Another poem...

We are nearing the end of the school year and I think it's time for another poem.  This one is for Abby.


Yesterday it was princesses and bows
Cinderella and Dora.
Now, Justin Beiber and the Hunger Games
Swim team, choir, and texting (TTYL XOX).
And sometimes, I study your face
To see if my baby's still in there.
But we walked along the other day
And you said something funny
Grown up and funny
And we laughed together
A good, long, honest laugh
Like friends sometimes share.
And the thought occurred to me...
"That's my daughter!"
And I know the best days are still ahead...

But forgive me if, every once in a while, I pull you close to me

And hug you tight

And call you my sweet, little girl

The first person in the world

To ever call me mommy.

Battling Fear

Ok, so I promised this wouldn't be about being sick, but more about my journey.  Being sick, however, is a big part of my journey right now.  It's playing into all of my thoughts.  So, this one IS about being sick.


Here's what it's been like:

I can't plan anything in advance because I don't know if I'll be well that day, and even if I feel well that day, I don't know if I'll keep feeling well the whole day.  If you somehow happened upon this blog and you're wondering what I'm talking about, I have this thing where I have episodes of slurred speech, I pass out, I get extremely tired, sometimes I have convulsions or twitch uncontrollably.  Sometimes I can't walk properly or I can only walk very slowly.  Sometimes I have to be reassured of events or of how I ended up in a certain place because the familiar begins to look unfamiliar. In between the episodes, I feel dizzy, nauseous, foggy, and just plain gross.  Sometimes this thing comes on me and I feel sick for a day; other times it's months.  I'm heading toward the one month mark for this bout. 


 I've done this on and off for 12 years, ever since my first pregnancy.  I've gone to emergency rooms and been accused of being a drug-seeker, being suicidal; I've heard doctors tell my husband I was crazy.  I've had one doctor tell me not to call her anymore because "unless you lose control of your bowels or your bladder, Mrs.  Isenhart, there's nothing I can do for you."  I've had neurologists send me to psychiatrists who have told me I need a neurologist.  I've had one neurologist tell me he was sure he knew what it was and, when it turned out it wasn't what he thought, he told me to take up yoga.  I've told trusted friends this story and I've seen the doubt in their eyes... "Well, maybe she is crazy if all of these specialists think so..."  I've had advice like, "This is stress-induced.  You should paint more."  I've had friends pray for my healing, I've had friends who believed it was a completely spiritual thing.  I've gone to counseling.  I've doubted my own stability and sanity.  I've lived by the "ignore it and maybe it'll go away" principle.  My husband has uttered words I didn't even know he knew in reaction to the frustration of this dumb thing.  (He has often encouraged me to take that doctor's advice and "lose control of my bowels" in her office.  I haven't taken him up on that.)  I've been poked, prodded, MRI'd, CAT scanned, tilt-tabled, electrocardiogrammed, EEG'd, and sleep-tested.  And no one has found anything physically wrong with me, until now.  


It's probably got something to do with my pituitary; my hormones are off and one side of my pituitary is somewhat bigger than the other.  But, these indicators are very subtle, and it's still only a possible cause, not an answer to the symptoms.  They may not be able to fix this.  


So I'm faced with a question.  If I have given my life to Jesus Christ, believed in His ability to heal and to save people from every affliction, believed that he is the answer to all of life's problems, why is he letting this happen?  What is the purpose?  


I think I know.


Every time this comes back, I have an opportunity to fight with fear.  Fear of losing control, fear of never being well again, fear of being a burden on my kids, my husband, on my friends; fear of being judged a lunatic, fear of looking foolish, even fear of getting seriously hurt while driving or going down the stairs.  Fear that answers will never come.  Fear that God isn't real, or if he's real, he isn't good or faithful.


I've always been afraid of everything.


Every time this comes back, I battle that fear.  And guess what?  I'm winning.  I'm not afraid of it anymore.  If I never get well, if I never have an answer, if I hurt myself, if I die... it's really not my concern.  It's my Father's concern.  And I've learned that he is good, and because he's good, he wouldn't allow me to go through pain unnecessarily.  


If I wasn't going through this, the fear would still own me.  And it doesn't.


The other night, my muscles were seizing pretty badly.  I couldn't walk well; I would double up because I couldn't straighten my body out.  I was slowly making my way across the floor trying to get to bed, and I got a picture in my mind of Jesus being there in the room with me, leading me slowly, saying, "I know it's hard, but I've got you."  If he's with me, I can do this.  His grace is sufficient for me.

I have a hard time starting something like this.  There are so many blogs, so much information, so much noise that I feel guilty adding to it.  But, I'm really writing this for me, I guess, so I will absolve myself.  I love writing, and it is the one thing I do purely for my own satisfaction, so it's hard to put stuff out here where someone might see it.  I don't usually have the time, or rather, make the time, to do this sort of thing; but now I find that I am feeling sick more often than I feel well, and I don't want to spend my days home sleeping or watching T.V. or checking everyone's Facebook statuses all day long.

My friend, Julie Davis, encouraged me to do this, and as she is also ill quite a bit and yet makes meaning out of most of her days, I decided to listen to her.  Thank you, Julie, for the encouragement and the inspiration that you are.

Don't get me wrong.  This is not a blog about being sick.  That may come into it from time to time, since after 12 years of having "spells" or "episodes" of whatever-this-is has finally garnered a possible cause and, as another friend said, "A cause means there's an answer." We have just begun the process of finding that answer or solution or treatment or whatever you might want to call it.  But I think I'd like this to be more about my journey... maybe something my girls can read later on in life and say, "Oh, good.  Mom felt like that, too."  I'd like to put poems, stories, impressions of life, and junk like that out there.  I don't know if it'll make good reading, but, like I said, this is more for me, anyway.

So here goes.  This one is for Kaylee.

She is looking at the window
While the rain comes down
And I watch her as she stares intently
Lost in some world of her imagination's making.
And I knock on that world's door
And hope she'll let me in.
"I'm waiting," she says, "for this
                                                   rain
                                          drop
                                               to catch up
                                      with
                                          that
                              one.
They make a bigger path when they get together."
"I used to do that too, when I was little," I say.
And we sit
And listen to the rain
And I think about how my path in life is bigger
And better
Because she's here.