Like the expected sequence of events that follow anxiety, my mind shutters at the thoughts of the future; tomorrow. After the students have been taught, illustrating their dearth of new nursing knowledge, as I quietly deny intrusive thoughts, I’ll drive to a familiar place.
You’d think, after countless times of going to the doctor, routine or emergent, by choice or not by choice, that I would be calm about another go at it, but denial engulfs me, yet fear surrounds me; a scary place to be.
I have to have a procedure done. A procedure that ironically falls within a month adorned with pink and a height of tribute to the strongest of survivors. I can’t stop thinking about the moment I discovered a strange new part of me; both astoundedly freightened and strangely accepting of it.
I’m a nurse. I know what to do in those moments. I know what to assess for to confirm or reaffirm a strange finding, but that didn’t change how I felt in that moment. Who knows what this new finding may be. The doctors questioned the image of it, I lay there emotionally unmoved. It was like I had already been in this situation before, a sort of dejavu. But this was definitely the present.
Im not surprised at how I reacted as I lay quietly for hours on the table, exposed, vulnerable and alone; physically. Yet I knew I wasn’t alone. There’s been this cool and calmness that has been in me lately. I expect the unexpected. I remain unflinched by the inordinate, though my body responds in its normal mode of panic. But I know why I’m calm. His strength is made perfect in my weakness.
My relationship with God is different now. I recognize that I’m not exempt from strife. I’m not above reproach. Why has it taken me so long to get that? To not be moved by every storm? I don’t know. But this valley I’ve been in for over two years now, is starting to show me more and more how his ways are not our ways.
I’ve never cursed him, and I never will. I feel like Job. So much pain, so much loss, and so much weight, more than I’ve thought I could bear at some points, but no where near the amount of strife he had to endure; I still feel a close semblance to his struggle.
I’ve called for help, I’ve called on him many times.
911 God. I’m ready to tap out, I’ve said, so many times, yet he keeps me going, though I don’t understand. But he tells me “I’m preparing you for something”, so I press on. And as I try to calm my body’s normal reaction to intense amounts of stress, the pounding of my heart and increase in the depth of each breath, I don’t feel the urge to cry out 911; not because I don’t care, not because I’m bigger than God (cause I’m not), not because I don’t believe, but only because I believe.
I believe that his will is perfect. I believe he doesn’t make any mistakes. I believe that whatever happens, whether it feels good or not, it is good. So though my heart will pound away. Though my breath may become more labored, I still will hold on to this gift he has given me in this journey; the need not to dial 911.
I trust him.
(photo: courtesy of stocksnap.io)