Surprises, both good and bad, come out of nowhere by nature. They stir the pot of thoughts, emotions, schedules, plans, gratitude, and sometimes pain along with tons of other things. While I don’t understand the reason behind many grievous bombshells, a small, still whisper tells me to trust that “all shall be well.” I am a hopeless romantic and pretty gullible, but even I know that particular hushed voice means business! Although subtle in approach, it is mighty in delivery. I feel meaning in the space between the words in the message that tells me no matter what, everything works for my good.
I began this blog last month with the story of the neurologist coming in and telling me point blank that I had Multiple Sclerosis (MS.) I thought it important to back up just a bit in the timeline. After communicating with other MSers, I found out that many others also suffered relapses prior to detection and treatment of the disease. Everyone has walked their individual path, but they are all similar in that each person took one step at a time before reaching a diagnosis. Some people faced lengthy strides going from doctor to doctor to find out the source of their problem, and it never fails that this journey involves a bunch of waiting. Take heart!
My very first MS relapse occurred in April 2008 and was undiagnosed. I suffered numbness and tingling in my left thumb, forefinger, and middle finger. The sensations persisted, so I visited my primary care physician for a diagnosis and treatment. I was a little worried that the work I had done previously in manufacturing may have resulted in cumulative trauma. A ganglion cyst and tendonitis had tormented me doing repetitive motion in the factory position and for several years after I resigned. Thankfully those afflictions finally healed after a time. My practitioner ordered nerve studies on my entire left arm to try and get to the root cause of my feeling disturbances. Have you ever had a nerve study done? It was my first time undergoing this testing process. I liken it to smallish, electrical, firebolt impulses forced through the appendage of my reluctant, yet willing body that quickly morphs into exponential torment. It didn’t hurt at first, but I became more stunned as the testing progressed. Yowza! I started out sitting still as a statue and later, I could not help being a bucking bronco every time the ominous, black button was pushed sending the greased lightning current through my arm. Holy schnikeys! I couldn’t get through the torturous procedure soon enough! Finally it concluded, I went home, and then,…
I waited.
After a couple of days, the nurse called and reported that the study’s conclusion showed no damage or problems with any nerves, and maybe inflammation was causing the numbness and tingling. “Take ibuprofen” was the advice and “contact the office if the situation worsens.” Hmmmph. Great. I could still feel surfaces and use my hand and fingers for the most part, so I dismissed it and learned to live with it that way. Will the peculiar sensitivity ever go away? I don’t know, but…
Even today, I wait.
My beloved maternal grandma passed away a month later in May 2008–it was a great loss for me. I continued with life as she would have wanted. I became pregnant with a third child in the following winter. Our youngest at that time was 7 years old, the oldest, 11 years old, and I was in my mid 30s. I worked part time as an Administrative Assistant in the Campus Ministry Dept. at the local college. After being in that position for nearly five years, I resigned at the end of the school semester (in the last trimester of pregnancy) in order to take utmost care of myself and unborn child. In the previous two pregnancies, I experienced preeclampsia and this time, I wanted to be as proactive as possible. My plan was to take it easy until delivery time, a September due date.
So, I waited.
I ended up delivering early as I had with the first two but did so without much fuss. I gave birth to our third baby girl in August 2009. Like some mothers, I fully experienced the difficult transition of being the mother of a newborn again…at age 35…wrestling with the attempt to breastfeed, little to no sleep, caring for the rest of my family, some postpartum depression, and lasting grief over the loss of my most dynamite cheerleader, my grandma. To say the least, it was painful.
I prepared to wait again–to wait the crises out.
Three and a half months later on Saturday, December 4, 2009, I woke up early rubbing my eyes and squinting a bit with the sunshine blasting through the curtains. That’s weird. I felt a tug as I tried to move my right eye looking around the room. Brushing it off as morning tiredness, I warriored on with the morning and supervised my family getting dressed and ready for an extended family Christmas dinner out of town. (You mothers and maybe some dads too, can identify with what it is like to get a family of five including the newest, four-month-old addition prepared to get out the door and be out of town for the weekend.) I had no time to dillydally around or worry about the small eye tug. But after the weekend and a two more days passed, my right eye movement came to a complete halt. Double vision set in, and I was walking into walls even with my arms outstretched in front of me. It was super annoying, but I thought it might be a symptom of an impending migraine attack and that it would go away.
So, I just waited.
When I talked to my sister on the phone a few days later, her troubled soul spewed words of worry, and she urged me to get immediate care. She advised me not to wait to see the doctor the next morning and begged me to go to the emergency room right away. Her fear that maybe I’d had a stroke leaked out of her mouth. Whoa. I stopped in my tracks and too, became instantly frightened. The abnormality bothered me, but I had not thought of the possibility of a stroke…at my age for goodness sake? My mind raced back to when my paternal grandma had died of a brain aneurism in her 60s. Terror grabbed me by the throat.
I did not wait!
I put on my shoes and coat, got in the vehicle, and my husband drove me to the local hospital about 10 minutes away. The facility was small, but I just wanted to be in the care of the closest medical professional. (It’s conceivable that I lean toward the dramatic side of life. :) ) I figured if something was terribly wrong that they couldn’t handle, I could be transported to a larger, more capable hospital in Lexington.
My husband and I arrived at the small emergency department. When I told the receptionist that I might have suffered a stroke, she ushered us straight away into a tiny room in the emergency ward. After a few minutes, the attending physician came in, examined me, and asked me routine questions, what current prescription medications I took, and a brief, personal medical history including family medical history. He ordered a CT scan of my brain to check for stroke and an EKG to check for other possible causes. I endured both evaluations and returned to the examining room.
And then, I waited.
During that time, completing insurance paperwork for admission distracted me. Thank goodness for a booklet size stack of papers to sign and date! (Although bad for the trees.) After spending a few hours in the tiny room that reeked of rubbing alcohol and starched linens, the ER doctor came in and assured me that I had not had a stroke, and my EKG was normal. He suggested that I make an appointment soon to see an ophthalmologist for my eye.
I did not wait.
The next morning, I scheduled the appointment with a seasoned and highly recommended ophthalmologist in town. He was affiliated with the local hospital whose emergency room I had made an appearance in the night before.
And then, I waited.
Several moons later, I met the eye specialist who seemed intrigued by the double vision, also known as diplopia, and lack of movement in my right eye. According to his assessment, even though I clearly had optic nerve palsy, the anatomy of my eye looked quite normal. He mentioned a few diseases and disorders, all of which had names of mammoth proportions. He decided that the next best move for me was to order an MRI of the brain with and without contrast dye. He wasted no time and scheduled the magnetic scrutiny of my cranial matter, stat, and sent me straight over to the radiation department. Once there, I filled out more paperwork for the various permissions, notices, and liabilities and then,…
I waited.
After a short while, I was led by a technician through a winding hallway. We reached a closed door whose room boomed with loud knocks and strange, menacing sounds. Once inside, the room didn’t seem as scary since it was well-lit with soft, ambient light. In a small closet-like changing room, I removed my clothes with buttons and zippers and adorned a hospital gown with ties in the back. I took off all my jewelry and put on some fabulously boring headphones with giant, padded earmuffs to mellow the maddening noise. I climbed up on a flat table and onto my back where I strategically laid the back of my head into a generous, foamy headrest. A helmet-like apparatus was placed on the front of my head and face with a small mirror attached. (That was an interesting ordeal.) I was covered with a sheet and blanket in order to remain “comfortable” during the test that would take 45-50 minutes to complete. The technician asserted that she would be in to inject the dye halfway through the MRI for the remainder of the imaging. She did ask if I was claustrophobic (which I was sure I was not but had never really been exposed to such a tight space before.) She told me that she would play some soothing music through the headphones to help pass the time. The nice lady placed a corded hand-held device with a panic button in the palm of my hand, and then slowly eased me into the ginormous, “inhospitable tube.” The perimeter of my ample body scraped the smooth sides of the tube until I came to a sudden stop. I heard the technician ask through a microphone that played through the headphones if I was okay and could I see her reflection in the tiny mirror. I braved the closed-in space and answered that I was okay (even though I felt panic and anxiety pool up as cold sweat on my forehead.) I could hear her, I replied, and then the “fun” began.
I waited.
All the while, I gave myself pep talks that I can do this, I’m going to be okay, Just breathe, God help me, I can do this, I’m okay to self-soothe in the cramped space. After what seemed like hours, the technician came in, eased me out, injected the dye into a generous vein in my arm, and eased me back into the snug tunnel. I stayed the course and endured the distressing magnetic resonance scanner, aka, “inhospitable tube.”
I waited some more.
Finally, the era of misery ended, and the technician rescued me. It felt so good to get the helmet off and take some deep breaths. The technician alerted me that she had what she needed and that I could leave. She didn’t have to tell me twice. I changed back into my own clothes and went home.
I waited.
The ophthalmologist called several days later and explained that he made an appointment for me to see a neurologist in Lexington to better read the results of the MRI. He couldn’t be sure by his own interpretation or that of the radiologist’s report, so he wanted to place me in the hands of someone who he felt confident would be able to help me. (The rest of the story of my MS journey begins here.)
I found myself waiting…again and again…for the next step in the journey. Waiting never ceases.
Faith Alert! ;) If you are like me, sometimes the little gremlin in your mind likes to hound you, worry you, whittle you down, make you weary. I have learned, however, that I don’t have to settle for that! Because of my relationship with Jesus, I am an overcomer! If He were here in person with me every morning when I awoke, He would give me pep talks, hug me, hold my hand, pat me on the back, boost my spirit, and keep me moving forward every single day until it was time to be with Him. Since He is not here with me in person, I experience His encouragement in other ways–through the following (but certainly not limited to):
I believe in miracles. I believe in hope. I believe that we are overcomers. I believe in gratitude. I believe in supportive relationships. I believe that even though waiting is challenging and most of the time, easier said than done, it should be a time of rest while everything is working out for our good. One of my favorite people and constant encouragers introduced me to this…
I began this blog last month with the story of the neurologist coming in and telling me point blank that I had Multiple Sclerosis (MS.) I thought it important to back up just a bit in the timeline. After communicating with other MSers, I found out that many others also suffered relapses prior to detection and treatment of the disease. Everyone has walked their individual path, but they are all similar in that each person took one step at a time before reaching a diagnosis. Some people faced lengthy strides going from doctor to doctor to find out the source of their problem, and it never fails that this journey involves a bunch of waiting. Take heart!My very first MS relapse occurred in April 2008 and was undiagnosed. I suffered numbness and tingling in my left thumb, forefinger, and middle finger. The sensations persisted, so I visited my primary care physician for a diagnosis and treatment. I was a little worried that the work I had done previously in manufacturing may have resulted in cumulative trauma. A ganglion cyst and tendonitis had tormented me doing repetitive motion in the factory position and for several years after I resigned. Thankfully those afflictions finally healed after a time. My practitioner ordered nerve studies on my entire left arm to try and get to the root cause of my feeling disturbances. Have you ever had a nerve study done? It was my first time undergoing this testing process. I liken it to smallish, electrical, firebolt impulses forced through the appendage of my reluctant, yet willing body that quickly morphs into exponential torment. It didn’t hurt at first, but I became more stunned as the testing progressed. Yowza! I started out sitting still as a statue and later, I could not help being a bucking bronco every time the ominous, black button was pushed sending the greased lightning current through my arm. Holy schnikeys! I couldn’t get through the torturous procedure soon enough! Finally it concluded, I went home, and then,…
I waited.
After a couple of days, the nurse called and reported that the study’s conclusion showed no damage or problems with any nerves, and maybe inflammation was causing the numbness and tingling. “Take ibuprofen” was the advice and “contact the office if the situation worsens.” Hmmmph. Great. I could still feel surfaces and use my hand and fingers for the most part, so I dismissed it and learned to live with it that way. Will the peculiar sensitivity ever go away? I don’t know, but…
Even today, I wait.My beloved maternal grandma passed away a month later in May 2008–it was a great loss for me. I continued with life as she would have wanted. I became pregnant with a third child in the following winter. Our youngest at that time was 7 years old, the oldest, 11 years old, and I was in my mid 30s. I worked part time as an Administrative Assistant in the Campus Ministry Dept. at the local college. After being in that position for nearly five years, I resigned at the end of the school semester (in the last trimester of pregnancy) in order to take utmost care of myself and unborn child. In the previous two pregnancies, I experienced preeclampsia and this time, I wanted to be as proactive as possible. My plan was to take it easy until delivery time, a September due date.
So, I waited.
I ended up delivering early as I had with the first two but did so without much fuss. I gave birth to our third baby girl in August 2009. Like some mothers, I fully experienced the difficult transition of being the mother of a newborn again…at age 35…wrestling with the attempt to breastfeed, little to no sleep, caring for the rest of my family, some postpartum depression, and lasting grief over the loss of my most dynamite cheerleader, my grandma. To say the least, it was painful.I prepared to wait again–to wait the crises out.
Three and a half months later on Saturday, December 4, 2009, I woke up early rubbing my eyes and squinting a bit with the sunshine blasting through the curtains. That’s weird. I felt a tug as I tried to move my right eye looking around the room. Brushing it off as morning tiredness, I warriored on with the morning and supervised my family getting dressed and ready for an extended family Christmas dinner out of town. (You mothers and maybe some dads too, can identify with what it is like to get a family of five including the newest, four-month-old addition prepared to get out the door and be out of town for the weekend.) I had no time to dillydally around or worry about the small eye tug. But after the weekend and a two more days passed, my right eye movement came to a complete halt. Double vision set in, and I was walking into walls even with my arms outstretched in front of me. It was super annoying, but I thought it might be a symptom of an impending migraine attack and that it would go away.
So, I just waited.
When I talked to my sister on the phone a few days later, her troubled soul spewed words of worry, and she urged me to get immediate care. She advised me not to wait to see the doctor the next morning and begged me to go to the emergency room right away. Her fear that maybe I’d had a stroke leaked out of her mouth. Whoa. I stopped in my tracks and too, became instantly frightened. The abnormality bothered me, but I had not thought of the possibility of a stroke…at my age for goodness sake? My mind raced back to when my paternal grandma had died of a brain aneurism in her 60s. Terror grabbed me by the throat.
I did not wait!
I put on my shoes and coat, got in the vehicle, and my husband drove me to the local hospital about 10 minutes away. The facility was small, but I just wanted to be in the care of the closest medical professional. (It’s conceivable that I lean toward the dramatic side of life. :) ) I figured if something was terribly wrong that they couldn’t handle, I could be transported to a larger, more capable hospital in Lexington.
My husband and I arrived at the small emergency department. When I told the receptionist that I might have suffered a stroke, she ushered us straight away into a tiny room in the emergency ward. After a few minutes, the attending physician came in, examined me, and asked me routine questions, what current prescription medications I took, and a brief, personal medical history including family medical history. He ordered a CT scan of my brain to check for stroke and an EKG to check for other possible causes. I endured both evaluations and returned to the examining room.
And then, I waited.During that time, completing insurance paperwork for admission distracted me. Thank goodness for a booklet size stack of papers to sign and date! (Although bad for the trees.) After spending a few hours in the tiny room that reeked of rubbing alcohol and starched linens, the ER doctor came in and assured me that I had not had a stroke, and my EKG was normal. He suggested that I make an appointment soon to see an ophthalmologist for my eye.
I did not wait.
The next morning, I scheduled the appointment with a seasoned and highly recommended ophthalmologist in town. He was affiliated with the local hospital whose emergency room I had made an appearance in the night before.
And then, I waited.
Several moons later, I met the eye specialist who seemed intrigued by the double vision, also known as diplopia, and lack of movement in my right eye. According to his assessment, even though I clearly had optic nerve palsy, the anatomy of my eye looked quite normal. He mentioned a few diseases and disorders, all of which had names of mammoth proportions. He decided that the next best move for me was to order an MRI of the brain with and without contrast dye. He wasted no time and scheduled the magnetic scrutiny of my cranial matter, stat, and sent me straight over to the radiation department. Once there, I filled out more paperwork for the various permissions, notices, and liabilities and then,…
I waited.
After a short while, I was led by a technician through a winding hallway. We reached a closed door whose room boomed with loud knocks and strange, menacing sounds. Once inside, the room didn’t seem as scary since it was well-lit with soft, ambient light. In a small closet-like changing room, I removed my clothes with buttons and zippers and adorned a hospital gown with ties in the back. I took off all my jewelry and put on some fabulously boring headphones with giant, padded earmuffs to mellow the maddening noise. I climbed up on a flat table and onto my back where I strategically laid the back of my head into a generous, foamy headrest. A helmet-like apparatus was placed on the front of my head and face with a small mirror attached. (That was an interesting ordeal.) I was covered with a sheet and blanket in order to remain “comfortable” during the test that would take 45-50 minutes to complete. The technician asserted that she would be in to inject the dye halfway through the MRI for the remainder of the imaging. She did ask if I was claustrophobic (which I was sure I was not but had never really been exposed to such a tight space before.) She told me that she would play some soothing music through the headphones to help pass the time. The nice lady placed a corded hand-held device with a panic button in the palm of my hand, and then slowly eased me into the ginormous, “inhospitable tube.” The perimeter of my ample body scraped the smooth sides of the tube until I came to a sudden stop. I heard the technician ask through a microphone that played through the headphones if I was okay and could I see her reflection in the tiny mirror. I braved the closed-in space and answered that I was okay (even though I felt panic and anxiety pool up as cold sweat on my forehead.) I could hear her, I replied, and then the “fun” began.
I waited.All the while, I gave myself pep talks that I can do this, I’m going to be okay, Just breathe, God help me, I can do this, I’m okay to self-soothe in the cramped space. After what seemed like hours, the technician came in, eased me out, injected the dye into a generous vein in my arm, and eased me back into the snug tunnel. I stayed the course and endured the distressing magnetic resonance scanner, aka, “inhospitable tube.”
I waited some more.
Finally, the era of misery ended, and the technician rescued me. It felt so good to get the helmet off and take some deep breaths. The technician alerted me that she had what she needed and that I could leave. She didn’t have to tell me twice. I changed back into my own clothes and went home.
I waited.
The ophthalmologist called several days later and explained that he made an appointment for me to see a neurologist in Lexington to better read the results of the MRI. He couldn’t be sure by his own interpretation or that of the radiologist’s report, so he wanted to place me in the hands of someone who he felt confident would be able to help me. (The rest of the story of my MS journey begins here.)
I found myself waiting…again and again…for the next step in the journey. Waiting never ceases. Faith Alert! ;) If you are like me, sometimes the little gremlin in your mind likes to hound you, worry you, whittle you down, make you weary. I have learned, however, that I don’t have to settle for that! Because of my relationship with Jesus, I am an overcomer! If He were here in person with me every morning when I awoke, He would give me pep talks, hug me, hold my hand, pat me on the back, boost my spirit, and keep me moving forward every single day until it was time to be with Him. Since He is not here with me in person, I experience His encouragement in other ways–through the following (but certainly not limited to):
- waking up to light from a sunrise every morning that ends the darkness
- being with my girls and seeing them off to school
- smelling the aromatic brew of coffee and drinking its warm goodness
- sitting still in silence, meditation and/or prayer, reading and digesting scripture
- connecting with family and friends through a cool, virtual world wide web
- talking with or sending/receiving texts with people I love on the phone
- preparing (when I can) and partaking of meals for my family’s and my needs
- using what our family has earned and been given to meet our budget needs
- seeking treatment from medical professionals for my health
- confiding in and spending time with my family and friends
- cultivating growth with wise saints
- appreciating clean air, clean water, and a fully equipped (and sometimes clean) home
- being grateful for the fowls of the air and the fishes in the sea, all of our wonderful and mysterious creation
- listening to the small, still voice that directs my path
- being thankful for all of the million+ little things which I have been given (a post for another day,)
- getting to see the darkness descend past the sunset–the solemn, restful, peaceful darkness. It is where and only where I can fully appreciate the moon and the stars, all of which too, are part of God’s creation. When looking at the night, it is always an awesome reminder that anything that ever was, is, or ever will be has been crafted by the hands of the Divine. If He can do all of that, He can take care of me!
I believe in miracles. I believe in hope. I believe that we are overcomers. I believe in gratitude. I believe in supportive relationships. I believe that even though waiting is challenging and most of the time, easier said than done, it should be a time of rest while everything is working out for our good. One of my favorite people and constant encouragers introduced me to this…“All shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.” Julian of NorwichSo, hang in there friend and listen for the still, small whisper. Whatever may come your way and whatever wait times you must bear, I pray for peace that passes all understanding for you and for me. <3
