and to share love and to embrace joy?
Do I mourn the ways my body has lost the ability to do things that I found meaningful and enjoyable? Yes—those were gifts I am sad to have lost. And yet I remain grateful that my body is still here. I see and hear and smell and taste and feel tangible beauty and love and joy every day. Perhaps ich bin nicht stark, but ich bin dankbar—thankful, for more time and for this body.
Speaking of Tasting Joy
My birthday was this week! It was an absolutely lovely day, kicked off with blueberry pancakes and a stunning sunrise over the Firth of Forth and ending with cards, presents, and birthday cake. AND WHAT A CAKE! The unbelievably talented Diane made this amazing cake, and it tastes even better than it looks.
Treatment Update
Tuesday I went up to Ninewells to pick up my targeted therapy meds. The good news is that the tea trolley made the rounds while I was there. The bad news is that my white count is still too low for treatment. I will try again next week.
Wednesday I met with a physiotherapist about whether I could benefit from any neuro rehab. I am now six months out from the cord compression, but he thinks that I might still be able to make more progress in the next six months. We’ve started this week.
Prayer notes: Keep praying for those neutrophils and white blood count to make a big rebound. And pray that the neuro rehab will help me regain some stability and functionality.
Final Joy Nugget
My friend Dave drove me up to my gym on my birthday for a quick pop in to see people and say hello. And Best Coach Ever Kirsty had organized a “wear yellow” day! I couldn’t get a photo of everyone, but look at all these marvelous people sporting happy yellow clothes (or in the case of Hannah on the far left, yellow nail polish and hair tie!).
And one more photo of the amazing birthday cake!
Happy belated birthday Heather. That shoe cake is absolutely amazing. Hats off to the chef. Continued prayers for healing always.
This cracked me up. And I am the worst friend for forgetting your birthday. I will make it up to you very soon - and will bake whatever you want when I'm there. :)