My Broken Hallelujah

It is time- as I pack up my home, I can no longer deny what is going on. I am about to leave for Omaha, Nebraska to receive my stem cell transplant, and to say I have mixed feelings about this excursion would be quite the understatement. Mentally shirking what is about to occur is the only way I have been able to cope the past few weeks. In fact, my husband has been begging for me to blog, but I just couldn't because I was not ready to face my reality. I'm still not ready, but reality has arrived none the less.

Since my diagnosis, my stem cell transplant has seemed unachievable- always looming off in the distance. I preferred it that way because then I could easily pretend like it would never happen. I completely buried myself in work, obsessively preparing for a class that I won't see for months. Now, as I stare blankly at my empty suitcase, I am forced to stop pretending. And I am terrified. 

The more I think about bone marrow biopsies, stem cell transplants, and the extensive recovery process, the more I am positive that this is not something that I can handle. My fight or flight response has been triggered, and I am choosing "flight," with gumption! Fear has closed its fist around my chest and is squeezing so tightly that I can physically feel the pain. 

For almost two weeks, I have been praying to God to take this cup from me. I don't want to do this. I don't want a needle shoved into my bone. I don't want yet another surgery, no matter how minor it is. I can't begin to fathom a chemo that will make what I have previously experienced look like child's play. I am so tired of sitting around, and yet I am about to be hospitalized for a month. There are a myriad of unknown side effects and risks that haunt my dreams at night. I am literally about to walk into my nightmares. This is my Garden of Gethsemane. Trepidation has all but crippled me and there is no escape. 

While I was praying (ok, whining) to Jesus this morning, words subconsciously rose to my mind, bringing with them the heavy feeling of contrition. "Lord, forgive my unbelief." They didn't make sense to me, until I sat and pondered them a while. Initially, I didn't feel like my belief was called into question. It's ok to be fearful and to dread your suffering. In fact, I was following the model Jesus left me when He visited that aforementioned garden. However, I eventually saw that there was one difference between Jesus and I (ok there are a thousand differences between the two of us- I'm working on that!)- in one sitting, Jesus was able to pray "Yet not as I will, but Your will be done." For weeks, I haven't even been able to put my fears into words before God. I couldn't acknowledge them, lest they destroy me. I was so focused on the pain I will endure, that obedience didn't even enter into my mind's equation. Yet, for a reason unknown to me, God has chosen to lead me down this path. He has chosen to put me in a situation that is beyond anything I can handle. And He asks me to believe in Him and His plan for me. Lord, forgive my unbelief.

I am aware that this new mindset does not change anything. I will still have needles shoved into my bones; I will still have to have another surgery; my body will still have to endure such a physical attack that it will have to all but shut down in order to survive. Believing in God's goodness does not change your suffering. It simply changes how you see it. And that will have to be enough for me.