Yesterday I had myself a pity party. You know the kind. I had that tunnel vision. I focused hard on my problems and shut out everything else.

I sent my children away from me and crawled into bed. I was starting to get a terrible headache. I felt it coming, and I let my worries in the door with it.

I wallowed. I cried. I ignored phone calls from people I love checking in on me.

I’ve talked and talked about cherishing time with our children, but last night I couldn’t wait to put them to bed.

My husband brought me pain meds and water, and I snapped at him like a brat. I took the poor-me attitude all the way to sleep. I was angry, sad, selfish, and alone.

Then, something happened.

In the middle of the night, long after everyone else had gone to bed, I had a nightmare. It was horrific, and I woke up with my heart beating out of my chest. I jumped up, and went to check on my kids. Each of them were sleeping soundly in their beds, completely oblivious to my terror.

I tucked our girls in a little tighter, kissed their foreheads, and then crawled into bed next to our son. My beautiful, healthy, sleeping in heavy pajamas on top of his covers so he won’t have to make his bed in the morning, freckle-face, snoring son.

As I calmed down and watched him sleeping, gratitude hit me so hard it took my breath away.

I’m sick, and I’m hurting, but I’m so alive, and so lucky.

I can’t always care for myself or my children, but I married a man who became a wonderful husband and father. He has the patience of a saint and I know I don’t deserve him. I’m lucky.

Our house is a mess because we’re lucky enough to have happy, healthy, energetic children.

We’re lucky we got to have children at all. So many people can’t.

I can’t drive anymore, but I have family and friends lined up to help out.

I still have a job, despite missing work days every week for years.

I keep having to travel to see different doctors, but we’re insured, so I have the luxury of seeing as many as I need to until we figure this thing out.

Even as I sit here now, fighting waves of pain and nausea, I know how lucky I am.

I’m thinking and typing so much slower than usual, but I’m doing something I love in sharing my perspective with each of you.

I’m in a comfortable bed, in a beautiful home, safe and warm, and sheltered from the cold.

I have a glass of clean ice water beside me, medication healing my body, and food in my kitchen for when I’m ready to try to eat.

I’m sick, and I’m hurting, but I’m so alive, and so lucky.