Afraid

I am so afraid tonight that I can’t even tell where the paralysis is coming from. Is it in my feet and legs? Running along my spinal cord? Or is it only in my head? The debilitating pain has been with me all day, and it’s keeping me up tonight—Vicodin notwithstanding. Morphine notwithstanding. None of it has helped.

I always knew that my mind was an enemy, but I never suspected my body. Will I be able to run again? To live alone? To work a 40-hour week? Will I get to have sex (and enjoy it?), to have kids (and enjoy them?). Will a man find me attractive after a few years with a disability? What will “beautiful” even mean at that point? How will I cope with the pain? What about the depression? What, how, why, why, why?

Lord Jesus, save me from myself. Let me see myself as your blessed child instead of feeling myself to be condemned.I’m lying here and remembering the doctor’s questions, “Did you plan to get married? Have kids? What were your plans before now?” I offered only tears in response. He looked at me directly and said, “Your life is going to change, but your plans don’t have to.” Though I get the point, it’s not so easy in the dark night to differentiate between the two. The land of the living looks pretty dreary through these shades.

Oh God, “be to me a rock of refuge to which I may continually come. You have given the command to save me, for you are my rock and my fortress." Save me now, my God, not from this diseased body but from this faithless heart. “You, who have made me to see many troubles and calamities, will revive me again.” I will wait for you, I will trust in you, and I will hope in you, my God. Whom have I in heaven or on earth, but you?