I think we've found a pattern ...

First, I have a few good days. Really good days.

A day or so later, I have stabbing abdominal pain for what feels like hours and hours.

Next day, "fainting" episode takes place.

Rest in bed for few days.

Walk with cane for a few days until strength fully returns. Sleep a lot.

Repeat.

This week is going to be a great week. Our realtor said it's a good possibility we could close on our new house in the next few days, barring anything should get in the way. So of course, I'm very excited and want to spend the day at our house, finishing up some packing.

So what do I do this morning, since I spent the night at our house last night? I wake up, take a shower, sit at the table to have a little breakfast and take my pills, begin feeling weak, & call Jon to come home. Not twenty seconds later, a good friend walks through my door, and I have enough time to tell her that I'm having a fainting spell. At that time, my head hits the table (actually a combination of my purse and the table) and my body is completely weak. She picks my head up, and has me start drinking cold water until Jon arrives, which is less than a minute after I called him.

My plans are not God's plans.

"Rest, Jamie. Rest. That is ALL I'm asking you to do. You're not listening to me; therefore, you're still having problems."

I can't help it. I love packing. I love moving. It's what I've done all my life. I'm really excited about it.

Unfortunately, this excitement is too much for my body.

Everything will get taken care of. I don't need to worry about the packing. Or moving. Even though I really want to do it, physically I can't.

"Just rest, Jamie. Just rest."