Words in the Waiting
There hasn't been much news this week, but that certainly doesn't mean things have been silent. This week has been a big one for us, in some very small ways.
At around this time last week, I was on a bed in the emergency room. Micah told someone yesterday it was the most afraid he had ever seen me, and he was probably right. Last week shook us to our core. In the evening, after coming home from the hospital, I sat on the couch and thought to myself, "This is one of those low points. This is one of those rock-bottom moments people talk about. Someday we'll look back at this as one of the hard moments." The hard thing about those places is there's only one way out: time. It takes time to heal, to move forward, to watch the next steps unfold.
Needless to say, one week hasn't been enough time to completely recover from that place. The memory of it is still very fresh and very painful. But in small ways, in increments, I can feel us moving forward. And as we move forward we're not only recovering from that place, but reaching new levels of peace with our situation as a whole.
For instance, the cane is now a fixture. Most days I can be seen out and about with it. It's become normal to the kids and to us--maybe not our first choice, but an acceptable part of life. I'm comfortable using it, which is a long way from the first time I had to Google how to hold a cane! While I still notice people's eyes glancing down at my hand when I'm out in public, it doesn't bother me like it used to. I've often joked that I feel like the one brown-haired Barbie in a lineup of blonde dolls. But that uniqueness doesn't sting anymore, it's just part of what sets me apart.
For another, we've finally started to notice some patterns and triggers. Where the symptoms used to feel very much like the "constellation" our neurologist described, now they have some regularity, some trends and predictable patterns. That, alone, has made life a little more manageable. It's also meant that we can anticipate and prevent some of the things that have stopped me in my tracks in the past. We don't, by any means, have things completely figured out. But we've both commented that when we meet the rheumatologist later this week, we'll be able to give her a clearer picture of the symptoms, some of the connections, and some of the things that help or hurt me. Hopefully it will bring us one step closer to a diagnosis in the end.
Last, we've begun to see that last week really was a low point. I'll be honest, in the middle of it, before a heart attack had been ruled out, we thought this might be more serious than just a low point. We still don't have solid answers for what happened, but the benefit of a week (and a lot of prayer!) has helped us to see some of the things that might have contributed to the symptoms that took me to the hospital. I'm learning some of the triggers and situations that increase the likelihood that my heart will race. In some cases, small changes like a change in position or anticipating a trigger have kept me from going into that full-blown tachycardia, even when I've felt the same symptoms starting. I still brace myself for being in public spaces and pray it won't happen again (I spent the first thirty minutes of a movie in the theatre yesterday praying my heart rate would slow down and mentally calculating how quickly and easily I could get down the steps and out the door if needed). But I feel like we are beginning to get a handle on things. It also seems likely there could be explanations for that situation that make sense with the other things happening in my body, and I'm anxious to talk to my doctors and learn more.
The symptoms in my legs vary somewhat from day to day. Sometimes the sensation is one of weakness. For example, my legs shook so much as I stood in my Sunday school class this morning, I had to sit down. Sometimes it's muscle fatigue that presents the biggest problem. Yesterday we ran a couple of errands, and by the end I was dragging my feet. My whole body felt like I had run a marathon (I assume, anyway--it's not something I've experienced in real life as a point of reference...) Recently, I've had a new sensation. My muscles in my legs and arms have often felt like I am walking through water, pushing against resistance as I move forward. It feels very much like trudging through deep water. It's very exhausting. I had just finished describing the sensation to a co-worker this week when I went to sit down for a minute in a quiet place. Out of nowhere, these words came to mind, "When you walk through the water, I will be with you."
I almost cried, to be honest. The words were so crystal clear, and unmistakable. And I recognized them immediately. When I got home that night, I looked them up again, to read the rest of the passage.
"When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and through the rivers, they will not overwhelm you." (Isaiah 43:2)
When I first had issues with my heart last year, I was surprised by how many verses in the Bible talked about our heart, and how God holds our hearts in His hands. While it wasn't necessarily intended to mean our literal hearts, the verses resonated deeply with me. In this season, I've been surprised by how many verses talk about God teaching us to walk, leading us with his strong arm, carrying us, being our strength in weakness--and even walking through the waters with us. He has never been far from us in this journey.
This morning at church, a friend stopped me and told me she had something for me. Her gift brought tears to my eyes--it was beautiful. She made me a picture with the words I talked about in my last post, "Each day stands alone." I need these words in front of me as we walk this road, to remind me often not to get ahead or fall behind. We've hung it in our dining room, facing the chair where I sit for meals. It will be wonderful to see it each day and remember. This journey, like every journey, is made one step at a time.
At around this time last week, I was on a bed in the emergency room. Micah told someone yesterday it was the most afraid he had ever seen me, and he was probably right. Last week shook us to our core. In the evening, after coming home from the hospital, I sat on the couch and thought to myself, "This is one of those low points. This is one of those rock-bottom moments people talk about. Someday we'll look back at this as one of the hard moments." The hard thing about those places is there's only one way out: time. It takes time to heal, to move forward, to watch the next steps unfold.
Needless to say, one week hasn't been enough time to completely recover from that place. The memory of it is still very fresh and very painful. But in small ways, in increments, I can feel us moving forward. And as we move forward we're not only recovering from that place, but reaching new levels of peace with our situation as a whole.
For instance, the cane is now a fixture. Most days I can be seen out and about with it. It's become normal to the kids and to us--maybe not our first choice, but an acceptable part of life. I'm comfortable using it, which is a long way from the first time I had to Google how to hold a cane! While I still notice people's eyes glancing down at my hand when I'm out in public, it doesn't bother me like it used to. I've often joked that I feel like the one brown-haired Barbie in a lineup of blonde dolls. But that uniqueness doesn't sting anymore, it's just part of what sets me apart.
For another, we've finally started to notice some patterns and triggers. Where the symptoms used to feel very much like the "constellation" our neurologist described, now they have some regularity, some trends and predictable patterns. That, alone, has made life a little more manageable. It's also meant that we can anticipate and prevent some of the things that have stopped me in my tracks in the past. We don't, by any means, have things completely figured out. But we've both commented that when we meet the rheumatologist later this week, we'll be able to give her a clearer picture of the symptoms, some of the connections, and some of the things that help or hurt me. Hopefully it will bring us one step closer to a diagnosis in the end.
Last, we've begun to see that last week really was a low point. I'll be honest, in the middle of it, before a heart attack had been ruled out, we thought this might be more serious than just a low point. We still don't have solid answers for what happened, but the benefit of a week (and a lot of prayer!) has helped us to see some of the things that might have contributed to the symptoms that took me to the hospital. I'm learning some of the triggers and situations that increase the likelihood that my heart will race. In some cases, small changes like a change in position or anticipating a trigger have kept me from going into that full-blown tachycardia, even when I've felt the same symptoms starting. I still brace myself for being in public spaces and pray it won't happen again (I spent the first thirty minutes of a movie in the theatre yesterday praying my heart rate would slow down and mentally calculating how quickly and easily I could get down the steps and out the door if needed). But I feel like we are beginning to get a handle on things. It also seems likely there could be explanations for that situation that make sense with the other things happening in my body, and I'm anxious to talk to my doctors and learn more.
The symptoms in my legs vary somewhat from day to day. Sometimes the sensation is one of weakness. For example, my legs shook so much as I stood in my Sunday school class this morning, I had to sit down. Sometimes it's muscle fatigue that presents the biggest problem. Yesterday we ran a couple of errands, and by the end I was dragging my feet. My whole body felt like I had run a marathon (I assume, anyway--it's not something I've experienced in real life as a point of reference...) Recently, I've had a new sensation. My muscles in my legs and arms have often felt like I am walking through water, pushing against resistance as I move forward. It feels very much like trudging through deep water. It's very exhausting. I had just finished describing the sensation to a co-worker this week when I went to sit down for a minute in a quiet place. Out of nowhere, these words came to mind, "When you walk through the water, I will be with you."
I almost cried, to be honest. The words were so crystal clear, and unmistakable. And I recognized them immediately. When I got home that night, I looked them up again, to read the rest of the passage.
"When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and through the rivers, they will not overwhelm you." (Isaiah 43:2)
When I first had issues with my heart last year, I was surprised by how many verses in the Bible talked about our heart, and how God holds our hearts in His hands. While it wasn't necessarily intended to mean our literal hearts, the verses resonated deeply with me. In this season, I've been surprised by how many verses talk about God teaching us to walk, leading us with his strong arm, carrying us, being our strength in weakness--and even walking through the waters with us. He has never been far from us in this journey.
This morning at church, a friend stopped me and told me she had something for me. Her gift brought tears to my eyes--it was beautiful. She made me a picture with the words I talked about in my last post, "Each day stands alone." I need these words in front of me as we walk this road, to remind me often not to get ahead or fall behind. We've hung it in our dining room, facing the chair where I sit for meals. It will be wonderful to see it each day and remember. This journey, like every journey, is made one step at a time.
