Stuck to my fridge are two sheets of paper ripped out of a spiral notebook. They are scribbled with notes and words, addresses, appointment times. Some scary words that I don’t want to think about. Some possible procedures and roads that I hope we don’t have to travel down.
Without getting in to a lot of the details, every day last week found us in another doctor’s office or lab. We are trying to piece together some of Mary’s medical history and make sense of what might be the root of some of her troubles. The migraines. Some issues with her feet. The Lyme’s Disease.
It’s funny, but I find that I’m not overly worried yet. At least I don’t think so. But I’m anxious for answers. Tomorrow we head to John’s Hopkins to see a few specialists. I’m grateful to have such great medical care at our back door.
But I would be lying to say that all of this isn’t weighing me down. The back and forth to doctor’s offices. Mary’s deep fear of each new person we see, each blood test we have to take. It’s agonizing. Even things like when do you fit in the grocery shopping? suddenly become extremely complicated issues.
On Friday, I felt myself snap. All these worries, and exhaustion and back and forth suddenly came spilling out as I found myself lashing out at my children. It was totally uncalled for. It really had nothing to do with the problem at hand but had everything to do with my need to relieve some of the pressure bubbling up inside me.
After sitting at the kitchen table alone for awhile, letting some of it go, I finally got up, took a breath, found them and apologized. On the outside, I was better, I was okay, but this aching funk still lingered on the inside.
It seems my first reaction in these kinds of moments, days, weeks is to walk away from this blog. It feels like the last thing I could muster up are words. I’m good at learning lessons and reflecting after the days have passed, but when I’m in the thick of it, I don’t want to talk about it or think about it. But these days have got me thinking about what exactly it is that pulls me out of these funks. How do I shake the cloud hanging over my head?
I still don’t know the full answer.
But one thing I do know, is that there is healing and relief in writing it down. There is value in telling your story. There is comfort in putting words and sentences together, even if it is only a few.
There is something about writing it down that sheds light on the situation — whether it is a lesson learned, a new perspective or a releasing of some of that pressure.
And still, still, in the midst of all of this, there is still so much to be grateful for. As I sit here at my desk and the sunset is hitting the cornfields and the little stone church across the road, after a day of grey and clouds, the light is already changing.