God's gifts from the the Body of Christ
At the beginning of November, the injection helped with the constant, unnerving, mind-numbing pain, since the doctor focused it on the site of the bulging disc. But to sit without pain... that is not an option... yet.
I might be willing to just live with that for a while, hoping to get help at some point. But, in August, when we chose to pursue adoption of our little boy in Uganda, we agreed to it, knowing we were going to need God's provision in some big ways. First, we needed financial help (which He's helped us with amazingly!) and next, I needed to be able to sit -- not just for a few minutes, but for 16-18 hours on airplanes, to make it to Uganda to pick up our little boy. Right now, I can sit for about five minutes. Sitting longer than that leaves me burning, aching for hours... that mind-numbing kind of pain which makes it nearly impossible for me to do anything else.
I went back to the spine specialist at the beginning of December for my injection follow up. I let her know how it had helped with half of the problem. I asked longingly for another; I explained my immediate need -- we've been told we would likely travel to Uganda in January. The physician's assistant who saw me said, yes, it was certainly worth a try. She even assisted me in scheduling an appointment, helping to eliminate the week-and-a-half scheduling ordeal we faced the first time around.
Two days later, I checked a message on my cell phone, in between teaching my first graders. The doctor's office explained that the official doctor (I had only seen the assistant) looked over my case, had said she wasn't willing to give another injection, and that I needed blood work drawn. After weaving my way through their office phone mazes and messages, I got my blood drawn the next day, had the results sent to them, and then called again. The nurse said that blood work looked fine. I said, "That's great. Now I'd like to have my injection next week, as it was scheduled."
"Oh, no," the nurse firmly stated. "That appointment is canceled. The doctor wants to talk with you more about this."
"Okay... Is that something I can do over the phone?" I pleaded, tears clogging my throat, my first graders pouring back in from recess.
"No, you'd need to make an appointment."
"Okay. Will you connect me to the front desk then?" Tears dripping down my checks.
"Front desk, this is Nina."
"Ah, hi Nina, yes, I just talked with Hope, and she wants me to schedule an appointment with the doctor."
"She does?"
"Um, yes."
"But the doctor doesn't have any openings until July...Hmm. If it's urgent, maybe I can squeeze you in at the end of January?"
"Please." Chocking sobs. "I need to be able to sit. We need to be able to fly to Uganda to pick up our child in January.... Would you please talk to Hope about this for me?"
"Yes. I can do that."
Sniffles. "Thank you."
I hung up the phone, tears dripping down my cheeks, off my chin, my first graders loud and boisterous, waiting for directions. My sweet instructional assistant came over to give the children directions, and directed me to take a break for a few minutes. I grabbed a tissue, skirting past my parent volunteer with questions in her eyes.
I pulled myself together in the staff bathroom, and returned to class a few minutes later. As I headed to lunch a couple of hours later, I checked a message from the doctor's office. They wondered if I'd be able to come in the next morning at 8:00. I called back instantly. "Nina? Yes, I would love the 8:00 tomorrow...And thank you."
Scott, of course, needed to drive me the next morning to the appointment forty-five minutes away. And I asked him to come in with me this time. I needed an advocate. I felt so emotionally caught up in the longing for help and the urgency of the time frame, I needed him to be my voice of reason. The physician's assistant came in shortly. She explained how the doctor didn't see why I was still in so much pain, from the findings of my MRI. So she wanted to run some other tests to make sure there were no other issues causing the pain.
We left the appointment with a list of three tests their office wanted us to do before they would consider another injection. That afternoon, I immediately called to schedule my first one. And that office couldn't get me in until December 31. Deep breath. Breathing prayer. Acknowledging God's timing. Longing for help.
By January 7, I headed to my third -- and final -- required test. The first two showed no findings. I realized later how grateful that should have made me. At the time, I just wanted to get them done, so I could move on. But, thank You, God, that there were no blockages, cancers, etc. found that are causing the pain.
My sweet father-in-law patiently drove me to the appointment, again forty-five minutes away. The night before, I had researched what this one -- a bone scan -- was. The website said, "Bone scans are used to determine the cause of lower back pain..." Wait, I thought. What?! Why hadn't we done this one over the summer? I decided I was just glad to do it now.
I went in for my radioactive injection, and then my father-in-law and I were supposed to come back two-and-a-half hours later. We did some errands, and even had time to eat lunch. As we walked into a little local restaurant that specializes in gluten-free menu options, Steve surprised me. "We're going to need a place where 'my date' can stand up," he requested as if it was standard practice. The accommodating hostess led us to the separate room, used only later in the day, with the bar area, where he could sit and I could stand to eat. I was so grateful. I've only been into a couple of restaurants since this all began, and have felt so awkward standing in the way, while everyone else sits.
So back we went for the bone scan. The technician showed me the screen, where I could watch my skeleton, formed of popping dots as the machine scanned.
The next day, I called the direct number for the physician's assistant. "I've done all the tests you asked me to do. What's next?"
"Actually, we've already looked at your bone scan. You have arthritis in the {technical, doctor jargon} region. The doctor's willing to give you another injection in this location."
"Oh, wow. Great." Relief, renewed hope, flooded me again.
I got on the schedule to have it last Thursday. Whew. Praying, waiting, hoping.
Wednesday night, I drove up to my small group for moms of young daughters. As I was talking with the leader, pouring my cup of tea, one of the other moms said, "I think your phone just rang." And then I answered Scott's call.
"Your doctor's office just called. The doctor had a family emergency. She had to leave the state. Your injection for tomorrow is canceled.... I know.... I'm sorry. This stinks.... They said you can call tomorrow morning to reschedule."
I excused myself to the bathroom, cried a few tears. Disappointment. God, what's going on?
I rejoined the group. A few minutes later, I brought up my news, looking across at the faces of compassion. They asked if they could pray for me then. Sweetness. I love when the body of Christ prays for me when my heart is so heavy, it cannot even form the words. Later, Scott told me that's why he called me there.
The next morning as I awoke, on the morning I had anticipated my relief, I felt a sadness, but only in part. I called my mother-in-law after dropping Adrianna at school. We talked about the cancellation, the disappointment, for a minute. And then she shared the thought that God had suddenly laid on her heart, "What if we had a prayer meeting tonight?" I'd been waiting for that prompting. God had laid it on my heart back in December. But I'd been waiting for the how/when.
Later, at home, I began emailing and calling friends. I emailed my family, asking if they'd join us from afar. I emailed friends from our community, church... praying friends, who had been so kind all these months, asking how I was doing. Then I felt the self-consciousness sink in, the dark voice of insecurity rising from the mire: What makes you special enough to ask friends to change their plans to come to your house tonight? What makes your problem worse than any of the ones they are facing?
I kept pushing those ugly thoughts back, asking God to grant me peace, trusting that He ordained this time for His purposes. I know that He is a kind and generous Father, willing to give good gifts to His children, if they only ask (Matthew 7:11). And as the afternoon faded into evening, I received emails back from these dear friends. Some could come; others said they would pray from their homes, as they had issues keeping them at home. But each had words of grace, love. My heart felt lighter, my hope for God's purposes stronger.
Breaking into my feelings of insecurity, He gave me a confirmation of His desire for our prayer time. As my mother-in-law arrived early to pray, I leaned over to her, and said, "A fragrant aroma... That's been my prayer for tonight. That this would be a fragrant aroma to God." She searched my eyes for a couple of silent moments, the wash of tears coming forward. "That's the picture He gave me, too." My heart breathed thanks to God. This wasn't just my doing. He wanted this for me, but for His glory.
At 6:30 arrived, friends came through the door. Some who know my in-laws better than they know me; some neighbors; some friends my age, who left babies at home with husbands. As we gathered, and our small group leader asked me to give a recap of my situation, I ended with, "I feel selfish in inviting you all here tonight just to pray for me... But I know our God is kind and good." The murmurs of agreement sounded around the group. That's why we gathered. Because our God is good. Whatever happens with my back, our God is good. Whatever He chooses to do -- whether to heal or not -- He is good. From the words of Job, "Shall we indeed accept good from God, and shall we not accept adversity?" (Job 2:10).
And so the Body of Christ lifted me up to the Giver of Life. The prayers, that night, those emails... they allowed me to see God's grace anew. "All is from Him, and all is grace." (Ann Voskamp: www.theholyexperience.com)
In the following days, as friends checked in, asking how it went, and how I was doing after the prayer time, I answered, "My back's the same. But I'm so encouraged. God's at work; I don't know what He's going to do, but I'm looking forward to seeing what it is."
I might be willing to just live with that for a while, hoping to get help at some point. But, in August, when we chose to pursue adoption of our little boy in Uganda, we agreed to it, knowing we were going to need God's provision in some big ways. First, we needed financial help (which He's helped us with amazingly!) and next, I needed to be able to sit -- not just for a few minutes, but for 16-18 hours on airplanes, to make it to Uganda to pick up our little boy. Right now, I can sit for about five minutes. Sitting longer than that leaves me burning, aching for hours... that mind-numbing kind of pain which makes it nearly impossible for me to do anything else.
I went back to the spine specialist at the beginning of December for my injection follow up. I let her know how it had helped with half of the problem. I asked longingly for another; I explained my immediate need -- we've been told we would likely travel to Uganda in January. The physician's assistant who saw me said, yes, it was certainly worth a try. She even assisted me in scheduling an appointment, helping to eliminate the week-and-a-half scheduling ordeal we faced the first time around.
Two days later, I checked a message on my cell phone, in between teaching my first graders. The doctor's office explained that the official doctor (I had only seen the assistant) looked over my case, had said she wasn't willing to give another injection, and that I needed blood work drawn. After weaving my way through their office phone mazes and messages, I got my blood drawn the next day, had the results sent to them, and then called again. The nurse said that blood work looked fine. I said, "That's great. Now I'd like to have my injection next week, as it was scheduled."
"Oh, no," the nurse firmly stated. "That appointment is canceled. The doctor wants to talk with you more about this."
"Okay... Is that something I can do over the phone?" I pleaded, tears clogging my throat, my first graders pouring back in from recess.
"No, you'd need to make an appointment."
"Okay. Will you connect me to the front desk then?" Tears dripping down my checks.
"Front desk, this is Nina."
"Ah, hi Nina, yes, I just talked with Hope, and she wants me to schedule an appointment with the doctor."
"She does?"
"Um, yes."
"But the doctor doesn't have any openings until July...Hmm. If it's urgent, maybe I can squeeze you in at the end of January?"
"Please." Chocking sobs. "I need to be able to sit. We need to be able to fly to Uganda to pick up our child in January.... Would you please talk to Hope about this for me?"
"Yes. I can do that."
Sniffles. "Thank you."
I hung up the phone, tears dripping down my cheeks, off my chin, my first graders loud and boisterous, waiting for directions. My sweet instructional assistant came over to give the children directions, and directed me to take a break for a few minutes. I grabbed a tissue, skirting past my parent volunteer with questions in her eyes.
I pulled myself together in the staff bathroom, and returned to class a few minutes later. As I headed to lunch a couple of hours later, I checked a message from the doctor's office. They wondered if I'd be able to come in the next morning at 8:00. I called back instantly. "Nina? Yes, I would love the 8:00 tomorrow...And thank you."
Scott, of course, needed to drive me the next morning to the appointment forty-five minutes away. And I asked him to come in with me this time. I needed an advocate. I felt so emotionally caught up in the longing for help and the urgency of the time frame, I needed him to be my voice of reason. The physician's assistant came in shortly. She explained how the doctor didn't see why I was still in so much pain, from the findings of my MRI. So she wanted to run some other tests to make sure there were no other issues causing the pain.
We left the appointment with a list of three tests their office wanted us to do before they would consider another injection. That afternoon, I immediately called to schedule my first one. And that office couldn't get me in until December 31. Deep breath. Breathing prayer. Acknowledging God's timing. Longing for help.
By January 7, I headed to my third -- and final -- required test. The first two showed no findings. I realized later how grateful that should have made me. At the time, I just wanted to get them done, so I could move on. But, thank You, God, that there were no blockages, cancers, etc. found that are causing the pain.
My sweet father-in-law patiently drove me to the appointment, again forty-five minutes away. The night before, I had researched what this one -- a bone scan -- was. The website said, "Bone scans are used to determine the cause of lower back pain..." Wait, I thought. What?! Why hadn't we done this one over the summer? I decided I was just glad to do it now.
I went in for my radioactive injection, and then my father-in-law and I were supposed to come back two-and-a-half hours later. We did some errands, and even had time to eat lunch. As we walked into a little local restaurant that specializes in gluten-free menu options, Steve surprised me. "We're going to need a place where 'my date' can stand up," he requested as if it was standard practice. The accommodating hostess led us to the separate room, used only later in the day, with the bar area, where he could sit and I could stand to eat. I was so grateful. I've only been into a couple of restaurants since this all began, and have felt so awkward standing in the way, while everyone else sits.
So back we went for the bone scan. The technician showed me the screen, where I could watch my skeleton, formed of popping dots as the machine scanned.
The next day, I called the direct number for the physician's assistant. "I've done all the tests you asked me to do. What's next?"
"Actually, we've already looked at your bone scan. You have arthritis in the {technical, doctor jargon} region. The doctor's willing to give you another injection in this location."
"Oh, wow. Great." Relief, renewed hope, flooded me again.
I got on the schedule to have it last Thursday. Whew. Praying, waiting, hoping.
Wednesday night, I drove up to my small group for moms of young daughters. As I was talking with the leader, pouring my cup of tea, one of the other moms said, "I think your phone just rang." And then I answered Scott's call.
"Your doctor's office just called. The doctor had a family emergency. She had to leave the state. Your injection for tomorrow is canceled.... I know.... I'm sorry. This stinks.... They said you can call tomorrow morning to reschedule."
I excused myself to the bathroom, cried a few tears. Disappointment. God, what's going on?
I rejoined the group. A few minutes later, I brought up my news, looking across at the faces of compassion. They asked if they could pray for me then. Sweetness. I love when the body of Christ prays for me when my heart is so heavy, it cannot even form the words. Later, Scott told me that's why he called me there.
The next morning as I awoke, on the morning I had anticipated my relief, I felt a sadness, but only in part. I called my mother-in-law after dropping Adrianna at school. We talked about the cancellation, the disappointment, for a minute. And then she shared the thought that God had suddenly laid on her heart, "What if we had a prayer meeting tonight?" I'd been waiting for that prompting. God had laid it on my heart back in December. But I'd been waiting for the how/when.
Later, at home, I began emailing and calling friends. I emailed my family, asking if they'd join us from afar. I emailed friends from our community, church... praying friends, who had been so kind all these months, asking how I was doing. Then I felt the self-consciousness sink in, the dark voice of insecurity rising from the mire: What makes you special enough to ask friends to change their plans to come to your house tonight? What makes your problem worse than any of the ones they are facing?
I kept pushing those ugly thoughts back, asking God to grant me peace, trusting that He ordained this time for His purposes. I know that He is a kind and generous Father, willing to give good gifts to His children, if they only ask (Matthew 7:11). And as the afternoon faded into evening, I received emails back from these dear friends. Some could come; others said they would pray from their homes, as they had issues keeping them at home. But each had words of grace, love. My heart felt lighter, my hope for God's purposes stronger.
Breaking into my feelings of insecurity, He gave me a confirmation of His desire for our prayer time. As my mother-in-law arrived early to pray, I leaned over to her, and said, "A fragrant aroma... That's been my prayer for tonight. That this would be a fragrant aroma to God." She searched my eyes for a couple of silent moments, the wash of tears coming forward. "That's the picture He gave me, too." My heart breathed thanks to God. This wasn't just my doing. He wanted this for me, but for His glory.
At 6:30 arrived, friends came through the door. Some who know my in-laws better than they know me; some neighbors; some friends my age, who left babies at home with husbands. As we gathered, and our small group leader asked me to give a recap of my situation, I ended with, "I feel selfish in inviting you all here tonight just to pray for me... But I know our God is kind and good." The murmurs of agreement sounded around the group. That's why we gathered. Because our God is good. Whatever happens with my back, our God is good. Whatever He chooses to do -- whether to heal or not -- He is good. From the words of Job, "Shall we indeed accept good from God, and shall we not accept adversity?" (Job 2:10).
And so the Body of Christ lifted me up to the Giver of Life. The prayers, that night, those emails... they allowed me to see God's grace anew. "All is from Him, and all is grace." (Ann Voskamp: www.theholyexperience.com)
In the following days, as friends checked in, asking how it went, and how I was doing after the prayer time, I answered, "My back's the same. But I'm so encouraged. God's at work; I don't know what He's going to do, but I'm looking forward to seeing what it is."
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