Wednesday, January 4, 2017


Healing from a break takes months. At first, it hurts even if you don't move. You can't use the broken limb. Everyone babies that wound, protects it from further damage. Slowly, so slowly you don't even notice it, it stops hurting constantly. It's so slow, you are almost surprised one day to find out you can move without pain. But still, you baby it, nurture it, so it doesn't get rebroken.

That's where I'm at -- freshly mended, functional, no longer hurting every day, but so afraid of new injuries.

I have had to work hard to heal this time around. I have started taking supplements that help boost serotonin production, another to help my adrenal gland, another to help my thyroid, another to help my hormone regulation. And they worked, within just a matter of days.

I have started counseling, talking through things I don't want to talk about. Our big two goals is to work on me being a little more selfish, and a little less shame-filled.

Even posting these is a selfish act, in my mind. Talking about my pain is selfish. Others are hurting worse than me; why should I share my pain and make the assumption that somehow my hurt is more important? But writing is therapeutic, more than talking, especially when I'm writing to no audience, when I think maybe 1-3 people will read this. And so, I'm being selfish, and I'm writing, and I'm publishing it, for me.

And shame. Shame I didn't catch the fever, shame I couldn't stop the seizure, shame I didn't know he was getting sick. And shame for not being only overjoyed that he survived. Shouldn't survival be enough? Shame at doing anything but focusing on my family. And shame for years of other events, all accumulating to a fragile being.

And so, two months after my world was rocked once again, we are taking some steps forward, weary, afraid, hesistant, but steps just the same.

We learned this week that neither Jay nor I, nor Lainie, carries the genetic markers for epilepsy. Obviously, our kids have a genetic predisposition for atypical, severe febrile seizures. It doesn't decrease the risk any. But it does mean that in a year or so, they will once again attempt to take Lainie off her anti-epileptic medication. We will again test the waters and see if she can make it through a fever and illness without seizing. That's one event, one fear, that I'm placing in a nice little box, closing with industrial-strength duct tape, and shoving in the back of the closet to deal with when it gets here.

And on Monday morning, John has an EEG. That will tell us whether he goes on a daily anti-epileptic medication. It will tell us the likelihood that he will have another seizure. That event is not far enough away to shove in a box in the closet, so I am focusing on coping with that, preparing for it, walking through it.

But, I know I do not walk alone. I know God will be at my side, carrying me when I need it. These lyrics from a song by Citizen Way hit close to home:
"These are the thing That I need to pray
‘Cuz I can’t find peace any other way
I’m a mess underneath
And I’m just too scared to show it
Everything’s not fine And I’m not okay
But it’s nice to know I can come this way

When I’m with You
I feel the real me finally breaking through
It’s all because of You Jesus
Anytime anywhere any heartache
I’m never too much for You to take
There’s only love
There’s only grace
When I’m with You"

 And while I need to know God's on my side, that He isn't being a hateful, vengeful being, that he has my back, I also need a physical being who also has my back. I'm leaning heavily on Jay right now, and I'm so glad he is there to hold me up, to force me to take those first steps, to encourage me when I want to curl up into a ball and block out the world. He and I have been through a lot, it seems, over the past 17 years. I just hope we can get to the sunny side of life for awhile and climb out of these shadows for good.

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