Happy with a Dash of Snarl

Not only did I just swallow two  20 mg prednisone pills, I indulged in a caffeinated pumpkin-spice-latte at Starbucks, meaning I may never sleep tonight. Never.

While I almost chastened myself for forgetting to order decaf, it’s been too long of day for that. In fact, it’s been two very long days.

And if I didn’t live inside this body, I might be convinced I’ve become a hypochondriac.

The last several months have passed in a blur of health issues I thought I recently conquered. But alas, there was more to come. And it all started yesterday as I drove home from a podiatry appointment.

In hind sight, I hadn’t been feeling like myself for two days. I struggled to maintain balance. And as I sat in the podiatrist’s office, waiting for him to deem the stress fracture healed, I noticed my glasses wouldn’t hold my field of vision intact... which means that even with my high-powered lens correction, images still split in two.

After the doc told me to wear the orthopedic shoe for two more weeks, I took my leave. Driving home, I noticed my head turned slightly to the right, easing the eye strain. Priding myself on the unconscious adjustment, I wasn’t prepared for my mouth to pull low and left.

But it did. Out of the blue. And as I drove, my facial muscles began a game of tug of war.

The right side pulled the left side back into proper alignment only to have the left side yank hard again. The resulting spasms left me snarling like an angry pirate and fighting to smile.

However, if this doesn’t go away before Halloween, I shall buy an eye patch to aid my double vision and snarl with ease when trick-or-treaters come to our door.

Once home, I collapsed on my bed, certain the spasms would calm when I woke. But they didn’t.

I taught a lesson. Sat still. Watched a new Hallmark show. And avoided talking until Don got home.

When he did and we talked, his face registered enough concern that I knew I was in trouble.

So I drove to an after-hours clinic where I interfaced with a doctor within ten minutes of my arrival. After a careful examination, she ordered a cat scan, and a long wait ensued.

By midnight I knew the scan was clear, although I have a follow up MRI Tuesday morning. For now, with no sign of a stroke or tumor, I’m being treated for Bell’s Palsy. But for reasons I won’t explain, it took all day to pick up the medicine and swallow my first pill.

So here I sit in a Starbucks, fully caffeinated and pumped with steroids, wondering what my facial future holds.

Truth?

I’ve shed a few tears. Thought about hiding away for a time. Wanted to take a seriously long, winter’s nap. But went to lunch with a friend instead.

More truth?

After a day of processing, I'm convicted that this is my moment to live what I know is true.

The King of Kings loves me. Right now. Even with a slight snarl.

This isn’t a punishment. A result of my sin. Or some sign that I’m not special enough.

It’s simply part of living in a broken world.

And broken it is.

But I know The One who heals. I serve The One who makes good from bad. And I love the way He draws near when I lay on a gurney, a bit chilled, waiting for test results.

Oh how He loves us where we are, how we are, completely in our broken state.

So I will wake and live fully tomorrow.





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