Tree branches softly swaying in the breeze, streams of light breaking through the leaves with blue skies peeking through. This is the view from my living room window. It looks like a beautiful day outside and I want to be just as cheery in my disposition as the world outside my window, but it is hard to muster up enthusiasm when you hurt. I mean physically hurt. Honestly, I do not even know what begets what anymore. Does my depression cause the pain or does the pain worsen the depression? Are they related?
These questions haunt me, especially on days like this where I cannot seem to shake the blues. Once more, I went to bed feeling poorly and I awoke feeling poorly. The pain is only part of the regular litany of symptoms that interfere with my daily acitivies but it is often the most daunting. I want to get to the bottom of it but we have been wandering down this road for roughly a year and a half. Normal! My test results are always normal. So, last night, when I went to the hospital for a scheduled pelvic ultrasound, I went with little hope that it will elicit any revelations.
“Here we go again,” was all that kept running through my brain. I was in a great deal of pain too, which made me all the more frustrated about having another ultrasound. I had to empty my bladder an hour and a half before my appointment, drink 32oz of water, then not use the bathroom until I was told otherwise. I have had to do this before, and it was uncomfortable. It might have even hurt a little. This time, I could barely move by the time I was seated in the waiting room. The pain was intense. It radiated through my back. I felt like I had been kicked in the gut, doubled over, trying to breathe, whimpering. It was embarrassing! Then the technician called my name and I hobbled over to her. I laid down on the bed but that made everything worse. I couldn’t even straighten my legs, so I just did my best to hold still, blinking back tears. Thankfully, since the technician could tell I was in a lot of discomfort, she did her best to capture the pictures she needed as hastily as possible. Then I was able to use the bathroom! Hallelujah! The rest of the ultrasound went a lot smoother from there. I still hurt a bit but nowhere near as intense as before. And then, it was time to go home again.
Was it worth it? Will it reveal anything? Will it have been a fruitless endeavor? Was all that pain normal? I don’t know the answers. I do know someone who does, though. On the way home, I told Ray that I wish God could just go consult with my doctors and say, “It’s this! Or better yet, just touch me and make it all go away. Why doesn’t He just do that?”
With his wisdom, that I don’t always appreciate as much as I ought to, my husband pointed out that a miracle is when God chooses to exercise outside of the normal workings of how things operate. He put it a lot more eloquently than that, but he went on to say that miracles are rare because otherwise they would be “the norm” and, therefore, not very miraculous events. It made sense and he is right. So, while I sure would love a miracle right about now, I am glad that the One who made me, the One who knows my inner-workings and can point to exactly what is wrong, is in my court. I will continue to pray that He is guiding the doctors who examine me and that He will lead me to a place of healing, or at the very least answers. I want to at least know the why. There has to be a reason why I feel like I do. It does not seem normal to feel unwell every day, nor for it to have worsened in the past two years.
It is frustrating and some days I just cannot hold back the floodgates. I tried to fold some clothes and I could not finish because the pain was too much. Finally, I gave up and curled up in a ball, crying. RJ stopped and watched me, unsure of what he was supposed to do. So, I motioned for him to come to me. I pulled him in close and he snuggled up in my arms. “You sad?,” he asked, “I get you drink. It make you feel better.” He went and grabbed my cup and said, “There! All better!” I wish it was as simple as that. Still, he may not have stopped the pain but the tears ceased. I love my sweet son. I think those are the moments when I feel God saying, “I’m still here. I see your tears. I hurt with you.” And then He gives me a hug through the sweet embrace of my two-year-old.
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