I don’t do a good job of taking care of myself.
Ian is having a not-so-good day.
Sometimes I’m a work-a-holic.
My pile of mending is about to cascade off the sewing table
onto the floor.
I didn’t clean our bathroom for over a month.
Baskets of clean, unfolded laundry sit around. Most of the time.
I’m funny sometimes.
But normally I’m not.
I drink coffee every morning. I didn’t used to.
Tonight I thought about running away.
Only thing… I would have to leave my heart behind. It would hurt too much to take it with
me. Since being heartless isn’t an
option. I guess I’ll stay.
Shadrach bit me because he wasn’t excited about having
Meshach and Abednego as friends.
Since I’ve moved to IA I’ve become a terrible driver.
Ian is often hungry and I usually don’t know what to feed him.
I bought another plant yesterday.
My refrigerator makes our food smell and taste funny.
I cry most days.
Every day. Mostly.
I hurt when I see strength. I cry when I see goodness. I’m so mixed up and confused inside sometimes, mostly.
It’s the moments when hope is wiped away. When I can’t see anything in the
future. It’s simply a void pulling
me along. Some days I hate
time. I hate the feeling of
needing to do the never-ending list of, ‘have tos’, ‘should dos’ and ‘must dos’. I hate the feeling of time slipping
away. And when I realize that Ian
might get worse instead of better, I’m annoyed at myself for wasting these moments
we do have together. I’m annoyed
at myself for crying. I’m annoyed
at myself for not treasuring life.
Sometimes I don’t know how I will go on. Sometimes I don’t know how I will face
the next few moments let alone tomorrow or in five years. Sometimes I want to scream even though
it would make my throat hurt and even though I don’t like screaming at all.
We talk those serious talks about the future. We try to take into consideration all
the options. Even death. And it all hurts too much.
I tell myself not to worry. I tell Ian not to worry. I say, “Stop worrying!” I realize I am worrying. What do I do?
What do I say? What is
worry? How do I learn to quiet
myself before God without a heart of worry?
I’ve fallen into a holding pattern that swings between,
living as if Ian will someday change for the better, and the reality that not much
has changed at all.
We spent a week a Mayo and then returned the following
Tuesday for an MRI for Ian. The
doctor reported to us that the MRI showed nothing. So far every single test Ian has gone through has come back
normal except for the EMG.
EMG stands for Electromyography, a test that uses shocks and
needles in the muscle to detect a problem with the nervous system or the
muscles themselves. Ian’s EMG did
not find anything wrong with the nervous system but found some abnormalities in
the muscles. The EMG is not a diagnostic
test but can only show that there is a problem.
We will go to Mayo for another appointment sometime within the
next month for a muscle biopsy.
The doctor looked at us and said that there is, “Very, very little
chance that we will find anything wrong, even with the muscle biopsy.” We are going to go ahead with the
biopsy. Not as a last resort but
as the next step. We know that God
is always the first and last resort and that is where we started and where we
will end. While we walked the halls of Mayo like hundreds and
thousands before us with hopes of healing we also understood
that there is only one true Physician and He can not only heal our illness and
disease but He can heal our sin wracked lives with His precious blood. And so while we are coming to the end
of modern science’s understanding in this area, we know a God that created man
and breathed life into him. We are learning His faithfulness.
Thank you for your continued prayers, love and support for
us.
