- Care Packages
- Mary Kempf
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- It’s Holy Saturday morning before Easter. I am
tired and weak. My husband has been crying out in
pain, off and on, for the last 12 hours because of his
Hepatitis C treatment, fever and botched root canal.
He’s had water, antibiotics and pain
relievers. There’s nothing more I can do for
him but care and pray.
-
- I am trying to stay hopeful about the gift of this day
ahead. When I pick up something off the floor, my
head floats a bit. My muscles are loose and
tired. Now, what? What's causing these symptoms? My
husband utters a frustrated gasp from his body
pain. To check on my symptoms, I look out the
window and see that they are continuing construction on
the garage in the next lot. Yesterday, fresh house
paint across the street brought fatigue and nausea. Just
one more day to add to the years of head-to-toe symptoms
from chemical exposures. How can I expect the world
to stop building? I can’t.
-
- My hope for the day drains with my energy. This is
not what I had in mind for this precious day before
Easter. What is the purpose of all this, anyway?
The struggle never ends. Standing in front of my
counter full of supplements and medications, I wait for
the emotional ”steam” to do the next
task. Relief comes when my thoughts stop
completely. “That sucks!” streams into my
mind. It is the voice of a teenage checker at the
hardware store. “That must really suck!”
she remarked after I explained that I was chemically
injured and that’s why I use foil to touch
things. She trusted what I had to say and had
compassion for me. Here I am, a week later in my
kitchen, and this stranger’s compassion comforts me
like a “Red Cross” care package.
-
- I ask others with Multiple Chemical Sensitivity/
Environmentally Illness (MCS/EI): “What keeps
you going?” Some say it’s the hope
of a new treatment they are trying, their children, love
of God or a trip to visit a parent. What keeps me
going? Care packages from many people connect me to
life.
-
- Some memorable care packages are:
-
- I walked home from the doctor’s clinic one day,
wearing my charcoal mask. The car fumes from the
street bit my nostrils, while the traffic bustled by my
humiliation. I felt left out of the human
race. A sedan paused to let me cross the drive
before he turned into the parking lot. I was struck
with a force equal to that of the fumes, but this time,
from the kindness shown to me. I felt human
again. I was reminded of my membership.
I had forgotten.
-
- There were homeless days when I was living under the oak
tree. I could not tolerate my car or indoor
environments. Rain drops cascaded over the
leaves. I stood as close to the trunk as I
could. I saw someone approaching and wondered what
this person would be doing out in this weather. It
was my friend, Judy, from next door. She had an
umbrella, a warm, dry shirt, and an old plastic tarp with
rope to set it up. The best part is that she talked
to me for a while to help me pass the time.
-
- My MCS friend, Bruce, took the risk of sharing my misery
one day. I suspected that a recently purchased
trailer had been ruined with fresh pipe glue. Bruce said
that he would see if he could identify the source of my
aggravation. I sat 100 feet away, while he talked
to me from the trailer and speculated about the
toxicity. There was a period of silence. I
called out, “Bruce, Bruce,
Bruce!” He did not answer. He was in a
chemical stupor. I yelled and told him,
“You’d better leave!” He mumbled and
swayed as he walked home on a chemical drunk. His
risk was touching, and I was relieved to know that I was
not alone in my toxic response to the trailer.
-
- My father has always expressed regret that he cannot hug
me. Over the years, there seemed to be nothing that
I could say that could console him for this
loss. When I got in a car accident, he agreed to
replace the car for me. As I drove the car that he
bought, I thought of the secure and protected feeling I
now had. I wrote to tell him that I felt his
“hugs” from the sturdy seats in my car.
Winter was approaching, and my only safe clothing was the
outfit I was wearing. Several weeks prior, I had contacted an MCS
friend to ask for any clothing she could spare. She sent what she
had, and I will always be grateful for her care package on that
fateful day. My parent’s dog, Patches, had just returned
from the veterinarian. Instructions had been given not to use any
products on the dog, but she returned with a very strong scent.
My mother kindly washed the scent off. As Patches emerged wet
into the living room where I stood, my muscles contracted, pulled
my head back violently, and jerked my arms to and fro. My mother
and father followed me out to the patio and rushed to help by
massaging my shoulders. The contractions gradually subsided, but
now the chemical had been unintentionally spread to my shirt.
“What will I do without clean clothes?” My memory
showed me the unassuming brown box delivered earlier that day
with the gift I needed. This was the ultimate. A perfectly timed
delivery by the Divine Carrier.
The list is endless. My connection with life is made up of all
of the supportive, honest, kind, and sometimes miraculous
gestures extended to me by God, my husband, family, friends,
doctors, judges, lawyers, car mechanics, store clerks, and
on and on. This has taught me gratitude. Whenever I can express
appreciation, it gives me relief from the isolation.
- Wouldn’t you know it? In the time that it took
to write this, my husband is already better.
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- April 14, 2001
- Updated November 30, 2003
- Contents
- Gathering
Stories
- What
Helps Us . . .