Good morning, hospital bed. How happy I am to see you empty.
I sit here, across from you, being flooded with hugs and tears from nurses and doctors who are so relieved to see me smiling today. They worked so hard to save my life just days ago as my body shook and seized.
And here you are now, an empty bed.
I sit here, still unable to walk freely, still in agonizing pain. But I look at you there. And I’m overwhelmed with gladness that I’m over here. You’re an empty bed.
Jesus was in far greater agony than this when he hung on that cross. He conquered death on that cross. He conquered it for me. And that cross is empty.
So that I can be a conqueror.
“Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written:
‘For your sake we face death all day long;
we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.’
No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,[k]neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord,”
And here I am. Rescued by the one who conquered death. More than a conqueror.
You’re an empty bed. I didn’t have to stay. And I’m so thankful.
An update for you, my faithful friend:
I don’t have to revisit that bed for a bit.
My doctor will be taking a different direction than the Lumbar Sympathetic Blocks this next time. She’s going to do two Epidural Sympathetic Nerve Blocks instead. They’ll be able to go directly into my spine this way, instead of through the side of my back. There are fewer blood vessels to have to avoid in the epidural area, so it sounds like there’s a lowered risk for the anesthesia to get into my bloodstream. There are many more nerves in this area, so there is danger of damage to other nerves. That’s most of the information I’ve received so far. The first one is May 12th.
The benefits will hopefully be significantly decreased pain. The cost is numbness and weakness in my leg, and possibly in both legs. I’m not sure what the longevity of that is and what that really will mean yet for my walking.
Regardless, the idea of less pain is always far more than appealing. Pain may be invisible, but it sure is distracting. Often debilitating. Sometimes devastating, crippling, paralyzing. Always eye-opening.
To throw in a glorious side note, I want to thank all the wonderful people who have been praying for me. God is so faithful. He always hears. His answers don't always make sense to us, but He always hears. And He is good.
Late this afternoon, after a long day of pain, I stood to get my littlest up from his nap. I took my crutches, that I had been depending on all day, and suddenly realized that my leg felt warm. With very little pain.
And I walked to get that baby. I carried him in my arms, and rejoiced in the God who always hears.
After that, I kept on walking freely around the house for nearly an hour. I can barely begin to express how thankful I am for that hour. Those of its kind are few and far between these days--and they almost never happen in the second half of the day.
Thank you for lifting me up to the Healer. It felt so good to remember that this is a body that moves. I'm determined not to let myself forget.
Is there pain in your life?
- What have you learned from it?
- How does it open your eyes?
- What lessens your pain or brings you comfort?
- What might it look like for you to be rescued or to find a remedy?
- What can you be thankful for today?