
side note: I began taking iron supplements today in an effort to boost my red blood count level. From the research I've done, if all goes well, I could be back to normal energy level and readings in 4 weeks. I am hopeful that all will go well. I've contacted the lady who does my fills hoping to get an unfill down to 1.7 soon in the hopes of increasing my caloric intake and thus improve my nutrition.![Resilience.cover_136[1].jpg](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/blogger_img_proxy/AEn0k_v_bYiECgUx8fikKCRsZbZ4iRjLEkb9A5FvrdJuaMJbPFe0rcQLh2MoY73_1ZxuHVZMs44DyFw7fVcYsw0D8IqoTG9hqFmQoyR-z5UcXDDEDFpXdAYAyFTlIfIiyrKBt3ofnzFZrlVEwg=s0-d)
Resilience: Reflections on the Burdens and Gifts of Facing Life's Adversities, by Elizabeth Edwards, was published by Broadway Books on Friday, May 8, 2009. It is an honest searching book that explores her own struggles to be resilient in the face of the death of a son, her terminal cancer, and the marital infidelity of her husband, John Edwards. Here is a quotation:
On Acceptance
"This is the life we have now, and the only way to find peace, the only way to be resilient when these landmines explode beneath your foundation, is first to accept that there is a new reality. The life the army wife knew before her husband went to war, the life of the patient before the word "terminal" was said aloud, the life of the mother who sat reading by her son's bed and not his grave, these lives no longer exist and the more we cling to the hope that these old lives might come back, the more we set ourselves up for unending discontent....My life was and would always be different, and it would be less than I hoped it would be. Each time, there was a new life, a new story."
p. 31
"This is the life we have now, and the only way to find peace, the only way to be resilient when these landmines explode beneath your foundation, is first to accept that there is a new reality. The life the army wife knew before her husband went to war, the life of the patient before the word "terminal" was said aloud, the life of the mother who sat reading by her son's bed and not his grave, these lives no longer exist and the more we cling to the hope that these old lives might come back, the more we set ourselves up for unending discontent....My life was and would always be different, and it would be less than I hoped it would be. Each time, there was a new life, a new story."
p. 31
