Waiting in Silence

I have tried to write. I have tried to post. I have tried.
But failed, or paused to put it more positively.
I blankly stare at the blank page. Blank, blank, blank. It's all I get! I can't get the words out. I have so many thoughts and ideas that won't cohesively come together to form content I deem worth publishing.

However, I can't just keep sitting here figuratively stuttering. I have to move. Writing is necessary or I feel murky and stagnant. Murky is a feeling no person should ever feel. We need to leave that to the swamps and the post 4th of July apartment pool water.

Whether it's pretty or not, here is the jist of my brain the last couple weeks.

I returned from the Dominican Republic a completely new and improved version of myself. My heart and brain were wrecked in the best way. I am working on a post recording my time there, but am struggling to get that one out as well. One of the huge things that impacted me from the trip was all that we take for granted in America. I rode home from the airport in my air conditioned personal vehicle. I took my hot showers whenever I wanted, and had fresh, clean, cold water to drink in my fridge full of food, in my air conditioned apartment with more square feet in my living room than most three bedroom homes I had just been in the previous week.

They were struggling to get food to eat and I was struggling to eat healthy and not eat too much.

Even writing that is so disgusting to me.

I decided then that I would take full advantage of the amenities that I have been so fortunate to be blessed with simply by being an American. I didn't feel worthy, but I wasn't going to let it go to waste. I decided to get healthy. I decided to take inventory of my materials and blessings and see how I could use them for good instead of burying them in the ground.

I began to work out. I ate healthy. I didn't spend money unless it was necessary or as a gift for someone else to bless them. I made good use of my time. I looked in the mirror and was thankful for what I saw. I didn't apologize for being me. I celebrated who God made me to be.

Every morning my alarm went off at 4:50am. I had the same routine and would knock out a workout listening to upbeat worship music. Beckah Shae helped me push through the hard workouts with lyrics about "going through the fire coming out gold". She called for "All my soldiers, all my warriors, risk takers, history makers, freedom fighters, and planet shakers" to "unite and shout a war cry" because "we are the revolution"! How can you not push yourself when modern day Braveheart is blasting in your headphones? My mind was sharp, focused, and motivated.

I am the revolution. 
This is the fire and I'm coming out gold. 
I have to get ready for the battle today. 

Every workout had purpose and meaning. When I started to sweat and get tired I would remember that it is His breath in my lungs. I pushed through the ever present annoying back pain and sore muscles. I left there stronger than I was when I walked in. My shirt was always drenched with sweat and often my eyes were filled with tears at weight of His glory I had just experienced. I was more confident, happier, and less concerned with what the outside world thought about me. A month went by and I was encouraged by some health nut friends of mine to check my weight and measurements. I knew what I weighed before I started, and when I stepped on the scale again I was surprised to have lost 10 pounds. My measurements shocked me with 7.5 inches gone! I was exhilarated. I was starting to like what I saw in the mirror and how my shirts fit. I vowed to not step on the scale until the end of July, which was one month later.

Early the next week I received a lot of comments on social media and in person about the pictures that I had been posting of my progress and workouts. Most of them were good, but some of them were jokingly making fun of me. Then of course I read an article that displayed several types of posts that according to the author are annoying and should be stopped immediately. Over half of those annoying posts are done by me on a regular basis like posting my baby's pictures, good food, fun places, couple pictures, #tbt, and gym pictures. After reading the article, my initial thought was that the author should just stay off of social media because the things mentioned are posts that everyone makes. However, it did rattle my cage a little and get me worried that I was annoying people or giving the wrong impression. I didn't post my gym pics from that day on. I felt weird now; judged, maybe? I'm not sure how to describe it, really. All I knew was that I didn't want to be the annoying person.

Through the next two and a half weeks, I struggled. I struggled to get up in the morning. I struggled to push myself while working out. I struggled to see strength, perseverance, and beauty when I looked in the mirror. I struggled to breathe. I felt guilty, ugly, useless, powerless. Suddenly I couldn't find things that I wanted to wear. I found it harder to process what I was feeling. I felt self-conscious all the time. My workouts became frustrating that I wasn't seeing much progress. I stepped on the scale almost every day and tears welled up in my eyes at how disgusted I was with myself. My muscles were still sore and my back pain was just getting worse.

One night I rubbed my husbands calves for an exchange that he rub that painful annoying knot in my back. The next morning we woke up and thanked me for how much better his calves felt. My back felt even worse than it did before he massaged it, which for my smart husband was an indication to go get it checked out. I went to see a chiropractor and nervously waited for her to crack my bones and hopefully prescribe me a massage. Through the initial meeting, she said that she would not be adjusting me because the painful mass in my back was not a knot. She guessed it was either a torn muscle that had separated from the other muscles or a tumor.

Wait, I'm sorry, what did you say?
I was supposed to walk in here and hear you tell me that everything was fine. You were supposed to adjust my back, send me to get a massage, and I would be on my way. But now they will call me to schedule a MRI? Is this a dream?

No pushing, pulling, of lifting more than 20 lb, and no running or jumping. I sat through electrode and ultrasound therapy on my back and texted my husband. He was shocked, of course, and asked a ton of questions. I answered all of them, I think. My brain wasn't really functioning with high quality. I left the office and was told that they would call me sometime by the end of the week. I tried to prepare myself to wait, but then they called me the very next morning. I scheduled the MRI for that night and powered through the day not even thinking about it. I went home and ate dinner with my family although I was so nauseated. My husband asked me if I was nervous and somehow I answered a simple yes without bursting into tears. At 8pm I drove to the MRI office, filled out the forms and waited.

And waited.
And waited.

I grabbed my journal from my purse and started filling it to occupy my nervous mind.

Cold, silent waiting room. 
30 empty chairs too close together. 
Traffic outside.
History of Green Bay Packers on TV.
Turning of pages by the receptionist.
Waiting.
Floral paintings.
Fake trees.
Marble floor decoration,
Lazy boy in the corner.
Bright lights
Hospital smell
Glass top tables
Beige walls
Empty hanging screw. I wonder what was there before?
Abnormally large door with abnormally low door handle. Wheelchair access? No idea.
Tech wanting fresh coffee.

It was my turn. I came prepared so I didn't have to change into a hospital gown. Flat on the table, ear plugs in, the stiff board slid into the enclosed tube.

"Can you hear me?" Yes.
"Try to relax" Sure thing.

I closed my eyes and relaxed the muscles in my body one section at a time until I was melted butter on the table. The loud banging and clicking was intimidating, but I think I might have fallen asleep because the tech came to get me long before it felt like 45 minutes had past. Either way I was out of there and began the waiting game once again.

Since I had scheduled my MRI for quicker than previously expected, the next morning at 9am I called the chiropractor the next day to see if I needed to change my appointment. To my surprise, I was informed that they had already received the results. My appointment at 2pm was kept and I would learn the results of the MRI. Not much was accomplished that day. My mind was in a little fog as I tried to lean into truth and give all anxiety to God.

Thankfully, I didn't have to wait long at the chiropractor. She took me back almost immediately and gave me the incredible news that they did not find a tumor in my back. I would say I felt a sigh of relief but it was more like a loud, sudden, popped balloon of relief. She didn't seem as excited as I felt on the inside as she thumbed through the pages to pull the report. No tumor was present but they did find multiple cysts on my cervix. She handed me a couple pages of what kind the cysts are, told me to get them checked out, and then proceeded to talk about the torn muscle in my back.

But wait, back to the cysts. Should I be worried? The paperwork says they aren't preventable. So are they normal? No, the paperwork says they are rare. More information on the cysts, please.

She told me that due to my car accident or maybe some other trauma from the past, I tore a muscle in my back and it has separated from the other muscles. Every time that I have massaged it, asked my husband to stick his elbow in my back to relieve the pain, or done a lot of heavy lifting that included my back, I have just made it worse. When I explained it to my husband, he pointed out that that is why the massage a couple days ago made me feel worse while his calves felt better. Fantastic.

My chiropractor is incredible, so when I asked she did talk more about the cysts. She did ease my worry a little bit in telling me that these types of cysts are not dangerous to my health, but ultimately, I need to go to a different doctor to get them checked out. There is a possibility I might need to get some of them removed since the largest one is 9mm. I made the appointment for August 4th, and have entered yet another waiting game.

Since the appointment, the awful feelings I had toward myself have vanished. I have felt strong again, and have been faithful to wake up and spend time with Jesus during my workout. However, a new set a feelings had formed in my gut that I hadn't experienced in a long time.

What if I can't get pregnant? If it's not in the cards for me, I know that His plan is better. Oh, but my heart aches to have more children. What if, what if...

It's fear of the unknown really. It's not a fear of the actual outcome, because I know that God has good plans for me. I know that He looks on me fondly and wants what is best for me and what will bring Him the most glory. It is my honor and true blessing to experience this crazy life and all of the obstacles for His praise. It's just the in between moments that are hard; the trusting, the waiting, the unknown. I trust Him. I will wait. I will repeat that "perfect love casts out fear" and that I am filled with the Holy Spirit who is the essence of perfect love, so there is no room for fear. I will repeat it until I believe it with my heart AND my mind. And this is where I will stay, in the precious place where His love has no sense of time. As I wait, I will sway to the music that His creation naturally exudes around me. I will lay the prospect of my beautiful brown curly haired, brown eyed babies at the feet of the Father and say, "Please, Abba. But if it's not your will, I lay them at your feet." And I will breathe the breath that He has placed in my lungs, and worship Him for WHO He is, because He is worthy.