I opened my eyes to devastation. I felt helpless, hopeless, and bound. I could not speak, move, nor cry out of fear that my weakness would be interpreted as a desire to dialogue. The room was white; not only in color but in emotion. I closed my eyes in hope that darkness would somehow be better than apathy. It was! Plus tears were invisible behind closed lids. But soon my solace was interrupted by a language I still have yet to master.
There were three of them, all identical in wardrobe. One held a long needle that appeared to be double the length of a newborn child. She spoke this strange tongue to the other too and reached for additional sharp objects over me as if my body wasn’t even there. She touched my neck and I jumped in fear which startled her. Her fear angered me! What was she afraid of? She had a needle, two sidekicks, and me strapped to a table. What the hell was I going to do. She briefly looked at me and attempted to communicate, however I only was able to interrupt about every fourth word. “…..biopsy….needle….be still…..nodule….don’t move…..don’t move.”.
I assume there was no need for my consent because before I knew it a needle rammed in my throat and all I could remember was…DONT MOVE! I clutched every finger into the tightest fist in attempts to expel the pain. She attempted to communicate again…..nodule….samples….3 more…..don’t move. This time I went back to black, closing my eyes, and hiding in the darkness. About every ten seconds my fist clenched, tears welled, and a piece of my being left the table. But what I remembered was though my body was broken my spirit was not; and while my words were ceased my prayers could go on.
Fist clench…..”God honors faithfulness”. Fist clench…”God’s love is unwavering”. Fist clench….”I can do all things in Christ whom strengthens me”. Before I knew it the clenches had stopped and the room was quiet.
I kept my eyes closed out of fear that I would be met with the same sterile emotions I was so trying to escape. But a hand, a familiar hand interlocked in mine. I knew each hair in those knuckles, each callous on the hand, and he sure smelled good! I had been returned from this abduction and was home. The familiarity warmed my body, allowing the stored tears to come rushing down. He couldn’t catch them all and I loved him because he didn’t pretend he could.
For the next few weeks I attempted to learn more of this alien language. I learned “benign”, “future removal”, “possible infertility”, and became quite familiar with “Ct scan”. But the language I became the most fluent in wasn’t the alien dialect, but the language of love. I began to really understand what the words “marriage”, “friendship”, “family”, and “kindness” truly meant.
To my close friends and family that have been holding my hand throughout this process I dedicate this post to you. It is in no way enough to show you the gratitude I have for each of you, but know that I value you immensely. If you helped to distract me with baby updates, sent me a meaningful message, said a prayer, allowed me to sob in your arms, listened to my breakdowns on the phone, or just hugged me; know that you made a difference. I can ask for no such better support system than you all.
Always with love,
Modo
SingingWithTheVolumeUp 