After lung surgery left her unable to walk, a woman confronts how much she took for granted. Five days post-op she's using a walker; six weeks later she manages six minutes on a treadmill before breaking down. Walking was her love language, and losing it taught her to cherish what she'd stopped noticing.
So when I had that surgery, they had to take out the upper lobe of my lung on the left side, the whole lobe. And I remember thinking, what does that mean about oxygen? What does that mean about my breathing? So I was home 5 days later. I'm walking around the house with a rock walker, can barely walk. And then after 6 weeks, I remember getting on a treadmill. I got on a treadmill at 2.0. So slow. I could barely walk 6 minutes. And I remember crying, crying tears, and Jerry coming in there and going, "You okay?" And I was like, "No, I can't believe this is my life." 'Cause y'all, walking is my love language. I love walking. So I was like, "I can't believe I can't walk. I can't breathe anymore." It occurred to me in the moment I could not walk for more than 5 minutes without breathing so hard like I was running a marathon. It occurred to me what a gift it had been all the days before. That I had walked without thinking about it. Just walking through the neighborhood, enjoying, listening to worship music, breathing normally, having conversations. It occurred to me that I had not appreciated it in the way that I should. And so, y'all, the simple pleasures— you don't know what luxuries there are until you don't have them anymore. So milk it. Milk every day. Thank the Lord every day, even with the hardship in it. Thank him every day before the season changes.
