I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow with a specialist. I’m supposed to have an ultrasound and meet with a doctor (I’m assuming). I have no idea what the appointment will consist of, or what the outcome will be. I do know, however, that due to Covid regulations, I have to attend it alone.
I texted my Prayer Group. Each person responded with love and encouragement. I guess I should feel okay now about all of it (you know the drill “let go and let God” as if I can just flip a switch or something), but I don’t.
I haven’t necessarily thought much about the appointment until tonight. The holiday weekend kept me distracted, I guess. I’ve talked about everything going on-I’ve processed it the best I can-but nothing has erased the fact that I still have to endure it. No matter how much I try to ignore the inevitable, it’s always in the back of my mind.
I have so many questions, and yet I don’t know that I want the answers. I’m afraid of the answers. That’s a stupid thing to be afraid of I guess but I am. The not knowing has almost been an odd comfort.
I told my counselor that last week. Actually, I don’t remember the context in which I used the term “odd comfort” but she told me I should journal about it. I haven’t done that yet, which may explain why I can’t remember the context exactly, but tonight that’s the best way I can describe the not knowing.
I can’t say I have stayed away from all articles and forums. Though my doctor told me not to read anything about this condition (knowing it would scare me to death), I have given in to the temptation of more knowledge about what it is I am facing. Much like eating the fruit from the tree of knowledge itself, nothing good has come from the decision to seek out “more” on the subject. She was right-it’s terrifying and I almost sat down to author my obituary in response. However, instead, I closed my browser and committed to guarding my heart and mind right now at all costs. For the first time ever, the “not knowing” felt much more comforting than having a plan.
Now, in a sense, that “odd comfort” feels like it’s slipping away as I face another appointment with another team of doctors. Everything seems overwhelming again and very very real.
Because the reality is, I have to face what’s ahead of me. Granted, I know with Jesus I don’t face it alone (Thank you Sunday School Sheryl please sit down) but I have to face it. And it’s going to suck. And I just plain don’t want to do it y’all. I really, truly don’t.
This is going to sound hyper-spiritual, but it just popped in my head and if I don’t document it, I’ll forget; but maybe what I feel right now is a tiny fraction of what Jesus felt in Gethsemane. Or what Mary felt when she found out she was pregnant with the one who would die for a world that didn’t deserve His love. Maybe in the humanity of those highly spiritual events, there was a moment of “I don’t want to do this.” And maybe without that moment….we never could truly relate. And how do we get to know-or grow to sincerely love and trust-the heart of God, without relating to Him?
(*Please note that I am not saying I am facing death here-just the dread of a major life altering and scary event)
I would argue that birth is both a highly spiritual and highly human event. So maybe it’s not only natural, but downright appropriate, that in this circumstance, I look at the days ahead in my frail humanity with dread. However, simultaneously knowing to my core that even by doing so, I am not experiencing a lack of faith. Instead, I am exercising my faith (with fear and trembling; see Philippians 2:12 ) by walking ahead in trust, despite what awaits me or what shakes me presently-even if I don’t want to take one more step.
Anyway, just some thoughts. Pray for me and Baby B tonight as we have a long day tomorrow. Thank you for loving me so well. You’re such a sweet community.