Decompressing

I stayed home with my coffee and cat Sunday morning. After running across my tired frame all through the night, Eggs curled up on our hearth, and watched me decompress with a journal and pen in hand. 

I think she knew the good news. 

The cerebral angiogram trumped all previous tests, meaning I do not have an aneurysm or fistula. 

A doctor explained that the cavernous sinus region "lit up" too quickly on both previous CT angiograms, indicating a need for this definitive test to rule out the bad stuff.

But in the end, it was all one big false alarm.

Since I still have symptoms - like motion sickness, pressure, pain, and facial spasms on occasion - my neurologist has been in constant contact and referred me to the Movement Disorder Clinic at Emory University. While there are many reasons to celebrate not having a fistula, the thought of heading back to the diagnostic starting line tires me out.

Still, I'll make that appointment soon.

It doesn't help that the neurosurgeon numbed my femoral nerve during Thursday's angiogram, leaving me unable to move parts of my leg for almost 24 hours. We discovered the problem when they first planned to discharge me. 

After laying flat on my back for four hours, a nurse helped me sit up and swing my legs to the side so I could walk down the hall. Only then did I realize the appendage was numb. In fact, I couldn't even straighten the knee joint. 

It. Just. Wouldn't. Move.

Calm prevailed since I've waited for nerve blocks to wear off after surgery before. Still, the nurse insisted I stay a few more hours, hoping feeling would return. When it became obvious the numbness wasn't going to wear off quickly - and they were either going to have to admit me or let me go home - I promised not to fall. 

Soon, we were home and everything went well until my last trip to the bathroom. Using a walker, forward motion came easy. But when I tried to pivot, my hip suddenly gave way and I fell straight to the floor.

I'm not sure who was more upset, me or mom.

Have you ever had a circuit breaker trip and cut the power while drying your hair? That's what happened to my leg. One minute it held me up. The next, a slight move upset the circuitry. I lost all feeling and slid straight down.

So, while I was supposed to be relieved and happy about the test results, I was stressed and overwhelmed.

I watched a few depressing Law and Order reruns followed by The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.

Comfortable in full-blown-shut-down-mode, I didn't anticipate the ugly cry that erupted at the end of the movie.

But it helped.

I'm still a little down that scans, appointments, medical stress, and another fall have filled my recent weeks. The constant drain with few answers took me close to the dark place.

But that's only because I have an American drafted template as to what life is supposed to be about. And suffering isn't high on that list.

As I wiped my tears and blew my nose, I pressed into what I know is true and wrote it in my journal Sunday morning:

1) Surrendering my plans, my desire to succeed, and my need to accomplish something 'big' will lead to a place of freedom.

2) I. Still. Count. Even if my face pulls funny; I feel nauseous after taking a shower; and I can't keep up. My presence matters.

3) My identity is not in what I do.

4) Layers of fear still hold me back from a true life of faith. And I want to live with a deeper, abiding faith.

It's taken time, but I feel more like myself. Maybe even a like a better version of myself. For when we walk in deep places of suffering, our false self is stripped away. 

While disarming, it can lead to freedom. A freedom that leads far from the false narrative that still defines too much of who I am.

So, may our souls stretch wide and our pride be broken. For, "Weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning" (Psalm 30: 5 NIV). 



All photos courtesy of pixabay.com