Prelude:
Over the past weekend, you may remember I had a wonderful time with my daughter and granddaughter. We approved the sculpture at the foundry and then took a long trip from the foundry to the beach and a memorial service for a friend. My daughter took a photograph of my granddaughter and me at the beach. We are at the waters edge looking out over the waves, holding a large stick. I had grabbed this from down the beach on my walk. The two of us were caught up in the sight of the seagulls trying to get a fish which was swimming in the waves. The gull’s pals were hoping for failure as they hovered nearby to step in should he not succeed. From a distance, the photo created a very serene image. Within it was a poor fish attracting some hungry birds. Backing off and looking at the image I loved the stature of the two of us standing against the shades of blue. I loved our focus and my granddaughter holding on to the stick below my hand.
The next week Friday I planned a heart MRI. The cardiologist said he would like me to have one, and frankly the palpitations and fainting feeling this week has prompted me to move the MRI up.
I sat in the waiting room with another person dressed in scrubs I had mistaken her for a technician until I noticed her bootie socks similar to my own. They scheduled her for a brain MRI. They found a tumor in her brain after a recent seizure. She was younger than my daughter and had a seven-month-old new baby at home. We talked about how we have cried after diagnosis, me remembering the first doctor’s voice just a few weeks back saying 3-5 years. We talked about how we try to be positive. I asked for her first name-Kate so that I could pray for her. If we could trade years. If I knew I had so many left or God only gave so many out, and they could be traded I would consider giving some of mine to her. I’m 57. I lived a life. Sure I want to be there for my child and for my grandchild, but she has not even experienced those things yet. Please, God, watch out for her.
I entered the MRI room and they told me:
1. I would be in there for 90 minutes.
2. I would have to breathe and hold my breath.
Both these things seemed impossible. I had come with a migraine but figured if they would not let me have coffee or chocolate then having an Imitrex was out of the question. I packed one with me for after.
One lovely tech said that she didn’t like MRI’s and she would put a washcloth over her eyes. Since she offered and I had a migraine anyway, I asked her for one. They provided oxygen. I didn’t know I would be strapped down and when they put a machine on my chest and asked if that was ok. I wanted to say, sure. I have limited breathing, go ahead.
They put me in the machine and had to bring me right back out. I looked up at the guy through my tears and said, “what if I can’t do this?” He told me I had to commit to the 90 minutes or it would not work. I could not do it 1/2 way. There were no other options and because I had to breath and hold my breath, they could not put under.
Wait, I told myself. I have been meditating. Using the 10 % Happier app and the new meditation app that I loved that a friend shared with me. I have been practicing control and letting go. So, I tried again, breathing and calming myself. I’d like to say that my practice of meditation worked, but what worked more was my granddaughter and that picture from the previous weekend. Every time I would freak out I would hear her say, “Grab the stick gamma. Look at the waves.” I can’t tell you how many times that happened-many. Other times in my meditation we had a picnic and also sat on the edge of the beach dripping sand on our legs. If things got bad, I would feel her little hands on my cheeks; she would hold my head firmly look me in the eyes and say, ” I’m here, you got this gamma, I’m not going to let you freak.”
All in all, it was a pretty profound experience.
I’m not sure what the test will show or how they can see how big the hole in my heart is. I mean, in the ultrasound I had to bare down for them to get an image. I do know that I’m ready to feel better and if this surgery helps, then sign me up.
Until then I will keep breathing and if I feel panicked I’ll remember to hold the stick.
Pusche
Edit:
Today I think a lot about the words “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.” I think I have a new visual and internal knowing of what this means because of this event.