I walked out of the doctor’s office and rode down two sets of elevators to get to my car, all the while choking back tears. Suddenly, things made sense.
Let me start from the beginning.
Back in April, I spent a couple of days in bed with some pretty intense pain. Since my daughter and I had just returned from Disney, I assumed I’d somehow overdone it and would be fine. But then it happened again in May, and lasted four days that time. So I saw my doctor and got some clues as to what was going on pretty quickly . . . complications from a prior outpatient surgery. By mid-June I had an ultrasound and scheduled surgery for later in the summer. In the meantime, I was to take pain medications as needed.
But then a little over two weeks ago, I started having pain in a different location. I started living on cocktails of Lortab and high doses of Motrin. I’ve slept through the night only once or twice in the past couple of weeks. There were a few times I thought Mark might have to take me to the ER. He kept encouraging me to call the doctor, but I wouldn’t. I’ll tell you why later.
After two weeks of often-debilitating pain, I finally called the doctor’s office on Tuesday and spoke with a nurse who scheduled an appointment for Wednesday morning. After seeing the doctor to explain the pain and symptoms, he sent me for another ultrasound. The results indicated that we needed to make some changes to the surgical plans. In addition, he sent me for some bloodwork . . . nothing to worry about, just precaution. More about that later as well.
* * * * *
Early Wednesday morning, before my appointment, I read a blog post by Elizabeth Esther in which she talked about unmet needs and feeling as though God had abandoned her:
The truth was that God never abandoned me. I abandoned myself because I believed I was inherently unlovable, unworthy, wicked and broken. I didn’t believe I deserved to have my needs met. All I deserved was the leftover crumbs tossed to me by someone else.
I’m changing that, now.
I now truly believe I am lovable, loved and loving. I deserve to be treated with kindness and gentleness. But I’m not waiting for Someone Else to give that to me. I’m learning to take care of myself. I’m learning to give myself the care I need.
I left a comment on that post, explaining how the words “There’s something wrong with you” still play on repeat in my mind on a daily basis, and how loving myself, caring for myself and tending to my needs is difficult.
* * * * *
When I was in junior high school, I was in the hospital for a week while my pediatrician ran tests to find out what was causing my persistent knee pain. After being poked and prodded and going through every test imaginable, my mother sat at my bedside at the end of the week and told me that the doctor believed my pain to be “all in (my) head.”
The pain continued, and I was eventually diagnosed with a juvenile form of rheumatoid arthritis, which the doctor successfully treated. He said I’d probably grow out of it, and by my late teens, I had. But the humiliating idea that I had created an imaginary pain was cemented in my mind.
* * * * *
Over the past two weeks I’ve tossed and turned in my bed, trying to find a comfortable position, paced the floor in the middle of the night because it hurt too much to lie down, and taken Lortab just so I could get a few hours of sleep. And each time I thought about going to the ER or calling my doctor, I was afraid they wouldn’t believe me. I was afraid that somehow I was making the pain worse than it really was. I needed to tough it out. Besides, going to the ER or the doctor would mess up everybody else’s schedules.
When you believe there’s something wrong with who you are, you tend to believe you’re an inconvenience to other people. You buy the lie that your needs aren’t important. You want to be invisible, so you’ll deal with pain rather than ask for help.
* * * * *
Last week, my dear email friend, whom I’ve never met in person and lives several states away and who often reminds me, “You are loved,” sent me an email full of verses and commentary. All of the verses and corresponding commentary were about fear. And though the subject line of the email was “Fear not!,” my response, ironically, was fear. I wondered why I was getting an email telling me not to be afraid. I wondered what might happen that would cause me to be afraid.
* * * * *
I waited apprehensively as my doctor reviewed the results of my ultrasound. His first, quick response was, “No wonder you’ve been in so much pain!” What was a small cyst six weeks ago has grown “a lot.” He told me how he was glad that I’d come in to have more tests before the surgery. This way, he’s sure to be able to remove everything causing me pain. I relaxed as I realized my pain was indeed real and valid.
* * * * *
The nurse handed me a clipboard with a couple of papers to sign before prepping my arm to draw blood. As I grabbed the pen and glanced at the top paper, there was a fear I never expected in black and white: Cancer Antigen.
It’s just a precaution. A precautionary test for cancer. Unlikely. Nothing to worry about. But when the precaution is yours, questions and fears form quickly.
After filling the long tube with my dark-red blood, the nurse said if there was cause for concern, I’d get a phone call in 2-3 days; otherwise, I’d get my lab results in the mail.
That was that. I was free to go.
* * * * *
On that first elevator ride to my car, I read Elizabeth Esther’s response to my comment:
Oh, Rebekah, know those words so well. “You’re not good enough.” “There’s something inherently wrong with you.” etc. etc. Such toxic words. The only way I know how to overcome these words is by replacing them with NEW words. Affirming words. “I am loved. I am lovable. I am loving.” Can you try that? BIG HUGS.
Those words: I am loved. For a year and a half, my mantra has been the three words my email friend reminds me of: You are loved. But, on Wednesday, walking towards my car, I realized I am loved. That email about fear? Yeah, it quickly made sense.
Then came the realization that I deserve to take care of myself; that I should trust myself; that if my body is screaming in pain, I should go to the doctor; that just because someone who should love me told me there’s something wrong with me (as in, wrong with who I am as a person) doesn’t mean there is.
An overwhelming sense of gratefulness flooded me, and the tears dammed up just behind my eyes, daring to spill over.
* * * * *
Today I wait.
I wait for the precautionary test results, but I am not afraid.
I wait for August 12th, my surgery date, to be rid of the pain.
And I wait on me . . . giving myself time to learn to love and appreciate and validate and take care of me.
