This past week, I went to the Hematologist for my post-hospital care. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I was pretty disappointed with the news I heard regarding what it will take for my recovery.
For those of you who know me, you know that for the past 10 years, I have been waking up between 4:30-5am with a routine: Make coffee, read/pray/write/meditate for an hour and then I hit my gym for at least an hour. Fitness is a huge part of my life and I absolutely love working out. It makes me feel better both mentally and physically. It is my stress relief and I also love how I look when I am in great shape (yeah, I know it may sound shallow…but it is honest).
The doctor told me that because of the amount of clots I have in both of my legs, they are afraid of more clots breaking off and going into my lungs…so I have to be very careful. For the next 3 months, I will not be able to exert myself at all. That means no lifting weights, no long walks, no hiking , no squats…NOTHING for what will seem like forever.
I can increase my physical activity as time progresses, but my walking on flat surfaces only…and that is about it. Right now, I can’t do much of anything anyway, as I get winded just emptying the dang dishwasher.
There’s just something psychological though that pains me when someone tells me that I can’t do something for a while that I love to do. I know it is not permanent, but I immediately thought that all of my hard work that I have done over the past 10 years is going to go to shit. It made me both mad and sad. I had a little pity party for myself.
I immediately started worrying about when I do go back to work and the amount of stress that comes with my career. How will I handle it? Exercise has been such a calmative answer to battling this issue.
I cried on Friday. A lot. I had a lot of soul-stirring going on. I felt like everything that I had been holding back emotionally just came out at once. I was scared. Mad. Happy to be alive. Thankful for everyone in my life that cares about me so much. I felt loved. Pissed at my body. Crushed. Guilty that my team has to do all of the work. Useless. Worried. Defeated. Joyful. You name it, I probably had that feeling on Friday.
The words that came to me over and over were this: I have to let my body become weak in order to be strong again.
That is a hard thing for this girl to take. Pretty devastating actually. Truth be told, it depressed the shit out of me.
I made myself a sandwich for lunch. Out of breath once again, I sat down at the kitchen bar and it came to me…
That is what Jesus did.
He made Himself weak so that we could become strong, through Him.
I just sat there and cried again. This time, it was different though. It was one of those “A Ha…OK God, I get it” cries.
I am not going to say that it made me feel 100% better, but it did put things into perspective a lot more.
Sacrifice now to make things better in the end. This is part of His plan for me and I know that something amazing is going to come out of this.
It doesn’t make it any easier in the meantime though. As I am writing this, my emotions are stirring up again and my Michael just came here and gave me a big long hug. I told him what I was writing about and he reminded me of something important that the doctor had said: My fitness is what saved my life. If I wasn’t in such good shape, I would be dead right now.
Another reminder that there is a reason for everything. God had already been preparing me for this moment.