Healing 101

"When praying for healing, ask great things of God and expect great things from God. But let us seek for that healing that really matters, the healing of the heart, enabling us to trust God simply, face God honestly, and live triumphantly." - Arlo F. Newell

It goes without saying that there is a difference between "healing" and "curing". Right now there are so many issues surrounding me, they remind me of the green points on the mandala image at the left. They are everywhere. My own unresolved health issues, my issues (both physical and emotional) with fertility, the health of my family members, and my husband's recent diagnosis with ADD all compete for my attention. I feel helpless in the face of most of these points. I cannot hope to heal or cure my Grandmother, my husband or my uncle or mother. For that matter, there is precious little I can do for many of my own ailments. Ah, but that's not really true, if I'm honest. To that end, I've begun making some fairly important changes. My diet was definitely an area needing improvement and I have started down that path. I'm working on adding the movement part.

But so what? No one really wants to hear what I ate for breakfast, which, by the way, I can't even remember. Ah. I didn't eat breakfast. I was on my way to yet another doctor for blood tests. Fertility doc this time, and no good news to be had there. My official appointment is next week and I'm fairly certain he'll tell me that there's naught they can do and my eggs are bad and thank you very much for coming.

On top of everything else that I've lost in the past few years, the idea of not being able to have a child of my own feels like the final straw. Without that element, I'm afraid I don't have any set direction. It's just something I assumed would happen "when the time was right". Guess that time never got here. Or it did and.... well, never mind.

It's so strange. I don't tell this to many people and now I'm writing it here, telling anyone who wants to read it. I found out I was pregnant a month before the accident. I miscarried about two weeks before it happened. On one hand it was a blessing. I don't think I could have handled losing the pregnancy because some idiot decided to drink too much and run a red light. On the other hand, the accident was kind of a low blow after the stress and emotional upheaval of initially finding out I was pregnant and then losing it.

Blah blah blah. Plenty of people miscarry.

Yeah, I know.

Unfortunately, I probably can't get pregnant now. And I feel like crap about it. Maybe I should have done something different. Maybe it was because I was ambivalent at the time. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

None of it matters. All of it matters.

I was so ok with it then. I'd done a lot of soul searching when I found out. I struggled. I came to terms with the idea of being pregnant and being a parents and then.... gone. And then BAM! accident, injury, recovery, etc. And now... sorry, thanks for playing, no family for you.

Bah. On one hand it's probably best. I still struggle with chronic pain on a daily basis. Raising and infant and young child would be challenging, especially when I can barely lift anything over 10 pounds. I need sleep, it's critical for my functioning. Babies and sleep don't normally go hand in hand, at least not for the parents. I'm still trying to find a way to have a career that will allow me time and space to keep functioning and take care of all the things that allow me to function (doctor's appointments, therapy, sleep, etc.). Add a kid into that mix and I don't know what the outcome would be.

But still...

I feel like I'm missing something. I feel like I would be a good mom. I'm sad when I see so many people parenting badly, or ignoring their kids, or not treasuring them. I would like the opportunity to have that experience - to help someone shape their life and make their experience of growing up in this world special and meaningful.

And then I look around and see how awful we humans are. We are violent and petty and selfish and small, myself included. Then I think maybe it's ok or perhaps even preferable not to bring another human into the world.

But I wanted my family to continue. I'd always wanted to have a baby while Bill, my Grandmother's second husband was alive. He was definitely my adopted grandfather, although not officially. He loved babies and never really got to experience his own granddaughter or great grandchildren and I wished that I would have had a child while he was here. Now, facing the imminent demise of my Gram, I'm facing my own infertility. Not only will I not have a child in time to meet her and know her, I probably won't have a child.

Although she never pressured me to have children, I know the "family line" is important to her. At the moment I'm the end of that line, and I'm sure it saddens both of us.

For the past year or so, I've been praying that I would be able to have a child while she was still alive.

I don't know what to do with all this. Honestly, I've been feeling quite a bit sorry for myself. Watching my Gram go through her own process of dying, has led me to consider the fact that while she is passing away surrounded by family members who love and care for her, I will shuffle off my mortal coil alone. No one will bury me. No one will mourn me. No one will care. I'll be warehoused in a nursing home with strangers changing my diapers. I only hope I either die before that or that my TBI kicks in and I'm so far gone down dementia lane that I think it's the summer of 1985 and I'm having the time of my life at J.F.K. pool with my friends.

Yeah, that won't work either. 1985 wasn't really that good a year.

So what do I ask for now? What's my prayer? My intercession? For Gram to go gently into that good night? Sure. I hope to God she dies in her sleep. Her blood chemistry is so out of whack it could happen at any time. She could have a stroke, or, more likely a seizure or heart attack. Please, let her just drift off while she's asleep. Please. I don't want her scared. I don't want it to happen when I'm at class and my mom is at work and one of the caregivers is with her. If she's awake and aware, let one of us be with her. Let it be me. That's fine. It would probably be easier for me than my mom. I can talk her through it, I know I can.

Let it not be scary or painful. Let her be welcomed on the other side by our ancestors: by her mother, and Pop and Bill and the baby I didn't have. And let her know that she was loved.

It goes without saying that, selfish and frightened as I am, I pray the same prayer for myself.