Rolling Over
This morning I started my day by turning to my Bible's concordance and looking up the word, "rest." I found many verses listed, so I flipped to the first two, in Exodus and Leviticus. The first talked about the Sabbath day, and specifically about how the Israelites were to gather what they needed the day before. On the day of rest, they weren't to do any work, gather any food, or otherwise provide for their needs. To rest meant to trust that what had been done the day before was enough to sustain them for that day. The next passage talked about the Sabbath year, allowing the land to rest every seventh year. In that year, they weren't to plant, cultivate, or work the land in any way. In return, God promised that in the year prior to the Sabbath year, the Israelites' harvest would be larger than usual, and that the land would continue to produce just enough during the Sabbath year that they could gather food without working the land. To rest the land meant to trust that there would be enough.
To rest requires an element of trust.
Fast forward a few hours into the day. Micah and I sat in the doctor's office across from the rheumatologist.
"Well, as you've already seen, all of your labs have come back negative. I've had labs drawn that were specific to lupus, and they were negative. All of the labs that assess muscle damage from inflammation or things like that are negative. Your vitamin D levels and thyroid levels are all normal. Your ANA titer was high, so I had a number of labs drawn to drill down and figure out what had caused that titer. They were all negative. Your EMG was negative--not just mostly negative, but in every possible aspect, it was normal. To be honest, I don't usually see EMGs that are this normal. I think we've effectively ruled out any rheumatologic cause for your symptoms. Whatever your illness is, it's not something within this branch of medicine. I'm going to send you back to neurology. I'll follow you annually to make sure that ANA doesn't develop into something in the future, but for now we'll turn you over to neurology."
Of all the things I thought I might hear today, this was not on my radar. Nothing. All those many, many labs and tests had amounted to nothing. We were back to square one.
My reaction was more complicated than I expected. At first there was relief that I wouldn't be needing a biopsy after all. At the same time, I was disappointed. While we hadn't expected to come away with a diagnosis today, we had hoped to be a step nearer to answers. Instead, we felt farther away than ever. I was afraid. What if these results were all negative because this was somehow in my head? What if it was something psychosomatic? What if the neurologist didn't feel it was important to keep digging, felt he'd exhausted options? I was angry, discouraged, disheartened, and so incredibly tired. We drew one last set of labs, "as a last straw," as the doctor had said, then got back on the road to home.
I processed all the way home--sometimes out loud, and sometimes quietly as I watched the landscape slip by. We had had so many questions this morning. Now it seemed we had even more. I called the neurologist's office. His next appointment wasn't until May, but they'd see if they could get me in with his nurse practitioner. More waiting. "Maybe it's still MS. You know a few people have normal MRIs even though they have it." "Maybe it's myasthenia gravis. It would make sense, you know?" "There are still other options--surely there are still other things this could be." "Do you think this is in my head? These symptoms are real, right?" I pulled out my phone from time to time to look up different symptoms and labs. What could this be? Is it anything at all? I felt exhausted.
To rest requires an element of trust.
I remembered the image of a woman thrashing in the water, desperately trying to grab hold of something to keep from drowning. I was making things worse. All my thrashing would only serve to pull me under.
To rest requires an element of trust.
Roll over. Lay still, float on your back. Be still.
We came home and I crawled into bed, exhausted. I had hoped to sleep, but I couldn't turn my thoughts off. Finally I laid in bed, thinking. I didn't have to have the answers. God knew--had known all along--what was happening in my body. He had known before any of these symptoms appeared, and he knew each step that lay ahead of me on this road. I didn't have to fret or research or find a diagnosis and "make it fit." God, what we need now is your wisdom. Peel the layers back on this thing one at a time and reveal what this is. And in the meantime, help me to trust that you've got this. That all that you're providing day by day is enough for us. Help me to rest.
I can't say I'm completely at peace yet. It will take me a while to wrestle through this one, if I'm honest. I crawled into one of Thomas' holes tonight--withdrew just a little and allowed myself some time to grieve. I'm not even sure what I'm grieving, except maybe for a day that has been more complicated and disheartening than I expected, answers that are elusive, symptoms that are hard to explain and harder to cope with. No one promised that trust would be easy. No one said rest would come without some effort. But I am choosing--resolving-- to roll over, to trust that the water I'm floating on will carry me to more solid ground, to rest. And for today, that's enough.
To rest requires an element of trust.
Fast forward a few hours into the day. Micah and I sat in the doctor's office across from the rheumatologist.
"Well, as you've already seen, all of your labs have come back negative. I've had labs drawn that were specific to lupus, and they were negative. All of the labs that assess muscle damage from inflammation or things like that are negative. Your vitamin D levels and thyroid levels are all normal. Your ANA titer was high, so I had a number of labs drawn to drill down and figure out what had caused that titer. They were all negative. Your EMG was negative--not just mostly negative, but in every possible aspect, it was normal. To be honest, I don't usually see EMGs that are this normal. I think we've effectively ruled out any rheumatologic cause for your symptoms. Whatever your illness is, it's not something within this branch of medicine. I'm going to send you back to neurology. I'll follow you annually to make sure that ANA doesn't develop into something in the future, but for now we'll turn you over to neurology."
Of all the things I thought I might hear today, this was not on my radar. Nothing. All those many, many labs and tests had amounted to nothing. We were back to square one.
My reaction was more complicated than I expected. At first there was relief that I wouldn't be needing a biopsy after all. At the same time, I was disappointed. While we hadn't expected to come away with a diagnosis today, we had hoped to be a step nearer to answers. Instead, we felt farther away than ever. I was afraid. What if these results were all negative because this was somehow in my head? What if it was something psychosomatic? What if the neurologist didn't feel it was important to keep digging, felt he'd exhausted options? I was angry, discouraged, disheartened, and so incredibly tired. We drew one last set of labs, "as a last straw," as the doctor had said, then got back on the road to home.
I processed all the way home--sometimes out loud, and sometimes quietly as I watched the landscape slip by. We had had so many questions this morning. Now it seemed we had even more. I called the neurologist's office. His next appointment wasn't until May, but they'd see if they could get me in with his nurse practitioner. More waiting. "Maybe it's still MS. You know a few people have normal MRIs even though they have it." "Maybe it's myasthenia gravis. It would make sense, you know?" "There are still other options--surely there are still other things this could be." "Do you think this is in my head? These symptoms are real, right?" I pulled out my phone from time to time to look up different symptoms and labs. What could this be? Is it anything at all? I felt exhausted.
To rest requires an element of trust.
I remembered the image of a woman thrashing in the water, desperately trying to grab hold of something to keep from drowning. I was making things worse. All my thrashing would only serve to pull me under.
To rest requires an element of trust.
Roll over. Lay still, float on your back. Be still.
We came home and I crawled into bed, exhausted. I had hoped to sleep, but I couldn't turn my thoughts off. Finally I laid in bed, thinking. I didn't have to have the answers. God knew--had known all along--what was happening in my body. He had known before any of these symptoms appeared, and he knew each step that lay ahead of me on this road. I didn't have to fret or research or find a diagnosis and "make it fit." God, what we need now is your wisdom. Peel the layers back on this thing one at a time and reveal what this is. And in the meantime, help me to trust that you've got this. That all that you're providing day by day is enough for us. Help me to rest.
I can't say I'm completely at peace yet. It will take me a while to wrestle through this one, if I'm honest. I crawled into one of Thomas' holes tonight--withdrew just a little and allowed myself some time to grieve. I'm not even sure what I'm grieving, except maybe for a day that has been more complicated and disheartening than I expected, answers that are elusive, symptoms that are hard to explain and harder to cope with. No one promised that trust would be easy. No one said rest would come without some effort. But I am choosing--resolving-- to roll over, to trust that the water I'm floating on will carry me to more solid ground, to rest. And for today, that's enough.
