The Heart and the Storm
First, I need to thank many of you who have been praying for me and asking often how I am. It means so much to be surrounded by a community of people who are "doing life," like I used to say, with me.
It's because of all of you that I feel I need to add an update here. Many of you knew about the concerns I had about my health several weeks ago. I was anticipating that the symptoms I was having were caused by my heart and not some other organ, and it does look like that was the case. I've had several scans, labs, and tests that have slowly ruled out all kinds of crazy things. My blood pressure had stabilized, but my heart rate remained high and I frequently had palpitations, dizziness, shortness of breath, and left arm pain.
About three weeks ago, my doctor put me on a beta blocker to try to slow my heart rate and slow the palpitations. It's helped--I still have the symptoms, but only a couple of times each day. I had a follow-up MRI, since they'd found a pericardial cyst on an MRI two years ago. Today I met with the cardiology practice to talk about the results. The cyst is slightly larger than last time--not a size that's concerning, but, in the words of the nurse practitioner, "In 12 years of practicing, you're the first person I've ever seen with a cyst that grew." Pericardial cyst is already a rare occurrence--about 1:100,000. To have it grow makes me one of a very elite group of special people (aren't I always the lucky one?). After consulting with two cardiologists (I had everyone stumped!), it was decided that I will have a follow-up MRI in one year. They are going to continue to do some research as well, since this is such a rare diagnosis. If in one year the cyst is bigger, I have more symptoms, or they discover that it needs to be addressed sooner, I will likely need surgery. It's an outcome we had already anticipated, so it didn't come as any surprise. In the meantime, I will stay on the beta blockers and monitor symptoms. We take it one day at a time.
Someone asked me earlier in the day how I felt about things. I had to say in all honesty that I feel at peace. I'd by lying if I said I wasn't concerned at all. But I've been in these dark places before, and I've learned some very hard-fought lessons in them. On Sunday I was picturing the story of Peter stepping out on the water. There are so many parts of life that feel like the waves and the wind right now. I had often read about Peter, stepping out of the boat and walking toward Jesus. What I hadn't thought about what was Peter saw. He saw the waves. He saw the boat full of his friends. He saw the water surging up all around him. But he turned from all that and looked at Jesus. As he did, he walked right over the top of the water--over the waves the wind was churning up. As long as his eyes were on Jesus, he could walk over the crashing waves.
Why it struck me as new, I don't know. Sometimes the stories we've heard a thousand times are suddenly seen with fresh eyes. But it left me with such a strong visual that I was ready for today. As long as my eyes are on him, it doesn't matter what the water under my feet may do. It doesn't matter how hard the wind blows or how high the waves get. It's when I turn my gaze away from him that I will begin to sink. And so I choose not to turn away. I choose to enter--willingly, knowingly--into what may still be a storm. I enter because I know the face in front of me. I've followed this face through the valleys before, and always--always--he's been faithful. I know the voice that calls me out of the boat. I don't choose the storm, but I choose to trust the one who stands over the storm.
Sometimes, in my craziest moments, I wish for hard times. I do. Because in those times, seeking his face is easy. I have no other choice. I'm lost if I'm not looking at him. And he has always, always proved faithful. The times when he has led me into the heart of darkness are the times we've enjoyed quietly together, when my eyes were so fixed on him that I stopped seeing the waves and the wind.
So if it's another storm, I'm ready. One step at a time I will keep my eyes focused on the face that holds me above the waves. And if it's calm, I'll thank him. I'll thank him for sparing me--but even more I'll thank him for having brought me through the storms before and shaped in me a heart that was willing to trust, willing to step out of the boat, if ever he called my name.
It's because of all of you that I feel I need to add an update here. Many of you knew about the concerns I had about my health several weeks ago. I was anticipating that the symptoms I was having were caused by my heart and not some other organ, and it does look like that was the case. I've had several scans, labs, and tests that have slowly ruled out all kinds of crazy things. My blood pressure had stabilized, but my heart rate remained high and I frequently had palpitations, dizziness, shortness of breath, and left arm pain.
About three weeks ago, my doctor put me on a beta blocker to try to slow my heart rate and slow the palpitations. It's helped--I still have the symptoms, but only a couple of times each day. I had a follow-up MRI, since they'd found a pericardial cyst on an MRI two years ago. Today I met with the cardiology practice to talk about the results. The cyst is slightly larger than last time--not a size that's concerning, but, in the words of the nurse practitioner, "In 12 years of practicing, you're the first person I've ever seen with a cyst that grew." Pericardial cyst is already a rare occurrence--about 1:100,000. To have it grow makes me one of a very elite group of special people (aren't I always the lucky one?). After consulting with two cardiologists (I had everyone stumped!), it was decided that I will have a follow-up MRI in one year. They are going to continue to do some research as well, since this is such a rare diagnosis. If in one year the cyst is bigger, I have more symptoms, or they discover that it needs to be addressed sooner, I will likely need surgery. It's an outcome we had already anticipated, so it didn't come as any surprise. In the meantime, I will stay on the beta blockers and monitor symptoms. We take it one day at a time.
Someone asked me earlier in the day how I felt about things. I had to say in all honesty that I feel at peace. I'd by lying if I said I wasn't concerned at all. But I've been in these dark places before, and I've learned some very hard-fought lessons in them. On Sunday I was picturing the story of Peter stepping out on the water. There are so many parts of life that feel like the waves and the wind right now. I had often read about Peter, stepping out of the boat and walking toward Jesus. What I hadn't thought about what was Peter saw. He saw the waves. He saw the boat full of his friends. He saw the water surging up all around him. But he turned from all that and looked at Jesus. As he did, he walked right over the top of the water--over the waves the wind was churning up. As long as his eyes were on Jesus, he could walk over the crashing waves.
Why it struck me as new, I don't know. Sometimes the stories we've heard a thousand times are suddenly seen with fresh eyes. But it left me with such a strong visual that I was ready for today. As long as my eyes are on him, it doesn't matter what the water under my feet may do. It doesn't matter how hard the wind blows or how high the waves get. It's when I turn my gaze away from him that I will begin to sink. And so I choose not to turn away. I choose to enter--willingly, knowingly--into what may still be a storm. I enter because I know the face in front of me. I've followed this face through the valleys before, and always--always--he's been faithful. I know the voice that calls me out of the boat. I don't choose the storm, but I choose to trust the one who stands over the storm.
Sometimes, in my craziest moments, I wish for hard times. I do. Because in those times, seeking his face is easy. I have no other choice. I'm lost if I'm not looking at him. And he has always, always proved faithful. The times when he has led me into the heart of darkness are the times we've enjoyed quietly together, when my eyes were so fixed on him that I stopped seeing the waves and the wind.
So if it's another storm, I'm ready. One step at a time I will keep my eyes focused on the face that holds me above the waves. And if it's calm, I'll thank him. I'll thank him for sparing me--but even more I'll thank him for having brought me through the storms before and shaped in me a heart that was willing to trust, willing to step out of the boat, if ever he called my name.
